In this episode, I sit by the window watching the drizzle and reflect on how small drops of comparison and insecurity can build into inner landslides, just as they did for Saul when he heard the song about David. I explore the contrast between Saul’s jealous fear and Jonathan’s courageous affection, seeing Jonathan as a model of love that isn’t threatened by someone else’s grace. I link this to the Gospel’s image of crowds pressing around Jesus, whose healing compassion isn’t a limited resource. Along the way, I gently invite us to bring our jealousy and fear to God, to pray for those we struggle to celebrate, and to trust that in God’s heart there is enough love for every story, including our own.

In this episode I sit with the big, unsettling question of how we’re meant to live inside our short, straight-line lives when God isn’t bound by the same ticking clock. I explore the image of God as the one who holds the whole book of our story—every page already present in his loving gaze—while we only see the chapter we’re in. From Hannah’s long grief to the fishermen’s sudden call, I reflect on how God’s eternal “now” can lift some of our panic about being “too late,” make our small acts of love more precious, and reshape how we imagine death, not as a dark end but as stepping further into God’s light.

As I sit with the news of the FTSE breaking ten thousand on the first day of 2026, I find myself less interested in big numbers and more drawn to quieter kinds of newness. In this episode I linger with John the Baptist’s simple self‑description as “a voice” making space for Someone else, and I wonder if that’s a better model for our own beginnings. Instead of grand resolutions, I explore the idea of holy remembering—living as forgiven people and bringers of forgiveness—and choosing one small, concrete path for love to walk through. Together we reflect on tiny, repeatable acts of kindness, honesty and prayer that slowly, faithfully reshape a life.

On this Christmas Day, I sit with a too‑hot mug and the smell of pine and sprouts, reflecting on how our fast, clever world meets the fragile story of a baby in a manger. I ponder John’s words about the light that still shines in the darkness, even as wars rage and loneliness deepens. I explore how technology connects us but cannot rock a crying child or mend a broken relationship, and why it matters that God chose ordinary, vulnerable human flesh. I end by praying for Gaza, Ukraine, the lonely and the overworked, and by wondering how tiny, tender acts might let the Word become flesh again through us.

In this episode, I sit with the tension of a noisy world where headlines shout of violence while quieter stories of goodness slip by almost unnoticed. I reflect on Malachi’s image of God as a careful refiner, Luke’s tender scene of Elizabeth and Zechariah naming John, and the meaning of “God is gracious” in a bruised but still breathing world. I weave in stories of a blind pitmaster in Dallas, a Secret Santa in Idaho, and communities in India restoring hundreds of lakes, to explore how holy discomfort and restored tenderness can make our hearts able to hold water again. I end in prayer, asking to be gently shown the next small step on God’s path.

In this episode, I sit with the jarring contrast of a news bulletin: the death of a nine‑year‑old girl alongside a story of derelict land in Chicago being turned into flower farms. I reflect on Zephaniah’s fierce warning and tender promise, and on Jesus’ parable of the two sons who say very different things and yet reveal themselves by what they actually do. I share a memory of Arthur, an old miner who came to chapel in dusty boots, and explore how real repentance looks like small, embodied yeses. I end by inviting you to notice just one place today where you might quietly, concretely turn up.

Today I sit at the kitchen table with the kettle on, watching a sky that can’t decide between bright or brooding, and thinking about how “partly cloudy” fits both our weather and our world. With flu wards under strain and budgets tightening again, I turn to Mary’s hurried visit to Elizabeth and the quiet miracle that happens in an ordinary doorway. I reflect on Immanuel, God-with-us, showing up in small acts of brother-and-sister kindness: in hospitals, supermarkets, and at the kitchen table. I remember my mother’s instinct to put the kettle on whenever there was a “knock in the wind”, and I wonder how each of us might gently warm one small corner of the world today.

In this episode, I invite you in from a grey, overcast day at the cottage and reflect on how easily we can feel small, lost, or forgotten amid heavy headlines and personal regrets. A quiet news story about a truck driver who’s driven five million accident‑free miles becomes a doorway into today’s scriptures about God as a gentle shepherd who notices the one who’s wandered off. I share a memory of getting lost on the hills above the village and the farmer who walked me back to the gate, and explore how God’s steady, searching love calls us to notice those around us who seem “a bit turned around” and walk them home, a few steps at a time.