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!