The soft rustle of pages turning, the faint smell of ink on paper, and the gentle glow of a lamp late at night frame this reflection. In these quiet moments, I discovered that this year’s writing is not a “best of” list, but a meditation on how it revealed the quiet, patient ways faith grows when I linger with attention and presence. It is a confession of where my attention lingered, and what that lingering did to my faith.
Looking back over my writing, I see a pattern I never planned. Certain themes kept circling back, like the sun lingering at the edge of morning. This single metaphor captures the persistence and gentle growth of my reflections, allowing the essence of faith’s slow, patient unfolding to shine through.
These are the pieces I enjoyed most. Not for their performance, but their honesty. In writing them, something in me grows.
Following the Winter Sun
Writing “Following the Winter Sun” slowed my pace in a way that theology rarely does. It made me honour the Southern Hemisphere, letting winter, darkness, and diminished light shape my imagination instead of borrowing someone else’s spirituality.
What I valued was resisting the pull of urgency, letting theology breathe with the seasons, and sensing God nearer to decline than to growth.
The winter sun does not conquer the darkness. It traces it faithfully.
That piece taught me faith does not always surge ahead. Sometimes it simply turns, just enough to catch whatever light is offered, without demanding more.
Faith and Mental Health: Part I (and 2)
This was among the most vulnerable things I wrote all year, and I could feel that vulnerability in every keystroke.
Here, I was unflinchingly honest, naming spiritual struggle as exhaustion, trauma, or simply a nervous system doing its best to survive.
Writing this clarified something essential for me:
God is not disappointed by wounded faith.
This piece loosened my hold on language that moralises suffering. It let me speak of faith not as pressure, but as permission—permission to heal, to name pain, to stop pretending obedience can skip over the inner world. It offered a holy act of self-compassion, bridging the gap between theology and psychological care. This is where the language of self-kindness finds its sacred place, encouraging readers to apply it to themselves and embrace their healing journey.
Why Christians Should Celebrate Halloween
I was surprised by how much joy I found in writing this one.
I reclaimed imagination from fear, pushing back against the idea that darkness is only dangerous. I reminded myself, and others, that Christianity knows resurrection and twilight both.
Writing about Halloween became a way to name something larger: the Church’s forgotten gift for sitting with death, mystery, and the in-between. We hurry toward light, rarely learning how to walk through dusk.
This piece reminded me that faith, stripped of imagination, grows anxious. Christ’s victory does not ask us to deny death, but to walk through it unafraid.
Healing Before Obedience
If any piece captured the heart of my year, it was this one.
I loved writing Healing Before Obedience because it finally named what I have seen quietly wound people for years: the belief that God wants compliance more than wholeness.
This was the piece where theology and pastoral concern fully met.
Writing it clarified my conviction: obedience without healing breeds distortion, not holiness. Jesus did not demand alignment first, but restored dignity. Transformation flows from love received, not pressure applied.
This post reframed discipleship for me, not as behaviour to be managed, but as the slow mending of a fragmented inner world in God’s presence.
Advent: Maybe Christ Is Waiting for Us
I loved writing this because it turned the usual script upside down.
Instead of us waiting anxiously for God, Advent became a season where God waits patiently for us—to notice, to arrive, to finally stop outrunning grace.
This piece wove the year together: slowness, attention, presence. God is not a void to be filled, but a presence waiting to be recognized. What if Christ has been waiting all along?
Writing it reminded me that Advent is not suspense, but hospitality.
And that Christ is not late.
What These Pieces Taught Me
Looking back, I see what I was really circling all year:
- God is not in a hurry.
- Healing is holy work.
- Fear is not wisdom.
- Imagination matters.
- Faith matures through honesty, not performance.
I enjoyed writing these because they let me breathe, felt like careful truth-telling, and helped me resist the urge to hurry toward answers.
Writing did not tidy up my faith this year.
It made my faith gentler.
For the first time, that gentleness feels like real progress.
Scribbling Theology 