Yeats in the Offing

It may only be week 5, but I feel like my brain has left town, with the eagerness of a Labrador at the beginning of the grouse shooting.


Is anyone else’s brain smashed?

No! Wait, I don’t mean literally! But that sense of ‘Oh dear, everything inside my head is turning to moosh, and I don’t like it.’

To put it another way, I am glad that my skull is made of bone, therefore, is unlikely to combust into thin air. The result is, which to my great excitement includes a word I never knew existed before, a ‘quaggy‘ mess.

It may only be week 5, but I feel like my brain has left town, with the eagerness of a Labrador at the beginning of the grouse shooting. Please do excuse any mixed metaphors. They are floating about my head for a somewhat, understandable reason: this semester has seen my almost-full-body submersion into poetry. Therefore I grant myself full liberty within any metaphorical landscape from here on in.

At the present moment in time, I am supposed to be writing an essay on the symbolism of W.B. Yeats; one of the greatest poets of the twentieth century, among the top Irish, and international, writers that we have ever produced, or as I now call him, ‘The-Reason-For-My-Head-Being-In-A-Quaggy-Mess’.


William Butler Yeats


To be fair, it’s not all of his fault.

I did sign up for this.

Yes, I am a class-A idiot. Specifically, an ENG531 Class-A idiot.

Let me explain.

wooster is miffed at jeevesWhen I started looking at the module selection for third year, I noted that there was a module devoted to ’20th Century Irish Writers’. Smiling with the certainty that some type of Wodehousian-fate would love, I passively acknowledged that it looked good, but I would never take the class. Another bout of Irish literature? Please, let’s just not.

Yet as online enrolment loomed around the corner, and I had little-to-zero interest either of the modules I was considering as a third option, I could almost hear P.G. Wodehouse narrate this paragraph of my biography:

‘Despite the quiet reluctance of a cat on a hot tin roof, Nesta saw that she either had to brave the fray, or spend the next semester knee-deep in Knitters Digest in a last ditch move towards sanity. After all, when one puts these things into perspective, some writers from the motherland couldn’t damage her as much as an accidental prod of a knitting needle to the chest, in an attempt to alleviate the boredom.’

Yet, it was not as hum-drumly practical as this alludes to. Ulster may not be the forefront Irish university, nor may it shine the brightest on the world’s stage, but it is an Irish university. As such, I thought that I had better commit myself to a semester of Yeats, Joyce, and Beckett, as a slight penance for not biting the bullet in previous years. In an odd sense of patriarchal nationalism, I felt that it was almost a duty to spend time looking into Irish writers.

After my A-Level experience (which had no marks, or tarnish left from a totally joyous experience of school, where everything always went the right way), I had walked away believing Irish writers to be self-obsessed, and narrow minded. Self-obsessed, as most of the work was personal to their own circumstances and opinions; narrow minded, as they constantly referred back to Classical literary tropes, which I then had to learn off my heart to include in essays that used as much brain power that would power a G-Wiz for 15 minutes.

Needless to say, I was bored, stressed, and unhappy for these years.

The last thing I wanted to do during the last year of my undergrad, was to relive all of those experiences. Uni has been my best experience of education; one that has not helped in the total decline and demise of my mental faculties.

Entering Lt10 on Thursday morning of week one, was the closest I have felt towards dread (concerning my studies) than I have felt in a long while. As I sat down, lifting my file-block, pens, and endurance onto the table, my brain clocked out. I sat like this for, roughly half-an-hour, when suddenly, something the lecturer said, caught my attention;

‘It’s important to look at Irish writers, for not only have they shaped the international literary climate; they have also shaped the perception of Ireland. Yeats may as well, could have worked for Sligo’s tourist board, Joyce Dublin’s, and Beckett, a particular view on a very Irish mindset. They helped put us on the map: I [the lecturer] therefore think that every student from Ulster, or another Irish university, should spend at least one semester looking into their work. Not only is the writing to an international standard, but these writers helped to shape the world in which literature is alive in the modern age.’

That may be paraphrased, but it was the jist of my struggle: overlooking my prejudices, and accepting that maybe there is something more to Yeats than his Leda, Joyce’s all-over-the-show-formwise masterpiece, and Beckett’s streams-of-consciousness. I needed to build a bridge, have some patience and compassion, and get over it.

A few weeks later, I still am wrestling with Yeats. I still am rolling my eyes to 360-degrees whenever someone talks about ‘the symbolism in Yeats’ poetry on loss/Ireland/women etcetc’; but I am beginning to have respect. Not just for what Yeats achieved in his lifetime, but what he achieved in his poetry.

It’s self-focused because poetry is allowed to show the soul of the poet, to be the external-processing needed whenever tragedy strikes, and to give himself focal points to immortalise into epochs in the narrative of Irish history.

And Yeats isn’t narrow-minded. At least, not in the ways in which I used to think he was.

So now, as my quaggy mess of a brain starts to churn back into it’s working mode, and as I delve back into my work, I just want to encourage you to be open minded to the things that you’ll learn. Guard your heart (Pvb4:23) defiantly, but be wise. Don’t shut doors because of bad experiences: don’t close down a chance because you’re afraid of the consequences: don’t stop learning.

It’s how we grow up.




Screen Shot 2017-10-23 at 17.14.47


Old Friends and Social Faux-Pas

I feel like Barney from How I Met Your Mother, but instead of dragging Ted around the local bars, I carry hypothetical reading material into any situation, trying to match-up one of my loves with another human being.

