News

So, I speculated recently on Facebook that I had some exciting news.

It's not pregnancy.

It's not a new pet.

Are you ready?

Hold your breath

...

We are moving.

Not to Adelaide, Pinnaroo, Jakarta or even house.

We are moving here.

www.samiati.com

Yes, I went out and did what all the cool kids do and bought a domain name. And I'm starting a new journey that I never thought I would: I've changed Blogging platforms from Blogger to Wordpress. It's going to be a bit tough because honestly I've tried many times before and I couldn't quite stand Wordpress, so I'm diving in at the deep end. I'm not sure that I'm entirely happy with the layout and everything yet, so be patient with me chopping and changing until I feel satisfied.

If you click the about section of my new blog you will learn why I use the alias Samiati.

so for continued enjoyment of this blog, you will need to change your RSS feeds, bookmarks or whatever you've started using since Google Reader shut it's doors.

See ya on the flip side.

(Oh, and I'll redirect this blog to samiati.com ... when I can work out how.

Made for more.

Ever since I can remember, I've been the fat kid. I always felt like I was the biggest in my class all through primary and high school. I was never the athletic kind, and really struggled to keep up in PE classes. My self esteem was pretty much at zero. I'd like to turn back the clock and tell my teenage self that I wasn't as disgustingly fat as I thought I was.

As long as I remember I've struggled with emotional eating. And when I say emotional, it didn't matter the emotion. I tried a few different diets, lasted on Weight Watchers for a week. I've been to many different gyms, in fact I joined a new one this week. The core issues always happened when I was alone, or placed in a testing environment where I would let myself go with foods with salty and sweet and processed goodness that would call my name.

I always tried my hardest at the gym every Monday night only to jeopardise my efforts to lose weight and centimetres by eating something in secret every week. 

Then I picked up this book called Made to Crave by Lysa Terkeurst. To be honest, when it comes to weight loss, there's a lot on the market, and it's a big industry for making money - from 12 week programs, to gyms, to protein shakes. And while often these things work for some (heck, I've seen amazing results from people I know!), I am yet to find one that deals so deeply with the emotional and spiritual issues arising from the vicious cycle of weight loss programs and the "I'll start again Monday" mentality.

I'd never thought as food as an 'idol'. Now before you get all "woaaah that's a bit too deep, heavy and spiritual" we need to assess what an 'idol' is. Honestly, this book will probably not make as much sense to you if you've never struggled with emotional eating. But for me, I had subconsciously made food into an idol. I turned to food, crappy food, into something I searched for joy, comfort and celebration in, when as a Christian, I should definitely place my those things in God! The first step for me to make a step in the right direction was to identify this was really what was going on in my heart - food was too big a priority. 

Made to Crave has equipped me with ways to do battle with the core issues of my weight loss, which are beyond numbers, all while finding my identity isn't bound by what I see on the scales.

I have so much to say about this book, but I'll leave it up to you to find out more. The real journey has begun.

Offspring

Offspring is one of those shows I always wanted to watch but never did. Somehow I will start watching it, but it must be just on at the wrong time and I need to shower, or attend to Luke, and somewhere in the midst of my good intentions we end up watching the SBS world news. That said, it has been one of those shows that you can follow just by watching the shorts for it on TV (and, yep, I say 'shorts' like my Grandma would).

Despite not watching, and half watching through the shorts, it would be impossible for you to not know that one of the main, obviously very loved, characters died in the series last week. My news feeds and radio were filled with Offspring Offspring Offspring, everywhere I turned.

And obviously it was on the radio this morning as I drove to MOPS. There was some really sad music, along with some pieces of audio from the show. Now I have friends who would absolutely lament over this show and the events of the past two weeks. But as I was driving, I had to turn it off for the fear of becoming a blubbering mess. And. I. Don't. Even. Watch. The. Show...

What I heard was something like this:

Nina (yes, I know the blonde girl is called Nina): "I can't do this! I'm scared! I'm scared I won't be able to love the baby!"
Other character in the show (who I have no idea the name of, nor can describe because it was on the radio): "I'll love the baby for you... until you can love the baby... I'll love it for you..."

(well, that was the general gist of what I heard, then I turned it off cos it was ... intense).

What made me emotional? Well, obviously it's really, really sad. And it's a sad story, and awful circumstance. This heavily pregnant lady has just lost someone who would be a rock for her in her new adventure in parenthood. Maybe it's because I could somewhat relate to the fear of not loving my baby because I loathed being pregnant (truth be known, I loved Luke the moment I set eyes on him).

I'll love for you...

This statement I think is what really got the floodgates going. When Nina was so weak and vulnerable, she had someone there, ready to stand in the gap.

I'll love for you, when you can't love.
I'll be strong for you, when you are weak.
I'll be there for you, when you feel alone.

Who can you love for today, who has lost hope? Who can you be strong for, who has nothing left to keep them going? And who can you be there for, who truly needs you.

Be the miracle.

Travelling buddy.

I'm slowly getting over my fear of flying.

The latest trip home required me to fly from Melbourne to Adelaide, then Mildura to Melbourne. It's safe to say that boarding calls are my weakness. While I'm nothing like I was, there is still an element of fear there. But instead of my mind going a thousand miles an hour, it's my body. My mind is sound, my body... speeds up it's metabolism.

While I went to Adelaide with Hendrik, the stretch home was just Luke and I. I have never flown with Luke solo before so I was a bit anxious about how I would cope. I think that of all my anxiety - I'm scared of being anxious and what the anxiety will cause me to do the most. (Can anybody relate? Please tell me I'm not alone here).

When we arrived at the airport, Mum took Luke in her arms while I dragged the case to the check-in counter. Checking-in at Mildura is so much less of a hassle because it is such a small airport. I think this helps with the anxiety. But then this happened...

The lady asked for my name, and then said, "Oh, that's right, I want to talk to you!" (that usually means something bad, right?). I had preselected seats for Luke and I in seat 5A up the front and next to the window. She proceeded to tell me that this was a pretty full flight and that in seat 5A there would undoubtedly be someone sitting next to me, but was happy to put me right up the back at 26A where I'd have two seats (small plane) to myself. I thought I'd cope better with the flight if I was closer to the front, but for the extra space and not fearing judgement because of travelling with Luke (did I mention a lady refused to sit next to us on the way to Adelaide because we had a 'baby' - who slept the whole way).

