The Wait.

I’ve been Waiting..
There’s a feeling of Pause, Lingering.
Things On Hold..
A Pensive Delay..

And in that, a Procrastination of things Present.

Its become an excuse for not immersing in necessary tasks..
Things needing doing..
Things needing done.

Sitting, holding breath, latent energy sapping away..
Paucity in the wait.

And now, I have made a decision within the indecision..
I need to move forward..
To stretch muscles wasting in immobility..
To strengthen the unused and contracting..
To make my moments count..

For Something.

Not to Idle..
Not to Delay..
To not Squander the days given me..
Precious in the gift, full in the promise..

Of more.

For there IS more..there is always more..
For those that seek, and knock..and do.

Today, I will not wait for things to change..
I will keep my hands busy, my mind engaged, my heart lavishly spending.


Ode to Sri Lanka

An Ode to Sri Lanka💔

Gods Little Pearl.

One of great price.

Plucked from the very depths of the warm Indian Ocean.

Verdant in splendour, her hills covered with tea plantations, her valleys with spices that galleons would traverse great seas for.

Vistas of beauty..

Breath Taking

Breath Catching

A feast for the eyes

Overwhelming every sense.

Rimmed with gold, that Pearl, her beaches with sands so fine, great rocks eroded down from the ancient, to encircle the jewel in glorious resplendence.

Her people Beautiful.

Etched with a deep grace.

Resilient within, they have stood tall and strong through the winds that menaced, storms that battered, and a Wave that stole thousands.

And thousands more lost, as internal struggle threatened to dull and mar the patina that the Lovely Pearl wears..

~yes abraded,

~yes scarred and razed, but in no way damaged to the point of disfigurement or desolation.

For she is robust and durable, is the Little Pearl..

And like a tear sliding down the Face of God, He watches as the sparrows fall, and He weeps.

He weeps and grieves for those who know Him not..

For those caught up into conflict which they do not own..

And for those who perished as they were on pilgrimage to worship the Risen King.

Oh so precious, the blood of His Saints..

And we the world, lament, as we watch horror again unfurl over this Nation..

We are sorry for your loss, angry with the unfair attack upon your vulnerable inhabitants.

We turn to prayer and supplication..

Covering you

Protecting you

Loving you


Knowing that you will rise again to take your place.

You Matter..

Pondering upon Treasures..

photo of cactus on pot
Photo by on

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart..

Luke 2~19..


Treasures Pondered Upon..


I love this.


In these days where everything is shared and publicly opinioned upon, to have a treasure that is only yours, stored up in your heart of hearts is of such substance, it makes the treasure even more valuable and beyond measure..


It’s like a secret, Treasure is. A little whisper of a Promise given..


Sometimes Promises can’t be shared..they can almost seem preposterous, ridiculous, too huge to imagine..and if they are shared, how a seemingly thoughtless word could smash that fragile promise right into the preposterous and ridiculous..

Too ludicrous to be obtained.


We all have them, these secret gems of ours, I have a lovely one I’m storing up right now, in my ‘Jewel Box’ where I hold my treasures.

Those scraps for the finely woven, lovely things that haven’t yet seen the light of day, that haven’t yet been fashioned into something tangible..


In darkness some times things thrive. I have a Christmas Cactus in the back of my coat cupboard, I’m coaxing it to flower. The buds are evident, but it needs a little more time.

So it is with Treasure, hidden, the buds blossom.







A time for’ll know when, just wait❤️


What are your New Year Resolutions?

We all have them, unless you are bound and determined NOT to have them, then hey, you’ll find no Judgement here..😉

They will all look different, these intentions of ours..each one of us are complicated, wonderful creatures with a fresh world laid out before us as we step out into 2019.

We make our Plans, we Dream our Dreams, we want Redos in the things we felt we failed in, we want Happy, we want Contentment, we want Health.

Resolution means determined, it is a noun, a thing.

A decision to relentlessly pursue is a verb, a doing thing.

It is not something that occurs naturally, with little effort (usually) but it is a fierce, intentional pursuit of plans, into actions..

I think, for some, Resolutions is a trigger can speak of failure and disappointments, of fear in the trying..

But for me, actually, this kind of fear is good. It causes me to strive and push and to accomplish what I thought impossible, footsteps in the virgin snow..

