I’m living normal, going to gym, doing my own shopping in my sweaty running kit and bright pink takkies. I’m reading the specials and hunting for birthday gifts for yet another child growing up faster than my camera can catch the light bouncing off of him. Over the sound system comes the song, Butterfly Kisses, and my eyes fill up at the little white flowers caught up in the hair of another daughter growing up so fast. But I’m living normal, swallowing my tears and pushing my

Where do I begin? From having to move to a bigger venue, to having to open the doors early due to the sheer press of the crowds, people spilling through the doors of the auditorium like a flood, 1500+ ladies filling the 900-seater in minutes, sitting on the floor and in the aisles and still overflowing out the doors and into the foyer. The atmosphere was electric - expectant and thick with faith. To preach was an experience I will never forget. I found myself whispering to Go

We are home. The make-up on my face, the self-sufficiency on my shoulders, the girding of my abdomen in anticipation of a blow... I allow all of it to fall to the floor as I sink into my hips, and breathe shallow. It feels like the uphill climb is over. And we have made it without dropping anything on the way. We have dragged our daughter up the hill, with all her faculties in tact. We have arrived at the top with our health, our marriage, and our children. We are not done, b

I went silent on you after we arrived home on Friday - distracted partially by gratitude, partially by grief. Gratitude, because every doorway Kiara walks through is a milestone we couldn’t count on. Gratitude with being home myself, as I am freshly aware of the beauty and peace of the place. As I look around me it seems like a garden washed by spring rain: familiar and yet new; the beautiful outshining the imperfect. Grief, because I enter my husband’s world, and realise how

“If they don’t let us go home tomorrow, I’m seriously gonna scream!” Kiara is grinning as she says it, but it’s a true word spoken in jest. At least, she wishes it were true - in reality, she’ll calmly accept whatever the doctor says is best. Sometimes it’s frustrating having self-control. It would be more fun to lose it! Tomorrow is Rourke’s birthday. He’ll be turning ten. When asked by friends what he wants for his birthday, he’s said for weeks, “I want my sister home.” We’

I always wanted to find a man who would walk five hundred miles and five hundred more because he wanted to be the man who walked five thousand miles to fall down at my door. I wanted passion and romance and the utter devotion that would show the world how worthy I was of sacrificing for. Then I met Richard. Pragmatic. Sensible. Unlikely to do something silly for the sake of showing off anything to the world. He was looking for a partner in life from a young age. We were only

I let my daughter go. I let her go day after day. Right from the first time they wheeled her into surgery, I turned around and walked out of the hospital doors, and went home. I relistened to my voice notes from those first days, telling our family and friends what was happening. I sound so calm. So measured. I hardly sound like I’m fighting at all. Why is it that others could pray for my daughter, and I had hardly any words? Why is it that others had the stamina to stay up a

“Kiara, you’re the leading news story on News24 this morning. People are amazed at what God has done for you. Even the president might have heard your name!” She racks her disordered brain to see if she can remember his name. “Does it start with ‘K’?” When I remind her it’s ‘Cyril Ramaphosa’ she smiles and says we should send him some shoes. I try not to look concerned that she seems to be so muddled, but then she reminds me that last term she read a news story that President

Today is Sunday. I’m a pastor. And I love Sunday’s. I love Sunday’s because it’s the day when we all get together. And they’re always good. But I didn’t know if I had the emotional energy to be with people today. I wanted to go be with my friends at Anthem Church and worship my incredible God, who has shown His great compassion to my family in rescuing my little girl from what I am increasingly hearing from the medical fraternity was certain death, but I didn’t know if I coul

It’s hard not to do cartwheels down the hospital passage. I couldn’t suppress a few skips and jumps. My ballerina is pointing her toes on both feet. She can write her name with both hands. Can you?! Her writing is shaky and spelling unsure, but she pushes on, unperturbed for now. I offer her a few familiar books and she grabs an old favourite and begins to devour it. “Can you understand all the words?” She smiles and nods. She’s holding it in her own hands, clumsily at first,

One of my favourite things to do with Kiara when she was a newborn baby was to place my finger in her soft little hand and feel her squeeze it. I remember my sister, who had been studying baby development, telling me that was just a reflex. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” she said, “because she won’t always squeeze your finger.” She was wrong, of course, because Kiara is very affectionate and loves touch, so even though she lost the reflex after a few weeks, she would still squeez

As I cleaned my makeup off tonight I looked into the mirror and wondered, “Does this face look like the face of a mother who might lose her daughter?” I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know what the next minute holds. And sometimes Fear threatens to overwhelm me, creeping in like a thief. I can smell it. It makes my jaw ache and my heart squeeze. But I breathe because His breath is in my lungs. And as I breathe, slower and deeper, Fear senses His Presence, and slinks