What a helpful and nice and thoughtful lady. Until..

"now, love, do you have proof of Luke's age?"

No. Nor had I ever been asked for it.

"Well you are getting him on for free!" She said in a really nice-yet-horribly-sarcastic tone of voice.

I explained to her that on previous occasions I had never needed ID for Luke (because we usually have the luxury of pre-check in or we're on a flight that requires a passport) and that I had just driven 3 hours, I repeat 3 hours so I could get to an airport to get home to Melbourne, where Luke's passport was, and that I'd have to come back on Tuesday so Hendrik could post it. Luckily after a bit of nice-arguing she let us off with a warning. Fun for an already anxious flyer.

When we finally said our fair-well's to Nanna and were on the flight and taxi-ing to the runway, I tried to engage Luke with car noises. As the plane roared down the runway Luke clung to me whimpering. The people looked at me with an "awwww" look.

When the seatbelt sign was off I removed Luke from the red infant seatbelt and let him look out the window.

"Waaaaow!"

I put him in the vacant seat next to me (winner!) and handed him a book. He read it almost copying me as I read the copy of Voyager in the seat pocket. We both finished the books and put them away. Luke sat in the seat and took my hand. Usually he takes my hand to use it as a teething ring. I waited for the bite, but instead he just sat there, drearily, with my hand in his. It was quite possibly one of the most special moments in my life.

You have fears, I have fears. But we're here together. I'm here for you Mum. We're in this together.

Country Kids

You probably already know this, but I grew up in the country. Many people assume that I was brought up in Bendigo because that's where I associate a lot of my fun times and friendship groups. Although Bendigo is country, think even more country. My home town is seven hours away from Melbourne. It's literally in the middle of nowhere. It's three hours from Adelaide, and three hours from Mildura - which are both the nearest airports making the little sleepy town feel incredibly isolated.

Leading up to this trip I wasn't really looking forward to going back in time (literally). Last time I was in Pinnaroo (the name of my home town, by the way, if you feel the need to google) I felt almost bored and did mainies (a South Australian term for driving up and down the same street - in Victoria I believe they call them blockies) looking for someone to talk to. I had planned this trip when there happened to be a lot happening back in Melbourne, and I was absolutely kicking myself about coming back to the sticks when there was so much I would be missing out on in the big smoke.

On Tuesday morning I drove down to the main street. Pinnaroo, like most small country towns in South Australia only has one street with most of the businesses on it. And when I say one street, there are only shops on ONE side of the street. And of these shops, most are empty now. As I turned the corner in my Mum's 4WD to see what I could find, I noticed that Pinnaroo was not the small bustle it once was. There weren't people joyfully walking up and down the street as though it was some cheesy musical. (Okay, that never happened, although the weather would be perfect for leaping from the Post Office to the Supermarket singing The Hills Are Alive). Pinnaroo wasn't the Pinnaroo I left in Year 12, in the midst of the rise of the Potato industry. Pinnaroo was... dead.

As I continued to cruise around the streets, disguised as my Mum in a car designed for scrub-bashing, I couldn't help but notice that nearly every third house was either empty, falling apart or for sale. Pinnaroo, although isolated and often cursed as a hole has, I believe, so much hidden potential. Someone needs to get a reality show like The Block to come and do up some houses, and show how the town can live. I know this is easier said than done coming from someone who even refuses to live in Adelaide.

The last time I was in Pinnaroo was easter. Luke had just started walking but only just. Now having a sixteen month old proved challenging, but also a lot of fun. Being in Pinnaroo for the last week made me relive my childhood, and reminded me how valuable living here was when I was growing up, and how much I would love to empart that for Luke. Pinnaroo is the type of place I would love to bring up my children, but not my teenagers.

There are things about Pinnaroo I miss. Firstly, I miss my Mum's warm log fire. I miss the fact that although it's the same temperature as Melbourne, the air is different. You can just put on a jacket and go and play outside. I miss doing mainies and seeing that somebody is home and dropping in for five minutes but staying for an hour. I miss the fact that nothing changes here.

I've realised that we are two worlds apart - Melbourne and Pinnaroo. Luke will forever have the fun contrast of where Daddy is from (Jakarta, 20 million people) and where Mummy is from (Pinnaroo, less than 600 people). Life is so different here. In Melbourne our life is indoor play and shopping centres. In Pinnaroo, life is making mud pies and visiting neighbours with a new lamb.

It has been an absolute delight watching Luke doing the things that I would have done at his age in the country. While Melbourne increases in population and rapidly changes, and people leave this little town, I am comforted by the fact that things don't change as rapidly here and that this lifestyle will still be here in years to come. I know that moving back isn't on the cards for us, nor do I really want it to be. But I need to remember where I've come from and grow from there. I believe that living in Melbourne is where I'm supposed to be for this season in my life - that season could be 2 years or 20. I want to endeavour to bring what I can of Pinnaroo back home. I want to endeavour to build friendships like you just do here. I want to endeavour to spend more time outside. I want community, a word so loosely thrown around in different circles I'm involved in, to 'come back' with me to Melbourne. Let's look after each other, and better yet, let's get messy.

Sweet Sixteen

My baby is sixteen months old today. My baby. 

It's such a wonder to watch him grow. Wonder as I'm sometimes confused as to how he comes up with some of the things he does.

Finger foods are the biggest thing at the moment. When I hand him a slice of apple he says "key". I've been at a loss to work out where he got this from, so I googled how to say thank you in all of the languages in the world. The closest I could find was in Afrikaans which is dankie.

Luke loves shoes more than his mother. I am the most un-feminine woman in the world when it comes to elegant shoes, having a total collection of about five. I've never got the whole I'm-superficial-I-like-shoes-whatever movement. Luke however, has an obsession with shoes. It's his new favorite word. Shoes mean we are going out. Shoes mean better sounds when I run across the floorboards. The expressions he makes when he talks about shoes make me smile. Shoes! In a high pitched voice. Oh, shoes! In a voice of adoration.