Even if we think we fail, we’ve made progress, and that is huge..

Start small.

Incrementally, little by little, and before you know it you’ll be dreaming the Big Dreams, full of colour and light..

You’ll go from tentatively crawling to full on DANCING in swirling frenzied delight..

So, go on Friends, make your Resolutions, make your plans, all will be well, and Hey, if you ‘fail’ get up and try try and try again..

As for me?

I’m strapping on my Dancing Shoes..

Coming out of your Box

I have been talking to a Friend this morning who is getting a diagnoses for their child through various agencies..

Often with a diagnoses, comes a definition on how the person will/should behave..they become ‘boxed’ and categorized, to be able to get them the help they need.

And yes we need the diagnoses, and yes, they need the help.

BUT, it doesn’t have to finish there..

We are not limited by our Box.

Even without an official definition we often fetter ourselves.. ‘oh I could never do that’ ‘I can’t’ ‘I won’t because if I do..’

Last year I had an epiphany of sorts..I was always one who said the Ohs I could never..

I woke up one day and said..

Why Not..

Why Not indeed.

And so I did. I started doing the Nevers, yes sometimes failing, but try try trying again, and you know what? I have had successes…Go Me.

Because you see, God has written all over me in Colour. He has written the Good and the Possible, the Creative and the Extraordinary..

We CAN do things,

We just have to try.

Gifts and Treasures are inherent within us..the tools are all there, the ideas and the mullings..

So put some pen to paper, some paint on the brushes, the words in your mouth, the kindness in your hands, and come out of your Box.

You’ll be glad you did..

I know I am😁

My Momma Says So..

My Momma taught me well, she always had a theme with old adage attached, one of them being ‘Never Give Up’ and that I had a ‘Backbone of Steel’ I love that, and it’s been true of me most of my days.

They called me Andrea, a woman of Strength, Courage and Might, apparently that is what my name means..I love that too.

Life has certainly had its challenges, and I would like to say I have navigated these places well..but to be honest I’ve fumbled and jumbled and mumbled, at times have sobbed in frustration..

But..I’ve never given up. (It’s a mantra to me..Thank you Mummy)..’You got this, dust yourself off, hearts just bruise and bruises heal, you are strong, you will get through, straighten your steely backbone’

I laugh as I say I am tough, I have to remind myself that actually I AM tough..I come from a long long line of tough women, my Girlies are strong and resilient too..I’m grateful for that. We can appear soft and vulnerable, but peel that aside, peep inside, and our armour glistens. 

You know what MY secret is? I know my weaknesses, I know my soft spots, what trips me up, and what my failures look like.

And that’s ok, I don’t dwell there. 

I have great backup..haha!! 

I have faith in God, He is so much bigger than my difficulties. I trust Him, I can hide under the Shadow of The Almighty and be safe, under His wings I can find refuge..

For a bit, for a while.. to regather and restore.

I’m never left to do this thing called life alone. Phew. 

So Life, bring it on, I got this. My Momma says so..

Spit and Polish.

Who even polishes their shoes anymore anyway?

Well, quite a few people actually…my Daddy being one of them. He proudly tells me that he has had his favourite pair of brogues for thirty five long years..Thirty Five Years?! Whaaaat?! Apparently the key to their longevity is in the lost art of  Shining Shoes..

Look at this picture of ‘the tools of the trade’ we have the cloths, the brushes, the polish, and sundry other sprays and potions, all in the Little Red Basket that Dad has had as long as I can remember..ha ha, marvellous!!

It was my Dad who taught me how to polish my own shoes..I was about ten years old and he had bought me my own little kit, sans Red Basket, before I went for the first time to boarding school in the U.K..

It has its own ritual, this polishing and buffing business, almost a science behind the magical transformation of dirty old scruffy shoes (which mine definitely were) into a thing of beauty..First you dip the Polish On Brush into that stinky goo (not too thickly) and scrubble the polish into all the nooks and crannies of the leather..then you use the Polish Off Brush to bring up the shine, back and forth, back and forth, front and around and back and around. Never forget that yellow cloth to finish the deed and which sustains the gleam..

