When I was about 7 years old, I had a profound experience of grace.

Our family home was often filled with extended family, and this was one of those occasions. For some reason, I’m now unable to recall, I retreated into the quiet and darkness of my Nana’s bedroom for a moment.

Whatever it was that lead me to do this — I call it grace — I was required by what was about to take place to be away from the noise of the collective laughter and frivolity of the kitchen, the heart of our home.

I would not realise, for sometime to come, that my retreat into the silence of Nana’s prayer-filled room would reflect a way of life for me, and that this was a divine and defining moment of my life. Continue reading