People watching is the height of entertainment for me and, for varying reasons, the past month has seen my social calendar packed. Meeting all of the new people has been somewhat entertaining, as well as terrifying. Therefore, when I look back over the past few weeks, I sub-consciously realised that there are a few set-things I do when confronted with new people;


  • Analyse: Everything that I can see from body language or physical appearance, hear from their language or dialect, and feel with my gut-instinct. Trust me, I don’t do this to feel superior, or for the lols, but because it really does interest me. Everything about every person on this earth is different. Yes, some traits we share, picking them up from the environments and cultures we come from; but on the whole, everyone is different in their own special way. By looking at these differences and breaking them down internally, I am able to familiarise myself with the ‘idea of other’. This ‘idea of other’ is something that I use to cope in all social situations. We all see the world as ‘us and them’: the ‘idea of other’ simply helps in understanding that we all have flaws that we don’t want others to see fully into.


  • Kick into Hyper-Drive: My sentences merge into one long stream of consciousness. All words get jumbled together in one long stream of internal panic. After all, what does one say when meeting someone new? If one is quiet, then awkwardness descends, like a cloud over the top of an already misty mountain. If one is talkative, the other person will label you as crazy and therefore run away as soon as possible. I am super aware that I fit under the latter. Motor-mouth-101 kicks in, and I will spew whatever comes into my head. As human nature and social skills promise, conversation will turn to things we find ourselves secure in: loves, passions, achievements, or interests that the talker lands on-top of the talkee’s shoulders. Thus, it sounds like I am boasting, or worse, being a self-righteous snob whenever I get going.

After all, who else has enjoyed reading Aristotle.    books2.0

No one.

I have met no one who has ever read Poetics outside of ENG341, who has done it for pleasure.

  • Churn it over: Taking everything that has been said and processing it to the nth degree. This will be done in great detail, and served with a twinge of regret. Regret, not for meeting the new person, but for dominating the conversation. I want to be curious without being nosey, yet not everyone wants to or feels able to partake in small talk. Apparently, the knack of small talk is to ask questions; but what happens when you are asking questions and getting one word replies? Tell me, oh wise etiquette people of the internet. What do you do then? So, I spend the rest of the day, maybe even into the next (week), thinking about different ways I could have been a better conversationalist. Being a little annoyed that I was provoked into Motor-Mouth-101 by the silence and then continue to churn over the conversation, trying to understand just how on earth I have managed to survive in this social stratum for so long and not be pin-pointed as a complete narcissist?


Now, there may be a person or two reading this shaking their heads; wondering ‘how Nesta, after all we have been through, are you still being introspective when it comes to meeting new people?’

Tell me how to stop doing items number 2 and 3, then I will: I promise.

To be honest, this is a frightfully long introduction into the main body of this post today, which is, that whenever I start Motor-Mouthing-101, my immediate subject with a new person is:

‘So, do you like books?’

I feel like Barney from How I Met Your Mother, but instead of dragging Ted around the local bars, I carry hypothetical reading material into any situation, trying to match-up one of my loves with another human being.

One of these favourites is called Flambards by K.M. Peyton.

No one has ever heard of it.

And when I say no one, I really mean that.


OK, a friend from school bought me the book for my birthday about ten years ago, and it was so sweet of her. But the reason for her buying the book wasn’t that it was my favourite; it was because there was a horse on the front cover.

Prizes to the first one to message me confirming what type of 11-year-old I was.

So anyway, I always ask ‘What do you like to read?’.

For some inexplicable reason, this kind of question always throws people. It’s almost like they have social skills and have practiced other forms of commutation with each other, at some type of institution, where grown up people teach things like Maths, or Science, or English, or social skills.

Not that there is a lesson plan for such benign things as human interactions, but I clearly remember daydreaming through my playground days. Wandering around pretending to be Elizabeth Bennet, quoting letters from Darcy, and dancing a quadrille (on my own) was far easier than talking to other people. Or worse, playing 1-2-3-tippy.


Due to said daydreaming, I don’t really know what to do when I meet new people. I’m still learning. At 22, it still frightens me: the idea of getting to know new people, making new relationships and starting new projects with said people. It is daunting.

Anyway, due to ‘So, do you like books?’ I have realised that I must be in the minority. I am not being elitist, or snobby, or snooty, when I say this. Books and reading have just dropped as popular media in the twenty-first century. Not that they aren’t being read: in fact, book sales have beaten e-books in their popularity since 2016 – #itsallaboutthataesthetic.

When I say that ‘I like a good book’, I mean it. Every part of it will enthral me; the smell, the plot, the characters, the narrative, the feel, the feels… all of it. A good book and a cup of tea does wonders for any time I am feeling blue.


It then makes me a little sad when someone tells me that they don’t like books.

Not that I’d ever force a book on someone who wasn’t a big reader. But it makes me sad to think that they will never know the joy of opening up to a dearly beloved book, to delve into characters’ lives in ways we never can in real life. For example, no one has ever been able to share with me the heart break I experienced, aged 15, when a certain death happened in the Flambards series.

There is no spoiler alert here for I am not revealing anything. No sir. You may go and read, or listen to, or watch the TV series, but I am staying mute. For it felt like a friend had died.

This is what happens when you get invested into the life of a character. You become emotionally attached. As a person who finds emotions hard to show therefore, reading becomes a little outlet for me. It then keeps me sane as I use my over-active hyper-driven brain to analyse the text, rather than something else that I struggle a lot with: myself, as a person.

Reading, then analysing, and then thinking about a text really helps me to cope with the inside of my head. It may be a surprise, as I am not one of the unusually gifted of the world, that there is quite a lot going on up there. I find it hard to stop, take a break, to switch off.

In fact, switching off is my worst nightmare. Doing nothing while thinking about nothing is awful. I can’t do it.

How do I relax then?


I read.

That’s why I love reading, books, my course, driving, people watching… all of it. It all helps me to relax. Keeping my mind busy helps me to keep calm. Oxymoronically, doing nothing stresses me out, while having a ‘little project’ relaxes me.

