It’s Easter morning: The hot cross buns are in the oven, your coffee has been brewed and you breathe in the crisp autumn morning. The family leave an aroma of excitement after the hunt for chocolate has swept across the quiet early morning dew. You stop to take it all in for just a few extra minutes, before you’re all wrapped up to go church. The doorbell rings. Who could be visiting right NOW, it’s Easter Sunday? You hastily pick up strewn debris before you open the door. And there he stands; it’s Jesus. Jesus has come for Easter.
A day to celebrate love. You could either be the sceptic, the soppy or the single. We chatted to three women with three different perspectives on this “day of love” (or not so much), and followed their thought processes. It became a fruitful exercise in what it meant for each of them to submit their
Christmas marks the best time of years, it fueled with goodness and cheer. We can't get enough of the all the good, fun things Christmas has to offer. Danger! Be warned of Christmas. That just sounds slightly mad. Do you know what I am talking about? Probably not, what could be wrong or
The Christmas bustle has begun. And it begins to catch up with us in the busyness of life. Our focus is slowly starting to set itself on a new course of activities. And sometimes it’s a welcome distraction after a busy, tough year. The activities, in all honesty, spur in me a bridled
Ditch the vampire masks, devil pitch forks and ghoulish cloaks (let’s be honest our children don’t really like them anyway), and bring out the torches, fairy lights and glow sticks to experience Halloween differently this year. After all, as Christians, we are all children of the light, children of the day (1 Thessalonians
by Nicole Cameron It's tip toeing ever so slowly into our culture. It's not long now. It's slowly creeping up on us, as plastic orange pumpkins and ghoulish masks will soon start to make their way onto retailer’s shelves. It’s time to weigh up this “tricky” tradition – how do we navigate our
by Shirley Emms It’s a tiny bag. Not much bigger than a lunch bag. Held together with a candy stripe string. Cozied up with hessian, it carries 12 cards, 12 decorations, 3 letters and 2 books (@just R425 a bag, you pay once and have a lifelong tradition). There’s nothing magical inside, but
I look out my window and see a horde of zombies coming down the road. Granted, they’re mostly under three foot tall, and the screams are those of overexcited children, but their costumes are ghoulish enough to frighten my two-year old, who takes cover close to me but watches on in morbid fascination.
I don’t know about you, but don’t you find Easter, birthdays, Christmas, baptisms seem to arrive in your schedule like a leopard hovering in the veld, and then pounce the day has come. I find myself chasing my tail, conducting the masses like a drill sergeant, plagued by the right gift, the right