Hahaha I enjoy baking but I must admit that this happens most of the time. The picture ALWAYS looks better than the cake in front of me. >>>>>> it’s the thought that counts right #hides
English isn’t my first language and I’m not a perfect speaker either but for some reason I tend to get annoyed when people make spelling mistakes I just don’t get it. I really don’t. Ah maybe there’s something wrong with me #confused for days
Quote of the Day.
Regardless of whether you are Religious or have been through a recovery programme the serenity prayer is something that we can drawer strength from in our daily lives. Many of you will know this prayer but I hope for those of you who don’t you can get some inspiration.
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen. – Reinhold Niebuhr.
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I haven’t posted anything here in a while but I want today to be different. I don’t want to post a poem or a short story. I just want to write. Anything. Something. I wanna do what I feel I was born to do. Write. I want to write because I have the freedom to and simply for my own enjoyment. Being born in South Africa has taught me many things. Some of which will be engraved on the foundation of my life. My country is celebrating 20 years of democracy. I’m celebrating 20 years of freedom something many of us take for granted. I mean why wouldn’t we right? We were born FREE. It’s normal for us to share public transport and toilets with people of other races its even more beautiful for me to see people of different races falling inlove. It makes my heart smile. We are united! My nation has been through rough patches in the past but I’m proud to say that we are blossoming with each new day. I’m proud to be African
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll have gay children.
I’m not sure if other parents think about this, but I do; quite often.
Maybe it’s because I have many gay people in my family and circle of friends. It’s in my genes and in my tribe.
Maybe it’s because, as a pastor of students, I’ve seen and heard the horror stories of gay Christian kids, from both inside and outside of the closet, trying to be part of the Church.
Maybe it’s because, as a Christian, I interact with so many people who find homosexuality to be the most repulsive thing imaginable, and who make that abundantly clear at every conceivable opportunity.
For whatever reason, it’s something that I ponder frequently. As a pastor and a parent, I wanted to make some promises to you, and to my two kids right now…
1) If I have gay children, you’ll all know it.
My children won’t…
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I sent this photo to my Godsister. Her response was “Cute outfit, you look skinny 🙂 !” My rebuttal was “Thanks. It’s a façade” to which she was annoyed. It made me think about my current research…telling people they look skinny should not automatically be a compliment. Skinny is just fine, but so is my body just the way it is. Which is not, nor has it ever been skinny. #FatStudies #WomensStudies
I had an interesting exchange with my godsister yesterday. I sent her a photo of an outfit I was wearing and she commented that she loved the outfit and that I was looking skinny. I told her no I wasn’t, it was a facade and she said “ugh okay whatever” obviously annoyed at my inability to “take the compliment.” Here’s the thing though, why is looking skinny a compliment?
Granted, my reaction was steeped in fat-positive and fat studies…
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He Sees right through me. Holds my hand like he would precious goods. Treasures my heart.Treats me like a goddess,his lap is my throne. In his palm is a solid stone. A pledge to be true, to be mine till we part. His touch numbs my pain, calms my sorrow and awkens my entire being. I’m whole, I’m complete. Speak to me tender and sweet. Whisper in my ears words you dare not speak. Emotions you dare not show.
If walls could talk.
If concrete could confess.
If soul could seep through cement.
If only one of those monochrome apparitions could reach out and take me by the hand, leading me into a world of smoke and ale and revelation.
The woman stood by the door on the right of the picture is my great grandmother. The two little girls are my grandfather’s older sisters. The guy on the far left, in the bowler hat, is my great grandfather. The other two younger men could be family, I don’t know. Will probably never know. Posing with a football and a trophy of an unknown triumph, they remain silent, anonymous ghosts. Enigmas of imagination.
The building itself, its very brick and mortar, contains more than can be revealed in a two dimensional image. It contains that which is valued in meaning.
Ancestors of mine dwelt in that place between 1901…
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Make yourself comfortable at the dining room table. Take a seat. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble, so relax your steaming breath. I have so much to tell you.
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