If church had marshmallows

A solitary marshmallow is nothing to get excited about, and yet I love it when my café-made drink is served with one on the side. A marshmallow, some chocolate-covered coffee beans, or maybe a piece of biscotti. That tiny bit on the side, the unexpected treat, brings me a disproportionate amount of joy. It resonates…

Confessions of a Church Hunter

Our family recently joined the ranks of church hunters. Simultaneously loved and misunderstood, church hunters are a conspicuous group of seekers trying to find a congregation that fits. We are anxiously stalking various Baptist congregations around Sydney’s Inner West to find a new church home. It is a welcome refresher course in what it means…

Three things a Baptist learnt from the Anglican Church

Eight years ago I attended an Anglican church for the first time. As a Baptist pastor’s daughter I was suddenly transplanted into a church community where men sometimes wear dresses, people sprinkle water on babies’ heads, drink real wine at communion, and recite familiar phrases aloud together during their services. Despite growing up in church…