At sixteen months I'm still breastfeeding. There's various reasons for this, one of the main ones being I can't be bothered going through the process of stopping. In Indonesian the children say "nen nen" for a feed (well, the ones old enough), so we have always associated nen nen with feeding. Often Seseme Street seems to be the queue for nen nen. Luke shouting nen nen in desperation and bringing me the purple U-shaped 'nursing' pillow.

Luke is learning to count. I blame this on Seseme Street, Play School and Hendrik. Okay, blame is a strong word, because it's wonderful. Except he only knows the number two. He counts everything. But it's just two, two, two... TWO! (How many is that, Luke?)

We are a bilingual household. Hendrik and I don't notice until someone comes over for dinner that we speak in two, sometimes three languages in one sentence. The main language is English due to us both being lazy. We have a lot of associations with Indonesian in our house, one being mandi which means bath/shower. While Luke doesn't say mandi, whenever I say it he runs to the bath and waits in anticipation for me to turn the tap on.

We love our mandi so much that we just can't wait to jump in!

This kid is the sweetest thing that has ever happened to me. I really struggled in the beginning, and that was based on the fact that I was worried about everybody else around me mothered, and that books told me that I was doing it wrong. One night Hendrik said something that changed everything. He came home after 7 to find me crying on the couch and Luke asleep in my lap after my failed attempts at the cry-it-out method. He said, in this house, it's our rules. And since I have done my own thing, and found my own standard to live up to, all of those strategies are just that. Strategies, not ways of life. He is growing up to be such a marvellous little boy, and many days it is he looking after me as much as it's the other way around.

We've noticed he is starting to do what we do. I think I must cross my arms a lot because he's started to do that a lot. But what I'm hoping is a reflection of how I treat him is found in the incident of the sore knee this morning.

This morning as I had just finished my cup of tea, I spun around on the chair to get up but knocked it really hard on the corner of the desk. I'm sure you can agree that in those first initial seconds the pain is worse than childbirth. I moaned in pain but tried not to make too much of a big deal as Luke was metres away watching Playschool. Seeing that I was distressed, Luke walked over to me and wrapped his arms around me. I can only hope that he did this because of how I treat him.

It's then I realised that our kids will reflect us, even at sixteen months. The truth is in the early days I would struggle to just love. I would let him cry and then have a meltdown coated in guilt. I felt like I'd given in to the un-mindset of if you don't let him cry he'll get too dependent on you. I look at myself on a personal level and see how much has changed in these sixteen months - not only in my own ideas about bringing up a little one, but in my character and attitude too.

So, even when I don't feel like it, I bite my lip and I show him love.

The time to start investing in his character is now. 

The Tree Diaries

When I was at uni studying teaching I was told If you fail to plan, plan to fail. As much as this became a mantra that I never seemed to play out when I was actually in my profession, I think that this just isn't true.

I've watched people have plans. More than two of my friends have gone on world trips, then came home and tried for a baby. It is sensible if that's your thing, actually. I had planned to go for a winter visit to see my inlaws which I cancelled because the additional cost of bringing Luke (who is still under 2, by the way) brought the cost up of a cheap airfare through the roof. But yes, if any of your married pals are jetsetting off soon, watch out for the bun-in-the-oven announcement shortly after!

I had plans. Luke wasn't in them. Well, he was, just after I had gone to Amsterdam to frolic in Tulips and gotten an ongoing teaching job and enough money for a holiday house in Bandung. And then I found myself pregnant before I really had anticipated. It wasn't in the plan so early in my marriage. I heard the words in my mind If you fail to plan, you plan to fail. These words resounded in my mind while I was under the impression I had just ruined my life (if anything, I have found it).

Perhaps if I felt amazing during pregnancy I would have felt better about having a baby. So, today I wanted to present to you, the Tree Diaries. These four trees played an important part in my pregnancy...

Exhibit A: Park near my house

I spent most of my spare time in the first timester sleeping. When I look back on it now, it not only was to help me cope with the exhaustion and morning sickness, but also to cope with the feelings that weighed me down.

One particular day, my husband, who has enough energy to climb Ayers Rock after walking there from Melbourne I swear, told me he was going for a walk to the local shopping centre if I would like to come. Although feeling a bit guilty, I declined. About 45 minutes later my phone woke me up - Hendrik telling me he had a surprise for me, and to meet him at the park.

From memory, I think I felt that awful I actually drove. He presented me with a punnet of strawberries and two of those chocolate frozen sundaes. In fact I clearly remember them being Weight Watchers brand. (I was pregnant, come on!)

After about two strawberries and and a spoon of sundae, I felt the sudden urge to vomit. I got up off the picnic rug I had taken out of my trusty Toyota Corolla and headed for the nearest tree to vomit on.

I then proceeded to eat the rest of the sundae and a few more strawberries.

Exhibit B: Fountain Gate Shopping Centre

We decided to head off to watch the sequel to the Johnny English movie starring Rowan Atkinson. I had convinced Hendrik to go after making him watch the first one. In the car I felt queezy and Hendrik asked if we should just go back home. I assured him I would be fine.

As we walked past the ever so classy Fountain Gate Hotel en route to the cinema, I couldn't hold back anymore. I let go of Hendrik's hand and vomitted into the soil of the tree outside. Three women in mini skirts looked at me in disguist. I think they thought I was drunk, although It wasn't even 8pm. Hendrik asked if it would be best if we just went home. I grabbed his hand and dragged him into the cinema to buy a ticket (vomitting makes you feel better!) and closed my eyes in every action scene in the movie.

Exhibit C: Knox 'O-Zone'

In the colder weather, we like to visit a Japanese restaurant for Ramen at this shopping centre. After finishing a big bowl, with it's salty goodness that I craved during pregnancy, I suddenly felt like I wanted to vomit. I looked at the ceiling with tears in my eyes as I fought back the urge. Without saying anything I bolted out of the door and went in search of the non existant toilets. I found a tree, it sufficed the purpose.

Meanwhile Hendrik was apologetically explaining to the owner of the restaurant that their ramen is the nicest in Melbourne, but his wife is pregnant and has been throwing up quite a bit and to not take it personally. I stumbled back into the restaurant as the waiter gave me a cup of warm water.

Exhibit D: My Mum's garden

Big kudos to my high-tech Mum who took this photo and then sent it via Whatsapp. Well done!

