Long before I had language for trauma or mental health, I learned how to stand still, look up, and carry on. This is a reflection on what that teaches us about healing.

My phone insists I’m in London. My feet insist otherwise. A reflection on presence, place, and what it means to stay where you actually are in a world that is constantly pulling your attention elsewhere.

Christmas draws me in because of the sheer wonder woven through the story — not sentiment, not scenery, but the astonishing way God moves through ordinary people and everyday places. Look closely, and the Nativity unfolds as a series of moments stitched with courage, humility, and revelation. Mary and Joseph — The Costly Yes You… Read more: The Wonder of Christmas: When God Took His First Breath

Bohemian Rhapsody is not a confession of murder nor an exercise in nihilism. It is a ritual execution of identity — the moment Farrokh Bulsara dies and Freddie Mercury is born. This essay reads the song as a psychological, musical, and spiritual turning point, and Mercury’s lifelong silence as an act of mercy rather than mystery.

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.