The Living Years

It’s Father’s Day in Australia today.

This has become an interesting day for me for at least a couple of reasons: 7 years ago I was told that I would never have children, and yet here I am with two beautiful daughters of my own flesh and blood. 6 years ago my own father passed away.

So, whenever this day rolls around, I am left with a mixture of joy and sadness. I am filled with inexpressible joy as I behold my own kids, and am supremely thankful for this gift of fatherhood that I have been given. I am filled with sadness at the fact that my own father is no longer around, and never got to meet any of his grandkids. I am filled with joy at the fact that I was on good terms with my dad before he died. I am filled with sadness as I reflect on the lost years of estrangement, when I did not realise that dad wouldn’t be around for much longer.

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Hope & Broken Roses

Well…I’m ba-ack!

After almost a year out of the game, a major career change, and a complete re-design and fresh start for the site, I’m-a bloggin’ again.

God help us all…

Anyway, I’d like to start with a reflection on the concept (and practice) of ‘hope’. It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, but what is it really? How does one define it? What does it look like? Is hope just an otherworldly opiate that stubbornly refuses to accept ‘reality’, disengaging all possibility of change in the present?

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