When I was pregnant I had the urge to be home a lot. I managed to get home for the local Agricultural Show (and I really hope to take Luke this year!). I bought some doughnuts and probably ate most of them myself. We were heading out at night to go and watch the fireworks that had already started (lucky it's a small town). And yet again, I felt as though I needed to vomit. I asked my Mum to open the house she just locked because I needed the toilet to vomit and quick. She grabbed my shoulders and ushered me in the way of the ground laden with hay and small shrubs as I chucked my guts up. Luke doesn't like doughnuts.

...

I learnt two things through throwing up on trees.

1) There is no room in the world for tree enthusiasts. Every time I was caught photographing these trees I would get funny looks or sly remarks. Although when I took the picture of the first tree a Lady asked me, "so.. you're into the river red gum, eh?" and I explained that I was writing this piece and she actually thought that was really lovely.

2) These trees are still alive today. In fact, what surprised me when I went in search of all four, is that they are in even better condition to what I remember them. My vomit may have even provided good fertiliser for them.

Fail to plan, plan to fail.

The point of sharing all of my tree stories, is that sometimes life doesn't go to plan, and sometimes it can feel like life is vomiting on us. But who knows, maybe it will be great fertiliser for us to flourish from and more than likely, we'll live through it. And like the trees in my photos, I'm surprised at how well they have grown, lucious and green.

So whoever came up with that silly statement about planning and failure, perhaps when things don't go to plan, we can discover something beautiful and unexpected. I know I did.

Stay tuned for the Toilet Diaries coming soon.

Baptism

I love my church. I love being involved there, and plunging myself into changing lives, and in the meantime seeing mine be changed all over again.

Today, I was baptised. And the story goes a little like this.

The idea of getting baptised came from when the pastor did a sermon on 'belong' and it was about becoming a member of the church. I was a bit cynical about it, as I always have been when it comes to anything 'church'. I would last in a church for about two years before I would find something that seriously annoyed me and off I'd go and find somewhere else. I'm done with this lifestyle.

Back to becoming a member - I became a bit cynical because a requirement of me being a member would be to get baptised. I don't have a problem with being baptised. I had a problem with me being baptised. Again.

See, I was baptised almost twelve years ago at the young age of 15. It was a gutsy decision and a scary one, because usually people at my church got baptised as babies, so it seemed a bit scary me getting up and doing that in a small town. I was more 'christened' than dunked. That experience is still as relevant today as it was back then.

So back to membership, I could tick the box on baptism, but not on full-immersion baptism (which is where you get dunked). I got angry. But for some reason I was still intrigued and sent an email to the church asking what the go was. Their website stated that there's no reason to get baptised again, and I grabbed that with two hands, but the issue remained, I hadn't been baptised through immersion.

Weeks went by and nobody replied to my email. In one of the ministries I help in one of the ladies was talking about baptism and I said how I-hadn't-kinda-but-had-been-baptised. And as she looked at me in shock I quickly explained that what I had done 15 years ago should suffice. Then one of the other ladies told me that she had been baptised twice in the same circumstance. Okay. I'm listening. But no, not now, Sammy. We're in a meeting. Stay on track. So I bounced some emails between said friend and I and I started to see myself wonder...

Finally a pastor from church replied to my email. All it said was that he would like to chat to me about it. I ignored the email, but chatted to one of my bestest friends in all time, who put it like this. Would it be that bad of a thing for you to put down your pride and just do it? It cut me in a good way. Like a gormet sandwhich showing all it's delicious fillings. Okay, not quite. But it revealed something deep within me. I was full of pride. I thought, hey, I don't need to do this. I've already done it. I'm too good to do it.

One day I was at church in the middle of the week and I emailed said pastor saying that I was at church if he wanted to talk to me then - but as I go to a church of 4,000, I expected him to be pretty busy (hence why I was gutsy enough to send the email!). He replied and said to meet him at 2:30pm. So I went and slept on the couch with Luke in the parents room (don't tell anybody) until 2:30 rolled around.

It's funny talking with someone who you know who they are, but they don't know you. It turns out chatting with Pastor A was definitely worthwhile. He shared a lot about his background and it turned out that it was scarily similar to mine. He talked about the significance of immersion-baptism and the bible and it all made sense. He also said that anybody could baptise me, it didn't have to be a pastor. I said that I'd think about it, but as I drove down the freeway the decision felt more and more right. I was going to get baptised. But when?

So I strategically broke the news about my baptism to my lifegroup. A select few decided to come down to my end of town for doughnuts at the fantastic Krispy Kreme factory. I told them I had exciting news to share, but wasn't going to share with them until the following day when we all met up for Life Group. It was fun to watch as they all expected the 'exciting news' to be the expectation of a sibling for Luke. Ha. Sorry.

I broke the news to my lifegroup the following day, and asked one of my best friends, Esther, to baptise me. She put her hand on her heart, then on her hand, and looked at the ceiling and gasped for air. I then said, "sorry, did you want me to get on one knee?". I'm not sure if Esther was happy or scared...

After this I started getting nightmares. The night after I asked Esther I had a dream she got too scared and ran away, making the musician lady having to baptise me. And when she did I almost drowned. Whenever I thought about getting baptised my heart would stop and I felt like I couldn't breathe. This, I think, meant that I should do it all the more.

I filled in the form and handed back to Pastor A. He asked me to write a 200 word testimony. No problem, I'm a blogger! We went to the Great Ocean Road because Hendrik had some time off, but I couldn't bring myself to write it.

On Saturday after having a nap on the couch due to being so sick, I got on my computer, opened Word and began to type. 200 words was not enough. I had such a story to tell. Typically people get baptised when they are new Christians, not when they had been one for 12 years. I struggled on whether I should write about my experience 12 years ago, or why I had come to that decision now. I decided to write more about the here and now.

Sunday came around quickly. I slept in until 8:35 and was supposed to leave home by 9. Good luck with a Luke! I raced around and we left the house closer to 9:35 and drove in silence. I was scared yet there was an overwhelming sense of peace.

I got to church and waded through the hundreds of people in the foyer and told the lady at the front desk that I was there to be baptised. If you would have taken one look at me in my long red polka dot shirt, black leggings and Hendrik's over sized Crocs that I definitely wasn't leading the worship team.

The lady at the front desk asked for my name. She looked at her piece of paper and then looked back at me.