Dad says the appearance of your footwear ‘maketh the man’ and according to my ex Navy father, ‘you can tell a lot about a person by the state of their shoes’ 

Oh dear. ( as I tuck my feet away)

In this throw away world where we now live, I think we should bring back, or a least revisit the Old Ways to some I’ve been asking random strangers of a certain age, whether they still shine their shoes.. The majority of people said a resounding No!! Especially those Military Lot who had to thoroughly spit and polish daily to pass inspection of their fearsome and exacting superiors.. they all wear (smart) throw away shoes. 

I get it. Yes I do, I had my own exacting superiors in the form of black~ habitted Nuns to impress, as I scrubbed those brown little Mary Janes on a Sunday night. That’s why I wear FlipFlops now, and tatty Biker Boots in the cold Canadian winters. My rebellious heart whispers loudly, ‘No Spitting and Polishing for me’. 

Until now that is.

Those Biker Boots may need a little loving on, although I have just met THE nicest Shoe Shiner Man in the airport today who showed me his Ritual of the Polish. I promised him my patronage, next time around.

Oh to be Noble..

What is it to be Noble?

I think everyone has a little nugget of The Noble in them..Sometimes it is hidden and untapped, but once in a while you meet someone who wears The Noble like an invisible crown, that which is seen by the world yet unseen by the wearer..

It is a fine word, not one that is used often these days..but that doesn’t mean that The Noble is not alive and well..

It makes people stand out, and for onlookers it causes them to admire, possibly even to be inspired and to seek a greater height…A yearning for nobility.

Occasionally it’s a circumstance that unleashes The Noble. An unconscious standing in the gap, the unquestionable rising to the occasion and giving into a situation a sacrificial offering..most times though, it’s a lifestyle, a conscious choice to always be seeking a higher way, a laying down of self  Every. Single. Day. Being aware of the Crown.. a lifting of the head so the crown doesn’t fall..

One doesn’t have to be chosen or to be rich or beautiful to wear the Crown of Nobility. I’ve seen it on the very poor, the very ugly, and the very unchosen. Oh that Crown looks magnificent on The Verys…it brings tears to my eyes, my breath gets caught and quite quite taken away..

I think we should call out the Noble in each other, especially if it is hidden. It peeps out of nooks and crannies, shy but inquisitive.

To be Noble is to be worthy, generous, honourable, virtuous and magnanimous..that’s what my dictionary says anyway, but to see The Noble lived out is stunning and humbling and something to be coveted..

Let’s go Dutch..

I like the Dutch, yup, I kinda wanna be Dutch.. 

I have many many Dutch friends, all slightly nuts, but maybe our crazy draws us together in solidarity or something akin to that.

 They all have blond hair, or their children do, and they seem to have many many children..they are all mighty tall, at 5ft 8 as a woman, I never feel like a giant in the land of the very small made, it’s refreshing and cathartic hanging out with the very tall, almost makes me feel petite, which is a nice change in my world.

Dutch Folks tend to clan together and become quite loud and party like, which to be honest, is slightly overwhelming in a thrilling way.. as you become family very quickly if you smile a lot, and pretend to understand the Dutchlish bantered around. Games they love, and will sit for hours roaring at each over DutchBlitz or the like, good naturedly teasing and joking and laughing and laughing..loudly.
They are Happy People and I like Happy People, they make me happy back. I like crazy, loud, tall, blond, Dutch speaking people very very much.. 

They eat weirdish foods such as rollmops  (pickled herring) and pickled eggs and their fries with mayo (huh, odd, very odd) and strange things for breakfast (rusks with chocolate sprinkles anyone?) they also eat the delicious, like Dutch Baby Pancakes and Dutch Apple Bread. Oh! And those Dutch Croquettes, to DIE for!! Ever tried the Stroopwafels? Cookie sandwich with caramel filling, not for the faint of heart, or diabetics..

They all have Green Thumbs and fingers and toes..those Tulips? Yep, the Dutch.

Small country, huge impact on the world in general. 

Holland, I love your people, I love your wooden clogs and your Delft plates, your beautiful linens, your canals and windmills. Not forgetting your cheeses, the Edam with the red skin, my Grandpa Sam’s very favourite, he liked it with his homemade elderberry wine. 

Now I want to go back to The Netherlands for a visit, and go and buy me some clogs..