This Is Your Moment

The phone rang.

I nearly didn’t answer from beneath the chaos of papers, pens and little coloured post-it notes shouting for attention in their rainbow voices.

But good breeding kicked in, and I made an attempt to push aside everything urgent or important or both, and graciously take the call. I secretly hoped it would not be an enquiry from a crotchety customer, or a 2-minute request that would mean a 2-hour job, or a colleague enlightening me about yet another big project to get started on as of yesterday.

It was the latter. At least for 2 seconds…

The call was from a colleague based in another country, but he had not phoned to check up on my work progress or to present me with yet another task and deadline. He had simply phoned to share a word of encouragement. To point out that the sun was shining, and that our work was important and made a difference, and that it was a good day to have a good day.

So I did. Have a good day I mean.

I was pressured and stretched and frantically chasing life’s coattails as it galloped along. But I was grinning all the way.

What made the difference? What slipped that silver lining into the clouds hovering over my sizzling keyboard? What hung a smile on my face so that I spoke to customers and received mail deliveries and took urgent phone calls with a smile?

It was that moment. The briefest of moments, and really not a very complicated or over-exerting moment.

But someone had made an effort and siezed the moment, and now the moment was mine. Because as I pondered the lightness of a few kind words and sipped a brew made sweeter by happiness, I realised something about that moment.

It was the easiest thing in the world.

All it took was someone to look up from the whirring spin of the globe and see a moment and be a moment and make a moment for someone else.

All it took was a moment.

And there is such a moment in every day, if we only have the mind to think it and the heart to act it.

That moment in which we can purposefully add a splash of sunshine to someone’s day.
That moment when we can actually call the person who’s been on our mind, and let them know, tangibly and unmistakably, that they matter.
That moment in which we can find some act, no matter how small, that makes the world a kinder, brighter place.

And then make that moment happen.

So what will you do to make that moment? How will you act it or create it or burst it unexpectedly and joyfully into someone else’s day?
Because this is it.

This is your moment.

Don’t waste it.


Kind thanks to “Uncle” Ian McDougall who made that moment for me

© Emma McGeorge 2015


Now Is Always a Good Time

I wanted to talk to God.

They told me now wasn’t a good time.

You can’t just up and talk to Him

they said

There are steps you have to take; certain things that have to happen first

they told me

My heart was heavy. My soul was empty.

You can’t just connect with the Lord Almighty.

their words echoed

lost and alone like me

But I tried again. I just wanted to connect with Him.

They reminded me that I wasn’t ready yet.

You can’t connect with God until you’ve settled your past

they said

You have to sort out your anger and attitude first; you have to deal with your troubles and your issues so that they are not your focus when you try to commune with Him

they told me

My mind froze, caught up in the dark cloud of those very troubles that I hoped God would blow away. What if He looked at the clouds, but didn’t see me tangled up inside?

Please, I just want to meet with God.

They reminded me that I wasn’t in a good place.

You don’t even know what you want to say

they said

Your heart is empty and your mind is scattered and your soul is dragging itself through the inky darkness

they told me

And that’s no state to be in if you want to meet with God.

I turned away in despair. I wept. I carried one word in my palm.


I’m here

He said

I’ve already heard you

He told me

You don’t have to be in a good place to meet me

He reminded me

Because I am the One who meets you and

I find you wherever you are at and

I hold you close to My heart regardless


Now is always a good time

He whispered


© Emma McGeorge 08/09/2015

blank pages

blank pages

haunting with an open, empty stare

no ink swirls gracefully across the void spaces

no pen softly kisses the shy, papery cheeks

blank pages

lying aimless and alone

bereft of anything but their own inadequacy

and yet it is not

their blame to own

even if it is

their shame to be known as

blank pages

for how can a page be filled

if the tumbling words never spill over

like autumn leaves painting the ground?

if rhythm dances elusively

and rhyme refuses to sing

then how can a parchment

no matter how willing

ever carry the world?

for no matter how much these

blank pages

long to capture a heartbeat

and hold it to their breast

sometimes the words run free



like wild, rippling waves

frothing wordless

and leaving in their empty wake only

unsung woes

and unheard sighs

and unspoken wonderings

that cannot yet take their sweet rest upon these

blank pages

© Emma McGeorge 2015

Coffee Coffee Coffee

My mom has this song.

I guess it’s one of those “mom songs” that every family has, which is only ever known and sung by that family who have sworn to secrecy the very fact of its existence.

So my mom’s song is about coffee (actually, she has a song about tea as well – that one even has its own synchronized moves – but this is a blog post about coffee, so…)

Anyway, this song was born on one of those chilled Saturday winter mornings when the only thing lingering in the frosted air was an ABBA song (“Money, money, money” – so Christian, I know) and this one word that everyone gasped as they stumbled into the frigid kitchen with the sole purpose of ensuring that the black elixir of life was brewing.

“coffee??” *gasp* “coffee!!” *gasp* “where’s the coffee?” (all lower case, as voices cannot be fully employed at this early stage of the day)

We’re obviously not morning people. Well, with the exception of Mamma, who somehow smiles and sings and speaks above a whisper, all before the cups have even made it to the counter.