"But you're not Indonesian! I was expecting someone Indonesian. Your surname is Indonesian!"

I really wanted to reply with, "I AM Indonesian" but instead was a good girl and told the truth that my husband was Indonesian. She made the connection because she was Indonesian, so we conversed a bit in Bahasa as she lead me to the backstage where I found Pastor A, Esther, and everybody geared up and ready to go.

I was getting nervous but still felt peace and excitement. Pastor A went through what Esther had to do, which reminded me of my wedding day when Rev F was telling my Dad which hand to place into Hendrik's after I had walked down the aisle.

We went out and sang some songs and I tried to concentrate but my mind wandered. I looked behind me to see the auditorium eerily empty (usually you have to fight for a seat). I then noticed that half of the congregation must be on the stage in the choir that isn't usually there.

I was last to be baptised. After the worship we went behind and went to the backstage. I watched as the five people before me whizzed through their paragraph testimonies and suddenly my time was coming up way too quick and the page of 250 disguised as 200 words suddenly seemed way too much.

As the boy before me read out his testimony I stood on the step of the baptismal pool and felt the nice, warm water. After he was baptised I went down into the pool, kneeled down in the oh so lovely warm water and read out my prewritten testimony.

Hello Church. My name is Samantha, however I am more commonly known around here as Sammy. And I'm really sorry, I'm getting over a cold and I hope my voice doesn't die. If you had told me a month ago that I would be standing here, I would have told you you were dreaming. I was baptised in 2001 through ‘sprinkling’ but have yet to experience water baptism. The truth is I am such a cynical person. When I was exploring the idea of this baptism, I actually came up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t.

After confiding in some friends, one in particular said, “would it be that bad of a thing to let go of your pride and do it?” (Yeah, ouch!), Eventually I let go of my cynical attitude and decided to take this step of faith, however the question was when. I am good at putting things off, and usually I would ignore this and hope it go away.

I was pondering the story about Paul and Silas in jail in Acts 16, when the prison guard comes to believe in Jesus. In verse 33 it says “At that hour of the night the jailer took them and washed their wounds; then immediately he and all his household were baptized.” AT THAT HOUR! Why wait for the perfect time, when obviously it is now. So here I stand, plunging into Jesus. I’m getting baptised today because of Jesus, and he is my reason I am humbling myself and laying down my pride and cynical attitude today.

And with that, I was dunked. And unlike my dream, Esther and Pastor A's wife (GIRL POWER!) baptised me and I didn't drown. 

I wouldn't say it was an overwhelming spiritual experience, it is one that is still sinking in and as time goes by I am really feeling the impact of it in my life.

After getting out of my wet clothes after failing to hug somebody and saturating them, I went into the back room where a nice scottish guy met with me and said, "so, you're the cynical one!" and prayed for me.

Later on I went and shared with friends who were really encouraged by the whole morning. Luke gave me a big smile and ran towards me. Hendrik and Luke's smiles were the best and most loving things ever. 

It was such a blessing, and really I'd love to do it all again, but I think twice is enough :) Now the real adventure begins as I live out what baptism is really about - being a Jesus follower and changing the world.

Thank you to so many people who have walked in this journey, and a special thanks to Esther for taking the plunge with me!

Are you interested in baptism - click here!

Bin Night

So I think I have a problem. I crave the approval of others. I want to be liked by every body. I don't know if it's just me being human, and that we all have this inmost desire. If that is the case, a lot of people I know are doing a good job of hiding it with their "I don't care what you think" attitude.

I try to please everybody. And when I feel like I am letting somebody down, I get a great deal of anxiety. It's something I am learning how to let go, particularly after a good conversation with a friend last night. I realise that I have let my guard down, and ended up getting hurt, because of my constant need to feel accepted and loved by everybody.

This morning as we were driving to Church this verse in the bible actually came to mind. It's found in Matthew 10:14, and I remember it from the book Madness by Jossy Chacko (read it, amazing book!). It says, If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet. 

(Disclaimer: I do not often blog about the bible because I am often scared I will make something out of context and somebody will come after me with a pitchfork)

How many times do I try so hard to please somebody, how many times have I wasted my energy, how many times have I just wanted so much to want the approval of somebody, only to be let down, hurt and jealous. I know the answer is simple. Dust my feet, and move on.

And when I say that, I do not mean I completely write people out of my life. I don't mean I stop being a light. I don't mean I stop loving. I don't mean I be a complete cow to that party. No. In fact I still need to act like a decent human being. Undoubtedly there are going to be people in life who let me down, that I don't get along with, or can't get the approval of. No. Matter. What. If I am in a workplace and this happens I still need to be professional (oh, the perks of not working). It's not about being fake. It's about being human, and where applicable, professional.

I am loved. YOU are loved. Just not by everybody, and that's okay. Put your energy into loving where love is welcome, or where love has a chance. Don't waste time. Be wise. Guard your heart.

Once I actually got to church (late), we put Luke into Sunday School and waded through the crowd, knocking over a few people who were lost in a worship song as we scrambled for a seat. The pastor came up and quoted the message version of Galations 5:19-21

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalising everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. 

Have you noticed what I have hi-lighted here? This all relates to my constant wanting to be accepted by everybody! I was mind blown at how relevant this was for me.

The pastor stood next to two wheelie bins. One said "Garbage", the other said "recycle". He then unpacked each of these things, having them on big bits of paper, explaining them briefly and then throwing them in the bin. He kept repetitively saying, "in the bin, in the bin!"... it was such a powerful illustration. Well, it was for me, anyway.

He then unpacked the characteristics that God loves and put them in the recycling bin, found in Galations 5:22-23 (MSG):

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

And kind of like an orchard bearing fruit over and over, is the same concept recycling by reusing and reusing.

So, I guess today at church you could say I learnt that God loves recycling. I'm not going to chase after the constant need to feel loved anymore. Instead, I'll just love and see what happens. Peace.

(PS- if this post really floated your boat and you'd like to watch the sermon online, visit this website and eventually it will be put up online).

Breaking Up

We met through my mother. On our trips to the city every now and then my mum would visit him. She would order him from a young man with a pimply face, and my sister and I would fight over his delicious froth on top. I think this was much to my mothers disgust as she didn't get any of the froth. I tried him when I was a child, but he was too bitter for my sweet, childish tastes.

