Dear Australia: We Need to Talk About Manus Island

I'll be honest, it wasn't until this weekend that I became aware of what has been happening with Manus Island. So this may seem like me jumping on a bandwagon, but the very fact that I didn't know is a large part of why I'm writing this.

We need to talk about Manus Island.

But first, do you remember the horror that happened in Aleppo nearly a year ago? Do you remember little Bana Alabed tweeting her story, begging for help?

Because I didn't.

I cried when it happened. Then I forgot. I got distracted.

Yesterday, I picked up her book. I read her story all over again. I felt sick.

Sick that I had forgotten. Sick that I had contributed to the struggles of refugees around the world by my silence. So I made a decision: no more.

Manus Island is full of Bana Alabeds. Men, women, children. None of whom asked for this. They didn't ask for the situation at home to get so bad that running was all they could do. They did not ask to be stripped of freedom, safety and security. But they were.

So, they did what every living creature does when threatened: they chose between fight, flight or freeze.

Well, I say "chose". There want much choice, really. Freezing was deadly, and fighting not much better. That meant flight, as risky as it was, was the only option left for them.

They fled to what they thought would be safety, only for it to disappear like a mirage in the desert.

We did that to them. That is not okay.

I understand how easy it is to forget that those on Manus Island are people, fellow human beings. People that could have been our friends, our family.

They have fled from a destroying boulder, only to find themselves at a precipice. Please don't push them off. Please don't abandon them.

They have thrown themselves at our feet and begged us for mercy.

Now we must decide.

We must decide what kind of people we want to be. Do we want to be a people of compassion? Or a people who despise those who are different? Do we want to be a people who help the hurting? Or a people who cause the hurting?

Our history is marred enough. We have a chance to chance our narrative. Let's change it.

PNG is not safe for refugees. We know that. Don't ignore it.

Bring them here. Allow them to go to New Zealand. Help give them freedom. Help establish them with safe homes and food.

If these words have made you want to find out more, or do more, I'd recommend visiting The Australian Refugee Action Network. Please, please, please, don't do nothing.

With love,

Laura Dee

The Origins of Comfort

Today, the word "comfort" is used to indicate physical or emotional ease. It is also used to talk about the act of easing someone's distress. In both cases, the focus is on the absence, or reduction, of difficulties.

Would it surprise you to know that this is not what the word originally meant?

Those of you who are musical might make a connection between "comfort" and "forte". This would not be wrong. Both come from the Latin word "fortis", which means strong.

This, combined with the suffix "com-", became the Latin word "confortare", meaning strengthen. The French then adapted the word "confort" (noun) and "conforter" (verb), before it joined middle English as "comfort".

At the time, the meaning was still very similar to the Latin. As a verb, comfort meant to strengthen, support and console. This seems to imply that the purpose of consoling and supporting a friend was to strengthen them. Perhaps so they could handle the challenges facing them.

My question, then, is: how might knowing this affect the way we comfort each other?

I'd love to hear your thoughts below!

Reclaiming Pieces of Me

Dear friend, come in!

Today, my recommendation is to grab your favourite drink! After all, that's part of what makes you who you are. And that's what I'm talking about today.

Who I am.

One of the amazing things about this time I've been taking for my health is that it's been forcing me to spend time with myself. Really, properly myself. Without assignments and business to hide behind. Without other people's expectations to fit into. The result of this is that I've begun to reclaim pieces of myself I thought I had lost, or doubted that I ever had.

I know I've touched on this is previous posts, but I wanted to talk about it more today.

Over the last month when I haven't been posting, I have still been writing. I've started writing poetry again. I used to love it, then I stopped.

I've been writing short stories again. I've been building worlds, creating characters. I've been writing creatively, for the fun of it. And each time I do, I walk away feeling just that little bit more like me.

See, I think that part of the challenge over the last few years is that I've been trying to fit into what other people want. I folded away my creativity so I could focus on academia. I regulated my spiritual life so that I could be approved of. I buried my confidence so that I wouldn't stand out.

I had spent my life being different. I wasn't always liked for it, I wasn't always happy about it, but I accepted it. With uni, I decided to try being the same. And that hasn't been working for me.

Because I'm not the same. I'm a girl who jumps around the house while she's reading because she gets so excited. I'm a girl who runs in the rain, and come in soaked to the skin. I'm a girl who'll turn up the music and dance around my room.

I'm a girl who loves tea and chocolate. I'm a girl who adores flowers. I'm a girl who walks in imaginary worlds.

I'm a girl who speaks best with pen and paper. I'm a girl who loves exploring the world through the camera lense. I'm a girl who'll spend hours looking at yarn and gets excited over lace patterns. I'm a girl who bakes new things and wants to share it.

