The Forest Parish: A Journey Toward the Root
Title: Above All Love: From the Highlands to the Forest Floor
Theme: Life Seasons, Caregiving, and the "Hidden" Ministry
To my friends and fellow travelers,
There is a season for everything under heaven. For some years, my calling was a semi public one—heard through preaching, singing, and the deep study of social science and theology. This was coupled with living in intentional communities such as Lee Abbey (summer 2006 in Devon), L'arche (Highlands), London Catholic Worker (during a 'free month'), and Kilravock Christian Trust (based in a Highland castle). Since moving from the Highlands to the Lothians, that journey has evolved through marriage and the beautiful, demanding work of starting a family.
For a time, my ministry here took me to the streets as a Prayer Pastor for Street Pastors and to various pulpits with the Scottish Baptist Lay Preachers Association and the Edinburgh Preaching Group. But as life shifted, those roles had to be put on pause.
I am now at the point of stepping back from ideas of the pulpit to step into the mud instead.
My exploration of formal ministry has been placed on the "backburner" for now so that I can be a good Christian exactly where I am: working in an early years school in the beautiful Vogrie Woods and, most importantly, looking after my family who have complex needs.
Standing in the forest school the other morning, the world felt held in a cold, white breath. To the casual observer, the woods are stagnant. But as I looked down at the feet of the children, I saw them: the first snowdrops. Tiny, white bells peaking through the frozen ground at the edge of the Tyne Valley.
As a neurodivergent person, I’ve often felt the pressure to be in "perpetual spring"—always blooming, always producing. But the snowdrop is physically fragile yet biologically "tough." It produces its own heat to melt the snow around it. This is how I’m beginning to see my own autistic faith and my role at home. We may look "sensitive" to a neurotypical world, but we have an internal intensity—a deep, focused heat—that allows us to push through environments that others find inhospitable.
John Wesley famously said, "I look upon all the world as my parish." In this season, I look upon all the forest—and my own home—as my parish. I am focusing on the essential, quiet things: the stability of work, the deep commitment of caring for my family, and the stewardship of my own mental and spiritual well-being. My ministry hasn't ended; it has simply changed shape, anchored by four low-key pillars:
- Advocacy: My long-standing commitment to Christian CND and Fellowship Of Reconciliation (FOR)
- Theology: The radical, simple words of Jesus that the Red Letter Christians call the red letters of Jesus.
Rhythm: Celtic daily prayer and the monastery of the heart as envisioned by the Northumbria Community.
- Reset: Possibly seeking the Quaker silence once a month as a sensory sanctuary. And also taking on my Health in Mind support workers suggestion that I walk in nature for myself and journal creatively.
As these snowdrops defy the winter cold, they remind me that growth doesn't always have to be loud. I may have stepped down from the notion of the pulpit, but I haven't stepped away from the Word. I’ve just moved it into a space where it can breathe—among the trees, the snow, my family, and the children.
I hope you’ll join me in the quiet.
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