This post is a bit up in the air. But if you take anything away from here, let it be this: do more of what you love. I’ve been wired in a way that makes the way I read a social situation, incredibly similar to the way I read a book. God made me this way. Yes, I can pray, and yes, I can worship and read the Bible: but when push comes to shove, ‘whatever you do, do it all for God and His glory’ for me means doing what I love to do. There are desires in my heart, good ones placed there by my good Father. He knew what He was doing when He wired me up to be a nostalgic-realist-dreamer of a girl, who loves music, and being in her own world.

He knows what I love.

And He loves watching me do it.

Do more of what you love: it’s what we were created for. It may be hard at times, we may need help, but ultimately, as my La (my grand-father) says;


‘Do the work that’s nearest,

Though it’s dull at whiles,

Helping when you meet them,

Lame dogs over stiles’

  • Charles Kingsley



As always,






Did You Just Assume My…

In our world today, we want to know the depths of everyone, including ourselves, as an individual. This is manifested in many mediums – social media, blogging, our jobs, hobbies etc – yet all comes down to one thing…

I wonder what your personality type is? According to the Myers Briggs model, there are sixteen combinations in total. Each Type is labelled under a Role of similar personalities. For instance, the Role that my Type belongs to is called Diplomat and within that, my Type is the Mediator. The personalities of the Diplomat Role are; INFJ, INFP, ENFJ, and ENFP.

When I first did the Myers Briggs test, I didn’t think that anyone had ever explained myself to me, in such a empathetic, logical, informative, and accurate way. Introverted didn’t come as a surprise at all. It just means that I recharge my batteries on my own, away from loads of people, rather than the common misconception of introverts: which is that we don’t like people.

Intuitive (the N of INFP), basically means that in most things I face, instinct will kick in. Coupled with strong Feeler and Perceiver traits, this means that there’s a lot going on under the surface, especially when it comes to the imagination. It also means that I enjoy people watching and reading body language. Don’t be freaked out if you catch me staring at you, and don’t be surprised when I will sometimes jump to the wrong conclusion if signals are mixed.

Screen Shot 2017-10-13 at 17.24.07
Myers Briggs 16 Personalities

So basically, you now know me.

Or do you?

In our world today, we want to know the depths of everyone, including ourselves, as an individual. This is manifested in many mediums – social media, blogging, our jobs, hobbies etc – yet all comes down to one thing: identity.

We love to label ourselves with our different identities:

“I’m INFP.”

“I am female.”

“I am tall.”

“I like reading.”

“I like boys (preferably grown up ones).”

“I am musical.”

Get the picture? Our likes become who we are, or who we want to be seen as, or associated with. And so often we allow these things, these single attributes, to become our whole identity. For example, based on these statements, this is how I would dress with identity in mind: comfortable – because I can see that other people find it easier to be around someone who is comfortable #INFP – feminine, yet with that cool, basic edge that shows I think for myself (#bookbaes) and sure, I’ll grab that beanie to protect the headphones I’ll be wearing for most of the day, as it helps me to study/hide from the world.

It’s a lame example, but you should get the picture. We identify with the things we like, are or are talented in. These then, become our identity, and that is quite stressful when

Y’all know I love to read, right? 

you think about it. When you tie up who you are in the ideas you have, you begin to lose yourself. It’s metaphysics; once you take away the possibility of the physical and solely push into the meta, you begin to lose the thread of reality. You lose the thing that was definite and wander into the surreal.

Also, whenever we try live in one identity, life itself becomes blinkered. You don’t want to see anyone else’s point of view because what if it changes you? You’d then be back to square one again: minus the identity you had idolised without realising it.

It’s easy to idolise an identity. To put all we have into it.

Personally, it’s really easy to clip a ‘English student’ tag onto my jacket as I run into uni every day. Frankly, because I am not your average person, I could go so far to idolise my course, living from one day to the next excited to be there, thrilled by my work (I do love it and I know that’s not normal, let’s move on), and stressing in the library at how much hasn’t been done that week. It is an idol which I have had to hand back to God, over and over and over again because while it is a good thing, uni isn’t god. I don’t get peace, love, provision, or identity from my university, or my course.

As a Christian, as a son and heir, as a daughter, as a lost sheep, I know in my head that God gives me all the good things I have and am. But I struggle in my heart to realise that my identity is not in the things I can see on earth; it’s in Him. Hebrews 11 says that faith is the ‘assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen.’

So, my identity is in Someone, Something, that I can’t see?

OK. Cool.

This idea of identity has been coursing through my head for over a week now. I can’t seem to get away from it. This post feels different to other ones I’ve written on here in the past months, as I am using it as a processing station. I have thought and talked it out to myself, walked, pondered, and prayed. Still I struggle to work out how to fathom it. My identity is in God, in the Trinity, in Christ’s death on the cross. What does that mean? What does it look like?

I know I need to spend more time reading about this and praying about it too, but for now, here are just a few thoughts. It’s Friday night and this may be heavy, but bear with, it can all be done with a cup of tea to take away the blues.

Sonship: For years, I struggled with Paul’s letters in the New Testament. I constantly thought ‘why is he so down on women all the time? Cultures may be different, but you can’t say “love others” and just ignore women, or say that they aren’t as important as men.’ This opinion was truly overhauled this summer.

Paul was being radical in the use of the word ‘sons’. Sons could inherit all that their fathers left for them; sons owned the promise they had received and they worked hard in preparation with the Father for the time that the land would be theirs. When Paul, throughout his letters to the early church, referred to sons he wasn’t over-looking women: he was setting a new precedent in society. Women were equal to men in the promises God had given through Christ; salvation, eternal life, forgiveness, love, to name but a few. Women could inherit. Women could be in a relationship with God as their loving Daddy, who would leave them everything, give them anything, provide what is good eternally.