I'm a girl who wears leather and heels, and has tattoos. I'm a girl who wears pink dresses. I'm a girl who wears long skirts and nice blouses.

I'm a girl who has lived in many different places, and therefore sees the world a little differently. I'm a girl who is learning to love herself, just the way I am. I am a girl who loves God and trusts Him with her life.

I'm all this and more.

And you know what the best thing is? As I've been reclaiming bits of who I am, I can almost hear God cheering in the background, celebrating as I discover the part of His extraordinary Creation that is me.

I still have a long way to go - this is a process that will take my entire life. But I have a question for you today: who are you? What do you love?

I'm starting to realise that one of the best ways we can love and serve God is by embracing who He made us to be and then sharing that.

So love the Lord with all your heart, be yourself and share that with the world.

Love,
Laura Dee

PS I'd love to share my poetry with you all. Why don't you join me on Instagram where I will be posting it? And photos, of course

PPS enjoy these photos from my holidays!

I'm back!

Hello, dear friend,

Pull up a chair and a hot drink. Today I recommend a chilli hot chocolate. I'm partial, as the staff and my local chocolate bar can testify!

I want to apologise for my long silence! It didn't happen intentionally. I went away for holidays and then came back exhausted and unmotivated. Which escalated into discouragement. And so here I am - a month late. But here. And that feels like such an achievement.

You will also have to forgive me the lack of any clear structure or purpose to this post - I decided the only way I was going to bd able to kick this slump was by posting something - anything! So you get this.

Fear not, I will be back tomorrow with my regular schedule - there are some gorgeous photos I'm excited to share with you from the last month. And since exciting news!

So, until tomorrow!

With love,
Laura Dee

The Persistence of Life

Hello friend!

Pull up a chair, grab a cuppa. For myself, I have a mug of my favourite peach tea.

Today, I'm going back to sharing what I'm grateful for. Yay for nothing major happening! Anyway, stick with me, because this is awesome!

So, a few months ago, I decided to plant some irises. I bought a packet of seeds and buried them in soil. The next day, I was given a bucket of uprooted irises from a different part of our garden. I replanted some of them, but left a few in the bucket. The intention was for those to die and then I'd compost them.

Except, that didn't happen.

Instead the plants in the bucket continued to thrive. When I went out to check on them all a week ago, I noticed something peculiar: one of the bucket irises had a bud on it! I checked the others: none of them had buds. Just this one plant that had been abandoned to die.

It took my breath away! The persistence of this plant, in continuing to grow and flower even though it wasn't planted in soil and it hadn't been watered in months! It was awe inspiring.

Not long afterwards, I was out to lunch with my grandparents. We were watching a flock of seagulls when one of them landed on the table next to us. We looked, then looked again in surprise: the seagull had only one leg!

I snapped a photo of it as soon as I could, then spent a solid five minutes watching this bird as it flew faster than all the others. It stole chips from tables when the others didn't dare come near. This one-legged bird was filled with sass and courage. And for the second time that day, I found myself wondering at the persistence of life.

And as I thought of this, I was reminded of these verses from Luke 12: 24-28

Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you then the birds! And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest? Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothed the grace, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!

Now, this has not miraculously cured my anxiety. And if you struggle with anxiety, please don't hear me say that you are somehow wrong, or less, or especially sinful. Anxiety, the kind I'm refering to anyway, is an actual medical disorder. It is part of the result of us being broken humans living in a broken world. God knows we are only dust (Psalm 103:14). I believe He understands the very real, battle with anxiety we face.

What I am saying, however, is that ultimately we can trust God. He is the God that sustains an unplanted iris and brings it to flower. He is the God that strengthens and feeds a one-legged seagull. He is the God who cares for us, in the most adverse of circumstances. Sometimes, that will mean dancing again after years of debilitating illness. Sometimes that will mean surviving overdose. And sometimes it will mean He decides to end our suffering by taking us home.

Whatever happens, we can be sure that God cares for us, and true life will persist in spite of every horror the world can through our way. Including death.

So, friends, please be encouraged. Please look to the Cross and the Resurrection: the promise and proof of forgiveness of sins, and life everlasting.

With love,
Laura Dee

Trust and Fear: Mutually Exclusive?

A couple of weeks ago, I told the first half of my adventure of running out of petrol. This week, I bring to you the stunning conclusion!

So, Dad came back with rope and tied my car to his. He then told me how this was going to work and got back into his car.

I took a couple of deep breaths, and then let myself and my car be pulled.

