In 1998, a front-page tragedy and a rough handwritten poem became the quiet heartcry that shaped the next twenty-seven years of my life. This Advent, I look back at how God took that cry from a 28-year-old former addict and opened doors into recovery work, ministry, and even academic study — from leaving school at 15 to pursuing a PhD. Hope fuelled then. Hope fulfilled now. Hope still needed — and still given.

A walk through Lochwood Farm becomes a journey through history, memory, and faith. From medieval bishops to industrial tycoons, from childhood wanderings to spiritual rebirth, this is a story of land long bound by power—and the quiet hope that it might finally be shared.

He laughed, a laughed. That didnae happen often in thae days.

Rich children’s laughter still echoing down through the centuries. A shaft of sunlight through the trees catches my eye, glinting off the feeding trough that ensured the livestock never went without food.

“We take broken down men with no hope…and we give them hope.”