His name, coffee. And this was the start of our relationship.

In year twelve I learnt how to make an iced version of him. Two spoons of sugar, one of instant coffee, disolved in hot water, 80% milk and iced cream on top. Having finally having access to a year twelve room, I started having instant coffee with two sugars. There was nowhere nearby to have a latte or cappuccino in the city.

When I finally moved to Bendigo, a bigger place than home, to study, I learnt the joy of the store bought expresso. We started seeing each other a bit more. Sometimes I would treat myself to a cappuccino when out with friends at La Porchetta or Joe Joe's. Sometimes I would get a skinny latte in a paper cup at the university cafe (and then there was the milkshake phase, but that's another story).

One night I turned to him out of desperation. I was feeling the pressure for an about-to-become-overdue assignment and drank coffee. Lot's of coffee. Until I got the shakes and I couldn't concentrate - quite the opposite to what I needed.

A friend gently told me that I needed to some space and not see coffee for a while. There was a rebound though. She introduced me to Green Tea. Green Tea was gentle, and gave me the same happy feelings that coffee had given.

Every now and then I would see coffee. I remember going out with a group of friends and I saw him as a once-off. It was just casual, nothing romantic. But we reminisced about the good days together. My friend made me aware that, "you and coffee are best friends for going silly". It was true. I told coffee it was nice to catch up, and that I'd see him again. But I preferred to see him out with friends in a cafe than home alone from a jar of instant nescafe.

So many photos of our memories together

I then moved to a city where he was well known. I saw him from time to time, especially now I was studying again. But I only saw him every now and then and only in public. Living with some Chinese people I enjoyed some different forms of Chinese tea.

I got married and would regularly enjoy a pot of tea together with my husband. When I started working full time I would see coffee every day as I would drive to work. Soon I became addicted to him. I had a problem. I justified this problem with being able to work and buy a $3.50 cup of gold every morning (and even have a free one after I bought 5). The more demanding work became, the more I became addicted. This addiction came with me after I lost my job and started less stressful work. By this time I was pregnant with Luke and convinced myself that even though coffee tasted bad now, it would some how help me cope with the nausea.

When Luke was born I made a point of going out every day. I no longer saw green tea. I started seeing coffee every day, either walking to the local coffee shop or going out to Fountain Gate. Luke became a well known bub at the local.

But I formed an even bigger addiction. I invested too much money into coffee, but I do agree that part of this was helpful in preventing the constant feeling of isolation or PND. I have made lots of great friends in the local coffee shop. The problem is I had become so addicted that I couldn't let a day go by without drinking real coffee. This I guess comes with the sleepless nights that come with being a mother of a newborn and beyond.

Recently I was made aware that this relationship was getting addictive, but coffee was getting abusive. A week ago, before doing some shopping, I 'treated' (can't be a treat if I do it every day?) myself to coffee and proceeded to do some shopping. I had a lot of things to buy, so I pulled a shiny $2 coin out of my purse and stuck it into the shopping trolley (this is why I like Ikea - this concept doesn't exist!). I placed Luke into the 'seat' provided and set upon my way. I got through about a third of my list when I started to feel a funny sensation in my stomach. I told myself that it was nothing and proceeded to find baking powder.

all the signs were there

Standing in the egg aisle I felt the sensation getting stronger, and more painful. I knew I needed a toilet,
and fast. But unlike other times I'd gone shopping, I didn't have a pram, and I had only bought my phone and wallet - so gathering these and Luke to get myself to the nearest exit was one thing, but what about my shopping and shiny $2 coin in the trolley?

I hailed a young staff member and asked if he could mind my shopping because I needed to go to a toilet and quick. He surprisingly agreed and put my trolley aside in a closed check out lane, warning me that the toilets close at 4pm. It was 3:50.

I grabbed Luke, my phone and purse and powerwalked to the toilet (running might speed up the process in the wrong way). I went for the womans set of cubicles, sat with a sigh of relief and let Luke stand on the floor (what else to do?). I tried desperately to entertain Luke, all while groaning in pain. He was quite interested in pulling all the toilet paper out or licking the silver walls.

The janitor, who has the same name as a certain Korean-pop sensation opened the door and called out to see if anybody was still in, to which I desperately called out "I am! Won't be long!" (I have a fear of being locked in a toilet which stems from a certain childhood event that I'm sure my sister can recall). Luke was amazed by the flushing water. I proceeded to wash my hands, and Luke's, and find the nice man in Coles who saved my trolley, continuing on with my big shop as my stomach felt empty of all contents.

This was not the first time something like this had happened. This same abuse from coffee also happened on Mothers day, and coffee also abused my husband on this same day. We were simultaneously in this same 'situation'.

So I decided to stop seeing coffee. I thought it would be a good financial commitment as well. I have started seeing tea again, but not just Green. Earl Grey and White, along with the occasional Brisbane breakfast. I realised that for the amount I spend going out for coffee I could buy a cube of tea from T2 a week which would last me three months. The benefits of drinking tea are obvious.

So this week I have stopped seeing coffee, but I think to help with the break up has been Luke sleeping a bit better. But today I relapsed. I fell into the arms of coffee again, as he assured me he wouldn't abuse me at a CHURCH! But I realised he is abusive anywhere. Our relationship is unhealthy, and it has to end. Wish me luck.

May Carabox

I think my washing machine is broken. I hand chose this washing machine because my ex-landlord had it in the share house I was renting in when I first moved to Melbourne. It was my first experience with a front-loader and I was in love. 

Our washing machine still washes but it seems to be taking forever. The 28-minute cycle seemed to take over 45 minutes. This similar scenario, two weeks ago, caused a frantic call to Qantas as we found ourselves stuck in traffic, which may not have had to make if the washing machine was true to it's word.

So sitting here, waiting for the washing machine, watching Sesame Street with Luke, there is suddenly a loud knock on the door. I don't agree with Australia Post just leaving random packages on my doorstep when I don't have a fence to block it from the view of potential thieves. Being an ex-Postie I often complain about the standard of the postal service here in the city. Like an old grandma I declare that things were better back in the country.

But back onto the special delivery - a CaraBox from the lovely Katy who blogs here!

(Do you want to be part of June CaraBox? Click here!)