Let me tell you, it was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. All I could do was press on the brake and turn the wheel. And even that was limited. I was totally at the mercy of my dad's driving. I was so not in control.

We maneuvered the streets of Penrith, me following my dad's lead and trying not to freak out too much. Trying not to concentrate on the fact that my car was being pulled along by a rope and that there was no margin for error.

It's not that I didn't trust my dad. Quite the contrary - I was putting more active trust in him than I had since I was very, very young. This time, for the first time in a very long time it was my life on the line. And I let him lead. I obeyed every direction he gave me. It was a combination of not having another option and knowing my dad would get me there safely.

And I did. I knew Dad wouldn't take unnecessary risks. I know he wouldn't put my life in danger.

But that didn't stop me from being scared. Terrified, even.

I had to remind myself a couple of times that yes, I was not in control, but that was OK, Dad was and I could trust him.

Then, even as my hands gripped my steering wheel and my foot hovered over my brakes, I had to laugh.

Because isn't that all of life? Especially as a Christian? We know we're not in control of our own lives. We have to actively choose to trust God, even though we don't know where we're turning next. Even though we can't know what's going to happen.

And it was the first time I'd realized, properly realized, that trust and fear are not mutually exclusive.

For a long time, I have believed, on whatever level, that if I truly trusted God, I would not be afraid. I would not be anxious. After all, the Bible often talks about us not being afraid, God has got this. And so, especially over this last year or so, I have felt shame that I was afraid. That I was struggling with the uncertainty of my life. I have wondered if that means I don't have faith, or if my trust is weak.

And there was an enormous sense of freedom when I realised what was happening on the road that day. When I realised that yes, I was afraid. Yes, the uncertainty was making my heart race. But no, that did not mean I did not trust my dad. In fact, I was trusting him more than I ever had. I was letting him take control and direct me in spite of all my fears. I was fighting back against them.

And I laughed when I realised that applied to my relationship with God as well. Yes, I am afraid. Yes, the uncertainty is making my heart race. No, that does not mean I don't trust him. I am trusting Him now more than I have for a while. I am letting Him take control and direct in spite of all my fears. And that's what counts.

God does not hold my fear against me, anymore than my dad did. He knows who I am. He remembers that I am made of dust. What matters to Him is that I continue to trust Him to bring me safely home, that I continue to obey His directions for my life, even - especially - in those times when I am acutely aware that I am not in control.

A Difficult Fortnight

Hello friend!

Right now, I'm wishing I could tell you that the last fortnight had been amazing, through up a few pictures and be done. However, that would not be honest. So, I'll proceed instead with the truth.

This fortnight has been terrible.

The first week didn't feel so bad. At least, I didn't notice it being particularly bad at the time. Sure, I want sleeping so well, sure I was wanting to cry at random times for unknown reasons, and sure it was getting harder and harder to get out of bed, but, you know, the week before was busy. I thought I was just tired.

That Saturday, a friend of mine came for lunch. That was good fun, but as soon as he left, I crawled into bed and barely managed to get out to feed myself.

The next morning, Sunday, I woke up feeling slightly better. Yay! I'd turned a corner. You may or may not have noticed this, but I'm very good at fooling myself. My mood and my energy kept plummeting, until at about 12:45, I was so over everything, that I swallowed two dozen aspirin.

Yep, I overdosed. Intentionally.

To be clear, the overdose was not a suicide attempt. I was just tired, stressed, wanting a break, wanting to hurt myself and in such a bad place that overdosing seemed the way to do it. The amount I took was not a lethal amount. Still, in the spirit of total honesty, if something had gone wrong, if I had died, I would not have been sorry.

Fortunately, one of my housemate rushed me to the hospital, where I was taken care of. I didn't even have to spend the night. My mum came to visit the next day, and I've spent the week visiting professionals and spending time with friends who looked after me.

Still, I had a horrible night on Thursday, and ended up with drawings all the way up my left arm (a thing I do instead of cutting). Friday morning, my head was a mess, my emotions were a mess and I was exhausted. I went to see the people I was scheduled to see, before collapsing on a friend's trampoline with a book and a rabbit.

I slept much better last night, and enjoyed a slow day, a picnic and a walk in a park. The worst complaint I have right now is a headache and tiredness.

So, before I finish, I want to mention some of the things I'm grateful fur this week:
The rabbit.
Flowers.
Friends who have been praying for me.
Friends who have cooked for me.
Friends who have given me room to speak and try to start processing the overdose.
My generous housemates.
My family.
And, more than anything, God's love and grace.

 The meantime, thank you! And if you are of the praying kind, I'd really appreciate some prayer!

Laura Dee
xox