I burritoed my boy in a blue towel after splashing in the shallows. My last mouthful of wine: sandy, still sweet, rich. After the colours sank lower, lower, now beneath the horizon, we pointed at stars, and I couldn’t find the Southern Cross anymore. I settled for the Big Dipper, saddened that I had forgotten how to find my glowing arrow that for twenty five years had pointed me home. 

In 2019, I wrote a written piece called The Table. it was my way of processing what God had been teaching me through the previous couple of years, and it became somewhat of an altar that I would revisit to reposition my heart. these words helped me keep soft toward God, open to his help, remembering the gospel that not only saves me in eternity, but brings me to close to the Saviour himself, today.