After tweeting a really goofy morning photo of myself to Katy, I sat Luke in his high chair to share the excitement.

It's a fun thing to do with Luke at his age. He's into a lot of textures, here he is feeling the cardboard and wondering what's in the box.

BUBBLE WRAP!

And inside the bubble wrap were five little parcels wraped so nicely in brown paper and gorgeous woven string and washi tape! I kind of just wanted to not open them and gaze at their intricate gorgeousness.

I told Luke that we would open them one by one, starting with the smallest. But first, we shall open the card that said Samantha, You Are Special. It contained a really lovely message from Katy and made me grin from ear to ear.

We opened the first package and inside was some gorgeous jewellery from a market up north! Oh, by the way, the theme of this months CaraBox was to try and get things from the region the sender was from. I love purple! And I love these!

The second package had some awesome, lovely nail polish. In this picture I am holding the nail polish and if you look closely you can see some chipped, worn off nail polish from my pedicure at The Biggest Morning Tea - so just what I needed! Thank you!

Luke wasn't so interested in the nail polish. He is a boy, after all. Here he is pictured trying to pull the table cloth off.

The next package had a face mask. I haven't done one of these in ages! Funnily enough a zit formed on my nose yesterday - so I think I will use this and refresh very soon! How awesome is the packaging of the mask!

The parcels were getting bigger now. I opened them up to find a pair of DESIGNER garden snippers! (I can't spell their real name!) And, yes, gardening is going to be twice the fun and twice and stylish. I was so excited when I opened these, Luke was a bit worried. 

Our morning had already been filled with so much sunshine-in-a-parcel, but it hadn't ended yet. I carefully opened the last parcel and handed Luke the string. 

Inside was a book called  The Simple Things which is choc-a-block full of different organising ideas + more! Thank you so much Katy, I really need this book, our house is getting more unorganised by the day. I think my constant obsession with going to ikea is a reflection of me wanting to be more organised. What I also loved about this book is it's actually an ABC publication - I'm a big fan of ABC books!

Thank you so much, Katy. This was such a blessing. We loved this first CaraBox so much. We are blown away with how much you have spoilt us! And you wouldn't believe how useful this string is. I'm using it as a bookmark because Luke has an obsession with getting my book and taking bookmarks out

Here is a happy snap straight after opening:

THANK YOU!!!

If you would like to see what I sent in a CaraBox to the lovely Melissa, click here!

Career

On a 'sunny' Melbourne Friday, Luke and I made the journey to Docklands in Melbourne city to have lunch with Daddy. Docklands wouldn't be the most exciting of places in Melbourne, but it brought up all sorts of emotions.

I felt excited to be in the city. I was surrounded by people in fancy corporate style dresses, collared shirts and lanyards swaying from left to right. The aroma of freshly ground coffee floated through the sea breeze as the buzz from the visable Bolte Bridge could be heard amid the ding-dinging of trams.

But amidst all of this excitement there was suddenly a sense of void in my spirit. 

The longing I had for a career, to feel important and like I mattered to society was awakened. Becoming a mother has made my identity take a u-turn, along with the feeling that I was robbed of a career before I could establish myself, even though I'd worked so hard. For a long time I've felt an inward anger about how things panned out. Even though I was semi-satisfied settling for being a relief teacher, I always had the inner feeling I had failed as the one-off students stated I was not a 'real teacher' and the permanent teachers treated me like a second class idiot who 'just couldn't make it', chucking me their unwanted yard duty. And I didn't get a lanyard to sway with my steps.

So there I was walking down Harbour Esplanade, passing by ladies in pretty dresses and men with their latte's in paper cups. Me? I was the dag with the pram. I stopped outside the channel 7 building as the designated meeting place with my husband. While waiting I snapped a picture of myself, with the words "7 Melbourne" behind me. I posted it to Facebook with the title, "my new workplace". Of course I was lying, but part of me was also deeply longing to feel important and a sense of belonging. 

I then went on to tell the people who actually believed me (surprisingly many) that I had scored a part in the soap opera Winners & Losers as a possessive ex girlfriend. I played along with it. 

Sorry, guys, but it's not true! But I'm glad you had enough belief in me to think that I could be doing such a thing.

This year has been a process of letting go of a lot of things. One is the issue of the void career. I need to let go of the fact that I will maybe never teach again. (That said, I still could). Please note that letting go doesn't mean that I've given up, it's just allowing me to get on with the tasks at hand.

I've had to come to terms that this is life now, and instead of stressing my little head over how I'm going to get back into the workplace (which is harder than it seems, the government teaching recruiting rules basically suck but that would require another blog post), I'm focussing on bringing up my son well. I want to do what I can with what I have. Career or no career. And by letting go I can focus on the wonderful journey that Luke and I are on so far. I enjoy singing You Brush Your Teeth ch ch ch ch with my 14 month son far more than I ever felt the joy of watching a class of 20 preps flourish.

And with letting go, I've come to a realisation - and a really wonderful one at that. If I live for career, then when the career doesn't work out, I'm left with nothing - a void. 

I can live relying so much on people and my relationships. But even people will fail - because we're all human. Furthermore, some day I will have to say goodbye to the most special of special people in my life. 

So I want to put my faith in something everlasting. So when everything else falls apart, I will still be holding something. Not a failed career or let down relationship. I'm going to plant myself in my faith in God. Because when careers will fail, and death does us part, God will still be there. 

Chickpea and Feta Soup

***Total credit for this goes to the Herald Sun.***

My Mum was down recently and she likes to read the paper like an old person does (love you, Mum). Every day she would walk down to the deli on the corner or take my car to Coles and buy the paper (and coffee). Even if it's 3PM in the afternoon and the news is a lot fresher on the internet, she will still buy the paper. My Mum being the cool techno Mum she is having her very own tablet, I did mention "there's an app for that" but still she insisted on buying the hard copy. I think this is kind of similar to the older generation being afraid of Internet banking, still making the journey to the Post Office to pay their monthly landline bill because they will leave with a receipt in their hand.

I love it when Mum comes over, because that means I get to cook with an assistant - who either chases after Luke, baths Luke, or helps me out with a recipe as Luke raids the utensil drawer. It is extra special to cook because in the country some ingredients aren't readily available, so we get to cook with things Mum can't usually get her hands on.

