Category: Uncategorized

Live a life through his teachings

I heard something recently that really stayed with me. I can’t remember the exact words or who originally said it, but the message was essentially this:

Stop reading about Christ. You don’t need another book. You don’t need another icon. You need to live the teachings of Christ.

And honestly, that hit me.

Because I think this is another reason why Orthodox Christianity has begun to make so much sense to me.

I’ve spent years searching through different spiritual traditions, and so much of spirituality can become about acquiring things — another book, another object, another symbol, another ritual, another altar, another thing that supposedly brings you closer to whatever you’re seeking.

And Christianity can become that too, if we’re not careful.

You can have an entire bookshelf about Christ.

You can have beautiful icons on your walls.

You can have the perfect prayer corner.

You can know the prayers.

You can know the theology.

You can know the history.

You can talk endlessly about Christ.

And yet still not actually live like Christ.

That’s the bit that really gets me.

Because what good is knowing everything about Christ if I’m not trying to live what He taught?

What good is having an icon of Christ if I’m not trying to see Christ in the person standing in front of me?

What good is reading His words every day if I don’t allow those words to change the way I behave?

And this brings me back to something I’ve been discovering about myself.

I don’t need another thing.

I don’t need to keep accumulating objects in order to prove my spirituality.

I don’t need my entire home to become a visual representation of my faith.

Yes, I have a prayer corner. I love the icons. I love the beauty, the incense, the prayers and the ancient traditions of Orthodoxy.

But those things aren’t the destination.

They point me towards Christ.

And then, at some point, I have to put the book down.

I have to step away from the icon.

I have to leave the prayer corner.

And live it.

Love people.

Forgive.

Show mercy.

Be humble.

Serve.

Don’t judge.

Care for the stranger.

Love your enemy.

Feed the hungry.

Visit the lonely.

Give without expecting anything back.

Because perhaps the greatest expression of my faith isn’t how many books about Christ I own, how many icons I have, or how beautifully I can arrange my prayer corner.

Perhaps it’s what happens when I walk out of my front door.

That’s where I have to live the Gospel.

And maybe that’s the simplest thing Christianity has taught me so far:

I don’t need to keep collecting things that point me towards Christ. I need to actually turn towards Christ — and then live as He taught me to live.

Why I Choose to Veil

I’ve been thinking a lot about veiling in Christianity, particularly now that I’m living within Orthodox Christianity.

There are arguments on both sides, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that.

Historically, women covering their heads was already a normal part of life in the ancient world. When Paul speaks about women covering their heads in 1 Corinthians 11, he wasn’t introducing some completely unfamiliar concept. Women were already accustomed to covering their heads, and Paul’s teaching placed the practice within the context of Christian prayer, worship, reverence and order.

Christian women continued to veil for centuries. Even when we look at traditional representations of the Virgin Mary, she is almost invariably depicted with her head covered. In Orthodox Christianity, the practice of women covering their heads in church has also remained much more visible than it has in many Western Christian denominations.

But Christianity today isn’t uniform on this.

Some Christians believe Paul’s teaching remains relevant as a practice for women during prayer and worship. Others understand his instructions within their first-century cultural context and don’t believe that Christian women today are required to cover their heads.

And I think that’s okay.

I grew up Roman Catholic, and I never saw ordinary women veil. The only women I really remember seeing veiled were the nuns, and I thought they were beautiful. There was one particular nun, Sister Philomena, whose way of veiling I absolutely loved. There was something about it that I found incredibly beautiful and reverent.

Then, six years ago, I took my shahada and became Muslim. So I’ve experienced head-covering from another religious tradition as well. And now, as I find myself living within Orthodox Christianity, I’m discovering what veiling means to me as a Christian.

It’s interesting how easily a head covering can make people think of another faith. Muslim women may wear the hijab, and Jewish women may cover their hair with a tichel or other forms of head covering. But I’ve lived within those worlds myself, so I don’t see a veil as belonging exclusively to any one religion.

And I think sometimes Christians can become so concerned about what something might make them look like to other people that they forget to ask a more important question:

How do I want to appear before God?