In such a gender-fluid society of the 21st century, this concept should still be as radical as it was then: our gender doesn’t change, we don’t become men. But as sons in the kingdom, we have a place. We have an acknowledged place beside Jesus in heaven. We are above angels. We are inheritors to the kingdom. Both genders, equally. And this equality doesn’t come down to how strong we are, or our careers, or how much better one sex is than the other. This equality is founded on the fact that we were all lost. The Bible doesn’t say the opposite to ‘saved’ is ‘unsaved’: the opposite to saved is ‘lost’.


We were lost. But God wanted us to be found. He went looking, and looked everywhere for us. He adopted us into His family. We are no longer on the outside looking in, but with Him, looking out for others who are lost. We were full of sin and now, through Christ’s death and resurrection that paid the wages of sin for those who are now found, we can stand as equals as sons in the inheritance of God. This inheritance can mean different things for different people, I think, as the relationship between God and individual beings is different. It’s personal, it’s a relationship. So, we are sons.

Daughters: We’re also daughters and I want to be bold in saying this; girls and boys can be daughters. If ‘son’ is a word synonymous with inheritance and provision in the Bible, then with ‘daughter’ it should be with ‘protected,’ ‘cared for,’ ‘prayed over,’ and ‘surrounded by God’s love.’

I myself am a daughter. It’s actually a beautiful thing to be, when you think about it. I’ve never been one of those girls that is soppy in the relationship with her Daddy. In fact, we are the same person. He just happens to be male, a physicist, and twenty-seven years older than me. This sparks some embers when we are tired, or having an argument, but it also means that we understand each other pretty well. I know that if I am in trouble, one way or another, I’m good to run towards him, and know that he will help in any way he can. It means too, that as his daughter, he prays for me; that I’ll keep walking with the Lord, that He will help me when everything gets hard, and that I’ll keep dancing with Him in the Spirit. As his daughter, as Philip’s daughter, he will be the one walking me up the isle someday, to hand me over to a guy who is up to his standards (and they are high standards) and as his daughter, I know that I am loved by him, no matter what I do. Doesn’t God do this with all of us? Doesn’t He protect, love, care, surround, and defend us? If sonship is radical adoption into the family of God, then being a daughter is the reality of that radical adoption: once adopted into God’s family, you are loved and protected.

Sons and daughters of the King of kings.


Gender is a big conversation at the minute. Not one that I am comfortable talking about, but nonetheless, I go into uni every day and someone wants to talk about gender. To be honest, and half of the two-people reading this will be cross when I say this, but I think that if you’re born with the equipment, then you can’t change it. But that doesn’t mean that I hate anyone who does struggle with their gender-identity. The total opposite. Because I have been radically loved, I want to love radically.

Can I leave you with one final, random thought?

Sons and daughters, male and female, both are universally ‘lost’. You can’t find yourself when you are lost. One is not more lost than the other, as both are lost. There isn’t a scale of ‘lost-ness’, nor will the person who is least lost will be found soonest. Lost is a state of being, as is found. Once found, there is nothing that you can do, or I can do, to make you more- or less-found. So, can we stop taking each other down? We are equal in our lost-ness and our found-ness.

We both have individual qualities, and we both are human.

We both are being called out too, and we both don’t want to hear what our rescuer is shouting.

We both can choose to remain, and we both can choose to be found.

We both can love. Because we have both been loved, radically.




An Open Letter

Summer 2017: Encounter and Livewire decommissioning update

Dear Greenisland Baptist,

                                                It’s that time of year again folks and due to my dedication (obsession) to university, I will be long gone by the time de-commissioning happens. Added to this, my best friend has upped-sticks and graduated taking with her all of the paraphernalia needed for filming a video, telling you all about this summer’s antics. Ergo, you must excuse the letter; it’s length, vocabulary and spelling errors will have to suffice for now. The length, well, I apologise in advance. After all, as an English student, I have a wordy-reputation to keep up.

            To be honest, I think I could give you all a detailed seminar about this summer. Actually, no, not just a seminar: a lecture with funky power-point techniques, videos, diagrams, pie-charts… the full monty. Not just because it has been a crazy summer filled with awesome people and banter-filled times: but because this summer, I have been blessed while watching a building site, called the Kingdom of God, in full swing. I may have been using my hands, talents, skills and knowledge to serve His purposes (Ex4v2) but it was made so much easier with the people among whom I was serving.

            The thing with short term mission is that, so often we feel like the blessings only reach ourselves and that we ‘haven’t done much’ for the missionaries we work with. It’s easy to feel guilty and inadequate. But this isn’t what God feels when we serve in any capacity. He is working with, through and in us. It doesn’t matter what we feel we have done, compared to what He has done and will do. On that side note, let me tell you all about the teams which you all helped to support me in: Encounter and Livewire.

            Encounter is a programme run by Christians Unions Ireland (part of IFES) and Serge (an American mission organisation). For the month of June into July, this is an opportunity for Irish and American students to join together, and do a course on

Encounter 2017

discipleship and leadership within the student communities we are a part of. The first two weeks contain the taught part of the course, with instruction from CUI and Serge members of staff. This consists of a programme called ‘Free: to Love’ and a manuscript study of Galatians. Alongside this teaching, the interns (i.e. the students attending) receive mentoring from missionaries belonging to either CUI or Serge. Between these mentoring sessions, the reflections, seminars; to the bonding sessions we all had over the beautiful Greystones scenery and food provided by authors of Avoca’s cookery book, there was a pretty happy group of us.