Hendrik and I have been making the effort to eat more vegetarian-style foods, often erring on the side of pescetarianism. Mum had opened up the Herald Sun, and was flicking through what was now yesterdays news when she came across a recipe. "Hey look, here's a recipe!"

It sounded appealing. Vegetarian, filled with chick peas (did I mention I hate tofu, which is like, vegetarian steak?). Sadly, Mum went home before we made it. It made so much it fed Hendrik and I for 3 nights! It was so delicious and awesome, I will make it again this week!

This is how I make Chickpea and Feta Soup

Serves 6. Prep time 15 mins. Cook time 50 mins.

You will need:

1 Medium Butternut pumpkin

chilli flakes/chilli powder/fresh chilli (whatever floats your boat!)

olive oil

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/2 tbsp coriander seeds, crushed

4 cloves of garlic. (Or if you're like us, add extra!)

1kg Tomatoes, chopped

2 x 400g tins chickpeas

500ml vege stock

naan bread/mountain bread/normal bread/flat bread/any bread really - to serve.

How to make it:

Preheat your oven to 200C. Cut the pumpkin into even sized pieces, 2-3cm cubed will do. Place it on a roasting tray. Crumble over your choice of chilli, drizzle with some oil and season with salt/pepper and coriander seeds. Toss to coat then roast for about 30 minutes, or until golden and crispy. Half way through give the tray a jiggle.

Heat a generous amount of oil in a deep saucepan on medium heat. Fry the garlic until golden. Add tomatoes, season with salt and pepper then reduce to low heat and simmer for 5-10 minutes. or until thickened and reduced down. 

Scrape the pumpkin and all the sticky bits from the tray into the saucepan and mash with a potato masher, or if you're like us, use a stick mixer! Add the chickpeas (with the juice) and stock. Bring to the boil, then simmer for 10 minutes. 

Serve with your choice of bread, sprinkling feta on top of your soup. 

***

When I ate this I just couldn't believe how delicious and hearty it was! I HIGHLY recommend this soup - it's kind of like tomato crossed with pumpkin soup with chickpeas. It has an aromatic tangy flavour and I'm kind of hooked. All credit to Herald Sun, and my Mum for buying the paper.

Cara Box: calling (Australian) lady bloggers!

I have a friend. Her name is Cara. I was delighted to recently know that Cara actually means beloved friend. This is very true of my friend Cara. She is very dear to me, and she reads my blog!

This month, thanks to my yet-to-have-a-blog friend Roxy (which means bright) I am participating in Cara Box. It is where you pair up with another blogger and get to know each other, stalk their blog and pinterest and then sending them a 'box' of goodies and a letter of encouragement. 

Cara Box has been going on for a while, but this month is the first month there are AUSTRALIAN participants ever which is crazy exciting! But that said, there are only three of us. 

I used to do Postcrossing, and I still do kind of, but have put it on hold for a little while because postage prices are disgusting. Instead I'm going to participate in this exciting project!

Come and join the fun. If you're a female blogger, particularly Australian, and want to get some blog rep while encouraging another lovely lady, then click here!

Mothers Day

Mothers Day 2012

Mothers Day 2013

Hoping to make this pose a yearly tradition, and hopefully find an app for android that can put it in a 'frame' without crashing, freezing or giving me a virus. (So close to going back to iPhone!)

Mothers Day was a treat. My Mum is down and Hendrik made us a lovely breakfast followed by lunch at a vineyard overlooking the city. He gave me a voucher to study at William Angliss - now I just need to figure out which course to take!

Thanks boys (and Mum) for making the day special.

Live Below The Line: eve

When I was eleven I signed up to do the forty hour famine. These were in the days before you could simply make donations online and had social media to help you. In my primary school years I struggled with weight and self image. I would be the last person to consider giving up food - and it's not like these days where you just give up Facebook or technology or chocolate - back then you gave up food and nobody asked questions about it.

I remember planting myself out in front of my Mum's workplace on a brown bench held together by two yellow concrete slabs in the shape of 'lions', decorated with home made signs about sponsoring me to do the forty hour famine. People would come and ask me what it was all about and I would tell them what I was doing. Even as a fat eleven year old with an addiction to junk food I knew that there were people less fortunate than me and I wanted to help them. As an eleven year old I didn't understand that there were administration costs, I just fundraised and there were no questions asked.

A decade and a half later I am a mother, and while I'm coming to terms with this new identity that I've taken up, I have made a decision to do more to help people some how. While I don't have the money to get on a plane and feed the hungry physically, there are things I can still do. And while I've tried to promote and get excited about Live Below the Line of course there had to be some comments about what I was doing on a Facebook photo (sometimes I hate Facebook) and generally gave me the gist that what I was doing wasn't worth while. That living on $2 a week is not going to help anybody.

While the act of living on $2 is not going to generally help anybody, and just like fasting food for 40 hours doesn't do much in itself, it's the greater awareness that makes a difference. This is in no way a detox. In no way do I think this will be easy. In no way is my food going to be incredibly super healthy. But this is something we value in our family. Children won't ask cynical questions like how much is going to fund a fancy office in Southbank. Children will make real connections with what you do. And as much as I could sit quiet about what I'm about to do and let it pass by, then how would other people ever see what I'm up to and feel inspired?

I think this guy knocks it on the head:

(yes I realise Live Below The Line is with the Oaktree foundation, I just like the point Tom puts across).

So anyway, cynical Facebook comments aside, today was shopping day! It was actually a lot of fun because Hendrik was as excited about it as I was. Luke wasn't though. Luke despises food shopping.

We walked around with my Note 2 in my hand and wrote down all of the things we bought and the costs. We were in the nut aisle when we realised we were $2 over budget. I sadly put the mixed nuts back and bought some mandarins with the extra $1.70 we had. It was actually really a mathematical challenge, one that I can see us valuing throughout the years as Luke grows older and we can teach him the value of money and then link it with greater world issues.

I carefully positioned the groceries in the shopping trolley, stuck my bottom out like a true posing instagrammer and huzzah:

All with 25c to spare. But damn we forgot eggs! Oh well, that's the weight of our negligence. I think next year I want to be way more strategic about this.

There's still time to join or support me: Click Here!