I am just an average PR enjoying my dinner and listening to my local station Cook Islands Radio. It is so frustrating to night after night, listen to the third replay of a music reel during 12 hours.
For everything there is a season. Each significant change brings us to a fork in the road, a new decision point. The question arises: What season is this in my life? A life-changing loss of someone close, as I have experienced in the last year, can turn us inside out. When the last child leaves the home nest, when we retire, develop an illness, make a move, there is a vacancy of the familiar that sooner or later must be filled. A new homecoming beckons on the other side of the emptiness. We are called to reassess, review and revise our life design. If we choose to make this a mindful process, it can lead us to fresh happiness. As author Christina Baldwin says, “Change is the egg of the phoenix.” It is in the human spirit to rise from the ashes over and over. A friend whose husband died recently told me in a tearful phone call, “I need to move. This house is all about ‘us.’ I need to find my way to ‘me.’” People promised me, in the midst of my bereavement, that I would eventually get to the other side. Thankfully, that happened. I find that this cataclysmic change has created a new space in my life. I am aware that like Alice, I can fall into a hole, or venture deeply into trust, taking the necessary time to discern what this season of my life will hold. This is what I have discovered so far. Being is more important than doing. My brother John grew in virtues as he faced his own death. He dived deeply into trust, gratitude, awe and joy. As he let go of doing — driving, working, cr
A sea of red and a sea of blue, waving flags and choruses of song flooded the stadium as over 10,000 people - the equivalent of the entire population of Rarotonga, supported their rugby league teams in a much-anticipated clash between Tonga and Samoa
I could hardly see over the large oak mantlepiece, the large clock chimed on the hour and among the photos of my great-grandfather and great-grandmother were more photos and trinkets of every kind. Everything seemed so much larger then, and so much higher. And yet when we revisit places when we are much older, those things we saw when we were young children seem so much smaller.