The most beautiful thing about these two weeks was the fellowship we all shared together. ‘But Nesta,’ you may be saying, ‘How could you all get on so well together after only a few days?’ The answer: I have no earthly clue, but I know that God had a big part in it. Mike Ewan asked me to send him a few prayer points for the whole summer and 21078369_1476824175745889_7041986520363573386_none of my biggest ‘worries’ was the relationships that we would share as a team in Encounter. Relationships are always a big one for me as I don’t find it easy to be sociable, or get to talk to people whom I have never met before. God, in His grace and goodness, answered that prayer point in every single relational situation I was put in this summer, and made the whole experience one focused on Him, not on whether I needed to take another time out from people. Praise the Lord greatly for this, as He is greatly to be praised! Through these relationships, it was clear to see the work and heart of the Lord on an international scale. The fellowship we all shared as a team, with the people surrounding us on our O-Teams and then later on in the summer, was a beautiful reminder of the community in which we dwell, living life to the full.

            Those two weeks in Greystones were not all hunky-dory, as much as I’d love to portray them to be. Frankly, the challenges from God and His word were overwhelming. The deep nature of His love and grace was pressed into wounds I have nursed for years and for the first time in a while, I learned what being set free, to love, truly means.

            They were two weeks in heaven. Our ‘anthem’ became a song which is little known anywhere else, called ‘We Will Feast in The House of Zion.’ This was our heart as

‘Y’all do everythin’ together’

a community of a believers, one that called us to radically love each other; to step out of our normal and share this microcosm with sixteen others. One of the American missionaries turned around in wonder one day: ‘You guys are just… if one of y’all want to go down to the beach, y’all go down together; if one of y’all wants to play volleyball, y’all go and play the most crowded game ever: and if one of y’all isn’t feeling ok, y’all just try your best to pray with them and love them the best that God gives you. Isn’t that incredible?’

He summed it up nicely: we loved each other because we were being changed by the love that God has for us. As we went into our O-Teams (outreach teams) our anthem changed from proclaiming that one day we would feast in the house of Zion, to assuring ourselves that, in Jesus, we were feasting in His goodness right here on earth. God helped us to see that all of His loving goodness being poured into us, isn’t meant to be contained. We have to get out and share it with others. To encourage the tired to dance in the Spirit, to help the lost see Jesus and His Father’s salvation gospel for the first time, and to ‘go into all the world to make disciples’ (Matt28:19).


            With that, we went on O-Teams. I was, after numerous team combination-options, sent out to serve on the Liberties team with two of my room-mates from the past fortnight. Jes, our wise and balanced leader, Caitlin, Gabby and I all headed into Dublin

Liberties Team (a.k.a. Chicken Soup)

and Bray, to work with several ministries that Bruce and ‘Pastor Noel’ had set up for us. Little did we know that those first few days would be the most trying experience of the summer. Not because working with Light House, the homeless ministry, was taxing; neither was the travelling-community in Bray; nor the soup runs through the heart of Dublin, to the soundtrack of bog-standard Irish-missily-rain: oh no.


We arrived during the week of Summer Fire, a Christian conference down in Cork. In true Irish fashion, making my Irish-cockles glow deep within my heart, no one knew what we were doing. Even better than that, we had American ministry leaders in one of the ministries, who weren’t too sure of us during our first day in Dublin. But God, in His grace and mercy helped that awkward situation; just as He helped the American gals in

Love y’all really

the O-Team adjust to the concept of Irish ‘time-keeping’ and me with some USA culture shock. It really is weird being surrounded by Americans alone in Dublin for five days. Ultimately, the whole culture-difference-issue all made us rely on Him for everything we needed and this was a beautiful lesson to learn.



             The whole experience of O-Teams can defiantly be described as heaven-on-earth. Thanks to the accountability and prayers from the CUI/Serge leadership, we didn’t once have a major fall out. The end of every day was wrapped up with a bit of ‘Good/Bad/Godly’. This ‘game’ became a tool that allowed us to appreciate our human limitations, and God’s limitless love.

I have crammed a diary full of tales from every day, and will probably share most of them with you in the future. For now, I just want to say that if this sounds intimidating – going out to serve, in a team you know not much about and in a ministry that you never had imagined working with – then you may join the club and help with the design of t-shirts. I was terrified, worried, scared, anxious… pretty much a mess at thinking of the thousands of ways I would screw up over the fortnight.

But God; He always managed to take my chin and pull it towards His face. ‘Look at me,’ GraceHe’d say, ‘See I have overcome the world. Would I send you out in it if I knew you couldn’t handle it? In fact, you can’t handle any of it, so take that worry and give it to me. For I know what I am doing and I am going to use you. Your hands will be my hands. My heart and eyes will be guiding you every second of the day. They’ll all hurt at times, but it’s only because hard work hurts, and my own love for every single person on this earth, longs for them to know me. I love you and you’ll be OK chick.’

He always knows what is going on. He knows the bigger picture. And with that, He sent me into a summer of teaching that was surrounded by the call to follow. Followers don’t see, or know what will be coming around the corner; but do you know what? They follow willingly and those who stop following, stop in their tracks. We are called to follow and this was under-lined by Livewire 2017.

Livewire, according to leader-in-chief Scott McMenemy, allows a forum for churched kids to be confronted with big truths in the Christian faith. ‘We want to take cocky/over-followconfident, churched kids, Livewire leaders too, who think that they know everything,’ Scott said at the first meeting, ‘To step back and see, or think, at the wonders God has done for us; who He is and what His mission on earth contains.’ Over the past few years themes such as ‘Him,’ ‘Holy’, ‘Radical’ and ‘Gospel,’ have been examined. 2017 saw a continuation from last year’s focus on ‘Gospel’: we looked at ‘Follow: His glory, our good.’

