sustain:if:able kiwi

lost words and the spiritual discipline of journal keeping

I lost some words yesterday.

Travelling long haul from Germany to New Zealand, jet-lagged arriving into Singapore, I left my personal journal in the seat pocket of 57K.

I’ve lodged a lost and found claim with the airline. And while I wait – and hope – I ponder these lost words.

I journal regularly. I find it a helpful spiritual discipline to buy a blank journal, have some pens that feel good and to take time daily to write. What do I write?

The Psalmist writes of numbering our days. So on work days, I begin my daily writing by taking note of how I spent my time in the day gone. For example – 9 am – write; 10 am – research project – sending out 9 emails … and so on.

Next, I will write notes in response to the Lectionary reading. Often what results are reflections on the day gone in light of the Scriptures. Or a prayer for the day ahead.

Finally, I will record memorable moments from the day. It might be some words of encouragement. Or that I cooked up some apples, met a deadline, or tackled something I would rather avoid. I write my feelings and consider what that is saying about who I feel I am called to become. Occasionally, I will paste in an email or a concert ticket, and write about the experience.

How do I write? When I journal, I use different coloured pens. Days of rest tend to be green. Holidays tend to be orange. I will often use purple pens during Advent and Lent, and black or brown or blue during Ordinary time. Emails that I feel are significant are in red.

I will also often use symbols. A letter shape for an email. A hand drawn car when I drive somewhere, for example to grab a coffee or visit in town.

Why do I write? I write mainly to help me process. So that I remember things done well, or moments I’d rather forget. Which means that this element of my ongoing spiritual journey has not been lost. The words might be lost in the seat pocket of 57K. But in the moment of daily writing, I have already gained the benefit of pausing, reflecting, praying. For the gift of reflecting and praying and committing, I am deeply grateful.

What I have lost is the opportunity for review.

I review what I write weekly, often on the weekend. Looking back over the week helps me gain a sense of how I spent my working time over a week – I count up hours in relation to various project – and then consider that in light of my sense of vocation. I will also use a tick symbol and note what has been achieved. Number of runs for exercise. Billable hours. Significant conversations. These all help with gaining perspective. So what I have lost are my weekly reviews since I opened this new journal, back in March.

I also review the year annually. This involves taking time during summer holidays to read back over my entries for that year. I sit with the emotions. I ponder recurring patterns. This helps me plan my way forward, as I think about the year ahead.

So unless my lost words are found, it looks like this year I have lost 3 months of review. But I will still have nine months. Plus the 12 months of the daily discipline of spiritual journal keeping and the gift of time to pause and pray. That has not been lost. And for that I am grateful.

four digital faith-based activism outputs coming in soon

Yesterday I found myself working on four different digital activism faith-based outputs. What is most exciting is that all four are due out over the next few months.

First, I created a short (2 minute) video to introduce Chapter 25, Mission in Digital Culture, which I wrote for the Oxford Handbook of Digital Theology. The Handbook is being launched next week.

Second, I checked page proofs for “Relational labour and faith-based digital activism: theorising the interplay between online and offline,” which I wrote for Disconnected: Digital Theology in and between Contexts.

Third, I worked on the editorial for 7 journal articles, for the “Grassroots and indigenous digital faith-based activism” special issue due out with Ecclesial Futures in August. I will be contributing not only the editorial, but also an article – “The visual grammar of online faith-linked climate activism: Case studies of grassroots “moana” theologies in Oceania.”

The blind peer reviewers where very positive. My article “offers new models for how Christianity might engage with climate change,” “highly original;” “successfully draws together empirical analysis, theological reflection, and methodological insight.”

These four outputs began in January 2023. I had a week self-isolating with a very mild dose of Covid. The unexpected space of a free week, and the very mild symptoms, allowed me to write the chapter for the Oxford University Press (OUP).

During that week, I saw a call for applications for Research Fellowships with the Institute for Advanced Studies in Humanities (IASH) Edinburgh. Immersed in the “Mission in Digital Culture,” OUP book chapter, I realised that further research questions generated by the chapter fitted with research themes important to IASH Edinburgh. My application to IASH Edinburgh was successful and the intellectual work at IASH during June-July 2024 was instrumental in writing the chapter on “Relational labour and faith-based digital activism: theorising the interplay between online and offline,” for Disconnected: Digital Theology in and between Contexts.

The relationships I formed at IASH generated momentum for the Ecclesial Futures special issue. A particular catalyst was IASH offering to support and host a hybrid colloquium in April 2025, which was significant in gathering the various articles and creating a shared conversation. The 7 articles have been described as “cutting-edge” that “will advance scholarship in our field in several directions” and form the August issue of Ecclesial Futures.

It is very exciting and gratifying to have four outputs in the area of digital faith-based activism and to have all four being published over the next few months.

making a single sock and the work of academic writing

I’ve just knitted my first ever sock. I’m feeling very pleased.

This sock is the result of several years of effort. A few years ago, I was given a book of knitted sock patterns. The book came with a bookmark carefully inserted, suggesting a place to start. So I brought the wool and began to knit.

But I’m a slow knitter. And I tend to pause when I get to tricky bits, especially tricky bits where I might need help from others, who might not currently be available. (My partner is a much more experienced knitter than I and a very helpful voice of calm when I find my knitting tricky).

So this week, after nearly 2 and a half years, I have knitted my first sock. While there were months of no knitting, often related to a tricky part approaching, it is clear that knitting socks is – for my slow fingers – a long and slow labour of love.

However socks come in pairs. And so amid the elation of completing a first sock, is the realisation that I am only half way there. It is a strange thing to feel both pleased and daunted and both at the same time.

This week I also submitted a 2,000 word conference presentation. It began as a possible idea in December 2025, 250 words submitted from a hotel room in Rwanda. Then a few weeks ago, I carved out a few hours and realised the data I was working with was far richer than I had remembered. Then a week ago, I carve out another few hours and realised that I could adapt a theoretical framework from some earlier writing.

So this week I completed a sock and 2,000 word conference presentation. These milestones got me pondering how knitting is like writing.

The data for the conference presentation comes from analysing 12 interviews from my Ordinary knitters research project. I was working with interviews from 2019 through to 2024. Five years! The theoretical framework comes from reading done in 2012, which became part of my First Expressions book published with SCM in 2019.

So the conference words are also slow words. And the Ordinary knitters research project is something I hope to turn into a book. Of which I have about 40,000 words, of a possible 80,000 word book project.

So I’m half way to a book and half way to a pair of socks. I’m feeling pleased with progress, yet daunted by progress. At this stage, I can learn about writing from the processes of knitting.

Both writing and knitting are projects too big to do in a single burst. But one stitch, repeated, makes a row. One row, repeated, makes a leg.