I’m not interested in whether somebody sees my veil and thinks I’m Muslim, Jewish, Catholic, Orthodox, or anything else.

My faith isn’t determined by what somebody might assume when they look at me.

For me, veiling is a personal choice.

I choose to veil when I pray, whether I’m at home or in church. But I don’t believe I have to cover my head every minute of every day.

Sometimes, though, I will choose to veil while I’m simply going about my everyday life — running errands, shopping, or doing ordinary things. Those are often the moments when I feel that I need it most. If I’m feeling distant from God, unsettled, vulnerable, or simply in need of a greater sense of His presence and protection, putting on my veil becomes a physical reminder to draw myself back towards Him.

For me, it becomes a quiet act of prayer.

It reminds me to be reverent. It reminds me to be humble. It reminds me that God is present even in the most ordinary parts of my day.

And perhaps that’s why I love it.

I’m not wearing it because someone has forced me to. I’m not wearing it because I believe women who don’t veil are somehow less faithful. And I’m not wearing it to imitate another religion.

I veil because I choose to.

I find something deeply beautiful about taking something outward and allowing it to express something inward.

For me, the veil isn’t about hiding my femininity or being ashamed of my hair. It’s about reverence, devotion, humility and drawing closer to God.

I wear it when I pray.

I wear it when I walk into church.

And sometimes, in the middle of an ordinary day, I put it on simply because my soul needs the reminder.

It isn’t about how I look to the world.
It’s about how I choose to stand before God.

Something I was reading this morning really stayed with me — John 3:20, where Jesus speaks about people coming into the light, and how uncomfortable truth can sometimes make us want to retreat from it.

It made me think about something that actually happened to me today.

I shared a reflection this morning, and afterwards somebody messaged me privately on Facebook to tell me that they had taken offence to what I’d written. The message very much came from the assumption that what I’d posted had been directed at them.

But it hadn’t.

And that’s what made me reflect on this even more deeply.

What I posted wasn’t a reaction to anybody. It wasn’t a passive-aggressive response to a conversation. It wasn’t a disguised message aimed at a particular person.

I woke up this morning with a thought.

I immediately journalled it. I put pen to paper, sat with the thought, reflected on it, developed it into something meaningful, and blogged it on my blog which I then shared on Facebook.

There was a whole process behind it. It wasn’t “something happened, so I’m going to post about it.” I’m a writer it doesn’t work that way there’s allot of paper behind my thoughts and what I post online, much of it never makes it here or my blog.

It was simply a thought that came to me, followed by reflection.

And yet, someone read it and saw themselves in it strongly enough to feel that it must have been about them.

That got me thinking about how easily we can take things personally. You see as someone who is neurodivergent we don’t just stop there it’s goes deeper. Picking it apart so we can understand the thought processes of others to understand them better which is probably why I hold a degree in psychology 😂

You see sometimes we read something and immediately think, “That’s aimed at me.” We become defensive, offended, or feel compelled to respond. But perhaps the more useful question isn’t always, “Why would someone say that about me?”

Perhaps it’s, “Why did I feel that was about me?”

Because sometimes what we’re reacting to isn’t actually the person who wrote the words. Sometimes we’re reacting to something the words have touched within ourselves.

A truth.
A wound.
A behaviour.
A fear.
Something we’re not quite ready to look at.

And I’m not saying that everyone who takes offence is automatically guilty of whatever they’ve read. That’s far too simplistic.

But I do think there’s something powerful about recognising that our reactions can sometimes reveal more about us than the thing we’re reacting to.

John 3:20 says:

“Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.”

And then, beautifully, John 3:21 follows:

“Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light…”

Perhaps that’s the real lesson.

The light isn’t just there to expose other people. Sometimes it’s there to show us ourselves.

So if something I write resonates with you, challenges you, or even makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay.

But before assuming it was written at you, perhaps pause for a moment and ask yourself why you saw yourself in it.

Because I can only speak for myself and sometimes I write because I am processing something I’ve been shown within myself or simply because I’m trying to understand human behaviour.

And sometimes, what I write just happens to shine a light somewhere someone else wasn’t expecting to see it.