Every morning we gathered with the punters (i.e. youth aged from 14 to 18) for a time of worship, discussion, hearing from God’s word and some response. Phil Howe, this guy who is known throughout the country for his ‘incredible’ puns, lead the teaching of the 300ish punters through five concepts; call, cost, community, creativity and character. Our call is costly, therefore God provided us with the church community for fellowship, teaching and support, we have been given gifts to work within this church and in following Jesus throughout all of these things, our characters should become more like Jesus’.

The whole week was full of blessings and challenges; from the wonderful relationships we shared as a team, to the discussions we had with our small groups, to the other activities Livewire put on in the evenings, such as the worship night and social. God’s hand was ever present in all of these things, encouraging us as leaders and reaffirming what it means to follow God in our lives. The challenges were not necessarily from the physical surroundings (praise Jesus) but from the words God was speaking over all of us, punters and leaders together. Heart matters of my own were dealt with, but the biggest challenge for me personally, was in the small group I led.

At the beginning of the week, they were so shy. Quit that: I was in standard Nesta-is-nervous-101-mode. Motor-mouth, asking the questions and hoping that with their teen

Livewire Team 2017

senses they wouldn’t pick up how much I was bricking it. All week long I was praying, asking God, that these teen-façades would fade and that He would work in their hearts. There were only a few talkers, and when one left on the Thursday saying that he’d not be back tomorrow, a part of my insides screamed ‘Noooooo!’ But God had it in bigger and better hands. No surprises there.

During one of the last discussion group times, I asked all of them what they would carry away from this week. Not expecting much from my Mute Minions I was super prideful, worrying that I hadn’t done a good enough job, that because of my efforts they would have learned nothing. But God had been working in ways I had no idea of. One girl wanted to get properly involved in her church, to get stuck in and start serving: another wanted to know more about God, so what when her friends asked her questions, she could answer them confidently: and another one realised for the first time that week that he loved praying and that he had a massive sense of peace in his heart whenever he was talking to God… I could never have imagined that. Oh, this punter also wanted to learn how to disciple his friends. He is 14.

Talk about feeling intimidated. And humbled. Overwhelmed. Emotional. Tearful. Joyful.

Livewire 2017 was full of these sort of stories; testimonies of how God had been, and was continuing to work in the lives of these punters. Some were encouraged in their walk and others really got, for the first time, that following God isn’t just about deciding to follow that guy who taught controversial love and truth, but about actively following Him. Some took up their cross for the first time saying ‘Jesus I am a sinner. Forgive me and help me to live my life with you at the centre’: Taking part in the relationship to which we are all called. To know Him in the only way we can, personally.

God was amazing. God is amazing. I would love to tell you more, but the thought of editing these pages and starting my dissertation in a few days, frankly, is quelling. I will be posting little stories up over the winter. These will just be little snippets and remembrances, for I love a bit of nostalgia in the winter months, remembering past summers’ days.

So auf wiedersehen miene Freunde for the moment. I’ll see you at Christmas, if not before. Thank you for all of your prayers and support, especially over these past few months. Not one of them was unheard and all of them were answered in His perfect way.

God Bless,

Nesta  xx




Run to Him all who are stressing and exhausted and He’ll give you all you need.

This morning I opened up my laptop, typed She Reads Truth into the search bar and started in on my reading. The current series is all about the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:1-7:29). Every day the focus is on a small excerpt of this passage, with other biblical contexts and references showing the gospel and truth of what is being read. The past few days have handled forgiveness, lust and the law fulfilled by Christ alone, all three lessons that I have had to learn time and time again this summer.

Today’s topic is ‘Tell the Truth.’  How many times, when I was growing up, did my Mum say ‘tell the truth and shame the Devil’? It’s a phrase that passes through my head when I know that I am being dishonest: with others, myself or with God.

Matthew 5:33-37 isn’t a ‘sexy’ quiet time. It’s not like Jacob wrestling with God or Ruth declaring that the God of Naomi would become her God. Yet they both fit into the truth of this passage.

It says, ‘Do not take an oath at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is His footstool […] Let what you say be simply ‘Yes,’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.’

Do we really take this seriously in our multi-activity, hyper-busy, twenty-first-century lives? When was the last time you made a plan and then broke it, because of other commitments, people or personal attitude? When was the last time you told someone ‘No sorry, I have a heap of things on my plate, I can’t do x,y, or z’? Or, when was the last time you said ‘Sure, no problem’ to a plan you knew would fall apart because you didn’t have the time or energy?

Truth is, if you’re anything like me, saying no is hard. Yes seems like the answer others want to hear. Yet, when did God call us into His family just for us to be people pleasers? When did we decide that saying ‘No’ was not holy, or pleasing to God? After all, He has said ‘No’ to all of the sin in our life. He doesn’t have a problem saying ‘No’ to stuff in my life.

When we take that line, it can feel as if God is a party-pooper. The biggest kill-joy out there. But guys, heaven is His throne, earth His footstool. Firstly, what a metaphor! Secondly, He wants what is best for us because He is a good Father. Surely, if God is saying ‘Actually, no that’s not happening,’ we should be able to accept it grace-fully and move on.

If that’s the case then why should we (I) feel guilty about not attending every single thing that is put on by the CU, or church, this semester. There is such a wide choice of ministries and times of fellowship, leading me down Guilt Trip Alleyway whenever I think about what I do and don’t have the time for. I’d love to go to everything and see everyone and do everything and be in the centre: trouble is I am in final year. I’m also quite introverted so if I spend all my time with people, then when will I fit in the rest I need? If I don’t rest then what will the quality of my work be like? What will the love of my subject end up being classified as, if I am too tired to think properly?

Christians on campus’, if you can do all the things and work well, I applaud you wholeheartedly. You are running in a way that I cannot. And that’s OK too.

This struggle I have had over the past few years – doing everything well – felt like Jacob wrestling with God (Gen32:22-32). Jacob was saying ‘No God, I can do this on my own.’ I clearly remember sitting in Sunday school thinking, ‘Huh, this guy is a numpty. Why would you ever wrestle with God and His plans? He knows best. Jacob must have been pretty thick.’ Clearly, never did I ever think I would have this senario in common with Jacob. I made myself and my actions bigger than my Saviour and lost sight of the rest, healing and peace that comes from being quiet. Like Jacob’s hip, God used the things I was physically working with, to show me His heart. It’s the same heart for everyone (literally: every single person on this footstool); His love.

Ruth’s allegiance to Naomi is a beautiful scene (Ruth 1:16-18). Ruth was giving up her identity, her home, her family, everything to go into a new land and people. Most of all, she was shrugging off her old life and stepping into a new one. She was saying ‘Yes’ to Naomi’s God and ‘No’ to the world. It was going to be hard, but ultimately, Ruth found the rest, healing and peace that comes from God’s plan.

What about the business of this semester, however? What about the dissertation and the classes and small groups and CU and church and friends and…

Where is God in all of that? Nowhere.

Again, I need to learn this lesson: run to Him all who are stressing and exhausted and He will give you all you need. In running to Him, all the ‘have-to-dos’ and the ‘should-be-dones’ fall by the wayside. Our baggage drops as we run faster, not wanting to be encumbered by their weight. Running into Daddy’s arms, He hugs us tight and whispers what we need to hear into our ears;

‘Let your ‘Yes’ mean yes and your ‘No’ mean no, Nesta. I’ve already done everything you really need. So give these bags all to me. I want to help you because I love you.’



Nesta xx

The Speech for the Defence

Hello world,

The last time I wrote to you, it was December 2016. Me, myself and I think that this is not good enough.

I promised blogs on books I wanted to read… that didn’t happen. My laptop broke down and a few things shifted in life, upsetting the previous rhythm, making a new symphony. I promised recipes, appaling spelling (see what I did there) and other things to cuddle down into with a cup of tea. This is embarrassing, the amount of things promised, but not delivered.

This month of September sees life kicking into a new gear. That gear being ‘Final Year’. There is even a hashtag floating around instagram in honour of this stressful occasion; #puttingtheENGintothird. I know it’s bad.

But away from all the negativity, I will claim this blog back as my own. I will try harder to write greater amounts of content, after all, writing is a form of therapy. It also really helps to develop your style and language. Perfect for those who happen to have the prospect of writing for a living to look forward to, as I am.

This is a ramble, and the grammar isn’t perfect. But this is what it’s all about. Try and fail, try again and succeed a bit before you fail. Getting back on the horse is all about putting yourself out there.

So go forth and get back on. After all, what’s the worse that could happen?






I failed at taking this picture for instance.

Shaken, Not Stirred

Some people, are born to be Bond.


I give you, Mr Hiddleston and Mr Cumberbatch.

Some people are not…


…such as the Galvally Gals.

Normally this character is played by a silent, moody and yet charming actor, who can make the most pansy martini sound like the Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnston’s, tipple of choice. However, heroes nowadays no longer conform to the stereotypical ‘type’ of Bond. Heroes are now flawed, with wounds exposing them and histories that would make Ian Flemming reach for the pansy martini.

That is because Hollywood has tapped into a growing realisation that, and get this, all humans have flaws, choices and self-responsibility. Shocking!

This went through my mind as soon as I wrote that sentence. I apologise if the book-nerd factor has offended you. Please send your requests to Pemberly, Derbyshire, circa 1798.

This is what we in the west like to call ‘free-choice’.

Flemming’s villains always seem as if they are the worst people on the planet. Now we like to say that they were making their own free-will choices, and blow the rest of humanity. But I would say that the villains in Bond stories are the worst because they know there is evil in the world, take advantage and watch the cities burn and the people die, because let’s face it, we will all die at some point.

This is realism.

This is not an essay, promise.

But as there is no vlog for today, I thought that I would give you a post on something that happened to me this afternoon.

A nice aesthetic picture to keep interest flowing.

Today isn’t a people day for me.

These days happen now and again. It’s sort of like scarring from an operation, or the ache of a bad sports injury; the pain has stopped but there will sometimes be a little twinge reminding you of what your body has been through. I am a melancholic, introspective person naturally, so depression and anxiety are my injury. The lack of people skills in general, coupled with the ability to hide from all social groups at short notice, is my scar [woe is me tirade over].

As a Christian, it sucks a bit whenever these days come over me. I love having fellowship with all my b’s and s’s in Christ, worshipping the only God I want to worship (having ruled out options such as myself, knowledge, celebrity, my boyfriend and the world in general) and generally having a bit of fun with people who love God and love others.

Normally on days like these, I would stick on a bit of Louie Giglio while doing something that completely relaxes me but Daddy recommended Tim Keller today. Usually, I would say ‘Ok Daddy’, then go on trying to find a Louie talk which I haven’t listened to before. Today, for some ‘strange reason’ I thought that I’d listen to my Dad.

I typed “Tim Keller sermons” into my search engine.




Who said that God doesn’t put things together in His perfect timing?

The first sermon came on. I didn’t even look at the title. Tim Keller is, well, Tim Keller. All of what he says is pretty good.

I needed to hear this talk, especially today.

The title of the sermon was ‘Does God Control Everything?’ and I will not lie to y’all, the inner Presbyterian whom I have been trying to suppress, really did leap out at this point – #predestinationdoctorinerighthererightnow.

Keller said that Western ideology is divided between these two states: free (unlimited) choice that will make your future, or realism.

But as Westerners we find it really hard to grasp the fact that we have both free-choice and a pre-determined future. How mind melting is that to think about, while making a gluten-free and dairy free sticky toffee pudding on a Sunday afternoon?

Romans 8 vs 28 says that ‘We know that for all those who love God [he makes] all things work together for those who are called according to His purpose.’

I will not give you his sermon (plagiarism and all that craic yeno) but I will try and give a summary of what he said:

1 – That we can be assured…

2 – Why we can be assured…

3 – How we can be assured…

by the message that God has given us both free-will/choice and pre-determined our steps because He loves us all. And I mean, all.

Please, bear with. I am getting my head around it too.

Culture says that it is one or the other, but God says that life is both. He has created us to have our own independent thought and already set us along paths that He has complete control over.

As to our own Western thought, we need no more example of our own free-choice than our world today. Our environment is not very healthy, our governments are not thriving, our culture says ‘Hey you! Yes you! You need to be thinner/curvier/healthier/cleverer/wittier/better/stronger/faster…’ All of this comes down to our own personal choice. Do we act on these messages that the world sends us, do we shut them down, do we even ‘revolt against’ them? Do we care about this or this? Shall we play x, y or z? Shall I blow my student finance in one week, or buy the occasional book from Waterstones [A very middle class problem in itself there]?

This is all exists because when we were designed, we were not made as robots, but as people. Humanity is complex and part of that is because we all make choices internally and externally that effect every single aspect of our lives.

If I am the only one to ever think, with my free-mind, that we all have an allocated ‘lot’ that will fall on you no matter what choices you make, then this is just a thought put onto the void: If, like God says, we do have a path that is fixed, then I can just sit back, drink my soya-milk cortado and watch everyone else panic from the sidelines. Right?

If however, the two ideas here, free-choice and realism, are symbiotic what does this look like?

Keller turns here to Acts 27 where Paul & co. were on their way to Rome, to stand before Caesar, charged with preaching the gospel, when a big storm came along and put the ship in great danger of being sunk. In vs21 Paul told the crew God had sent him a message, no one would die or even become harmed on this ship. Now, in the Old Testament, there was a law that if a prophet’s prophecy was inaccurate or unfulfilled, then said prophet was to be killed – sound familiar? Paul would have been 400% assured in God’s word/plan/love in order to prophesy like that in a life and death situation.

This is an example of predetermination of man’s steps by God. Following? Brilliant! Because I am proof reading this and I am having to concentrate, greatly.

But, as Keller points out, in vs30-31 Luke records that there were some of the crew that wanted to let the lifeboat down into the water. Paul told them ‘Unless [you] stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.’

What? But you said…


Tim: ‘This doesn’t make sense to us does it? If God has already told Paul the plan, then who cares if they get off the boat or not? Who cares if they get into the lifeboat? They could go snorkelling, right? But because we think that if the moment is fixed, it’s fixed despite choices. Paul here has a biblical understanding here that our do choices matter but they don’t determine our future. He is not passive because he knows what is going to happen, but he is also not paralysed because the choices don’t determine the future.’

Paul is not passive or paralysed. He is dynamic in his faith.

He is dynamic because God has a love so big that we are constantly moving around in it, trying to acquaint ourselves with the surroundings.

God doesn’t love you because you have a,b,c or d. He loves us because he loves us.

Paul is shaken, moved into action by his faith in God while in the world.

He is however not stirred into worrying and fretting about the future.

So many times I find myself thinking about what will be next; job to save for post-grads, get married, do post-grads, get a job, have some money, live a good life, have kids,dogs,cats,animals,kitchen,clothes…

It’s all self-worship anyway, making myself the centre of my world, but why do I worry about the next step, when I know that God has my path laid out?

Is it because I want to do English post-grads that may take me down a secular job route, away from good-little-Christian primary teaching [not being mean or anything because all teachers have my utmost respect — they deserve OBE’s and high salaries because they teach kids to reach for the stars, to hope, to plan and to dream]?

Why have we got a problem with saying to our Father, who gives no bad gifts (James 1vs17), ‘Dad, can I have this? Is that OK with you?’

We just have to ask our Father for anything and He will either give it to us, if the object is good, or say ‘No, sorry that will not do you any good. Trust me on this’ if what we want will harm us in the end.


There are some people who are meant to be friends.

Here we have the Galvally Gals to the right and a slightly embarrassing picture to the left of myself and big cuz Antonia in matching pinafores. We have been friends all of our lives and despite the small problem that she lives in Abergavenny, Wales, conversation has always had a good flow and goodbyes are never easy. I will embarrass her here – not that I think she will be reading this or anything – and say that she is the first best friend I ever had and will always be up near the top in my eyes.

Whereas in Galvally, well, the banter never stops and as you may have guessed from the vlogs, we laugh almost every minute of everyday. I will steadfastly say that the reason that we are such good friends is because of the sistership we have in Christ. This is special for a whole heap of reasons, but I will single out one that is relevant now. The Spirit stirs each of us up, to shake each other. Constant reminders of God’s love pour through the flat from it being week 11 and there have been zero arguments (huzzah), to the little encouraging verses that are littered around the coffee table written in v hipster calligraphy, to the graceful treatment we have for each other…

Point is, we have no reason to be nice to each other, apart from the love of God that unites us as sisters in Christ.


If God is love and sent His Son as atonement for our inherent cancer of evil (sin) to prove His love for us, then what’s the catch? If He is going to look after us and keep us from harm, why do we run away from the idea of God having total control of our lives?

Christmas marks Christ’s arrival as a baby, from a virgin’s womb, to a world being torn apart by this cancer. If God came to the earth in the form of a baby, to live and die, both as equally man and God, then why do Westerners think that the concept of free-will means that the future is unset and completely changeable? Or that the future is set and man’s will means nothing?

Why can’t we do both?


“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: ‘I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God.’

That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.

He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell.

You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

– C.S. Lewis

See you tomorrow!

Lots of love,