So urged on by her morning cheer, this ABBA song and this caffeinated word somehow found each other amidst the cups and spoons, and the result was this:

“Coffee coffee coffee – coffee coffee – in a mommy’s world,” sang my mother as she danced the milk bottle out of the fridge.

“Coffee coffee coffee – coffee coffee – it’s a mommy’s world,” my sister sleepily picked up the chorus.

And the song stuck.

But not only did it stick, it became a sort of prequel to the sacred plunger ritual. Soon, puffy morning faces were lighting up at the mere tune, before that pungent smell had even wafted into being. Or the real ABBA song would come on during the day, and people would absentmindedly reach for a mug. Or worse, a guest would arrive, the coffee would come out, and the family would forget where they were and break into enthusiastic strains of “Coffee coffee coffee – coffee coffee – in a mommy’s world… Ahaaaiii- aaaiii! All the things I could do – if I had a little coffee. It’s a mommy’s world…” and so on.

It’s not hard to see why this song did not remain anonymously in our family, and my friend, visiting for a week and settling into our routine, walked into our kitchen one morning loudly singing (you guessed it): “Coffee coffee coffee…” Wait – what?!

I should, at this point, insert a side note. I am not a coffee addict. In fact, I am barely a coffee drinker. I actually quite like coffee, and am not adverse to the odd cup here and there. But I savor it as a treat, rather than a panacea for the dilemma of mornings.

And because I can view the coffee situation as, I feel, an objective Medium-Cafe-Latte-Non-Addict, it leaves me somewhat worried about the effects on over-caffeinated sleep-deprived non-morning people. Some of whom I live with.

Take for example the sister who sips and sighs and croons in Celine Dion tremolo, “It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now…”

Or the distressing sight of the work colleague, slumped over her desk begging the clock to strike 10:00am and thus signal the release of the coffee pot from its prison of “hang-in-there-until-10:00am-baby”.

Or the friend who is convinced that it’s coffee pulsing in his veins, rich and bitter and life-giving.

Or this overheard statement, which one would expect from a modern Shakespearean sonnet, but never from a half-asleep human who has suddenly scented coffee in the air and burst into half-sung prose:
“There’s this feeling of deep joy when I slowly press down the plunger, then pour the dark liquid into the cup and see the richness of the foam on top…”

Me? Worried? Just a little.

Am I the only one who literally hears the bags of coffee beans chuckling at their raw power over bags under tired eyes? Am I the only one who asks for tea in a coffee shop? Am I the only one who wakes up calmly and gently, rather than with a java kick in the backside? At least I know I’m not the only one who will never hear the opening music of that ABBA song quite the same way again…

So now I am looking for a counselor. One who will empathise with my uncertainty regarding caffeine-spiked karaoke. One who will walk me safely through this bean-mad world, clutching my porcelain tea cup. One who will give me a gentle debrief over a slowly-brewed coffee.

Hey, when in Rome… you may as well try a good Italian brew.

© Emma McGeorge 2015

My Prayer for You

May God bless you

with a restless discomfort

about easy answers and half-truths
and egotistical actions for peer-approval
and superficial, empty relationships

So that you may

seek truth boldly
and love without fear
and live with a healthy aversion to swimming downstream


May God bless you

with a soul that’s wild enough

to live outside the box
and love outside the boundaries

So that you may

firmly crush mediocrity
and tightly hold on to grace
and daringly write your own life story inked in Christ


May God bless you

with enough foolishness 

to believe that you are invaluable
and you are unconquerable
and you really can make a difference

So that you may, by God’s grace

boldly do what the world claims cannot be done.

© Emma McGeorge

based on a prayer written by Sister Ruth Fox

Raining Words

the rain falls heavy upon the ground

dashing recklessly, splashing and gasping and tumbling

over flowers and buildings and trees

the air is overripe with unsung words

I know this, because I see them falling heavily to the ground

wrapped in an incandescent globe

too many words for this world to bear

far too many words

and far too few pages to hold them

they tumble and fall and sing to a deaf night

their low, grey tune thrums all around me


yet saying everything I cannot

so who am I to tell them not to fly?

who am I to tell them to hold back?

to beg them to snuggle down in their misty mansions and wait until the earth is ready to soak them in?

the globe keeps spinning

the dusty ground keeps sighing

the words keeps falling from the sky

and I welcome the downpour

whether I am ready or not

standing in the fresh coolness

listening to a song with no rhyme

drenched in the rain

marveling in the words

as they tumble and dance in their dewy cloaks

Tears of God

Raindrops are falling like so many tears

Brokenly singing the song of my fears

Low is the sky with the weight of this cloud

Wrapping the earth in a sorrowful shroud

Somewhere the sun shines, but here it’s unseen

Mem’ries alone tell me what once has been

Yet in this chill wind where colors are grey

Raindrops are healing, for words cannot say

How much you mean to me, how much I care

How much I cherish those times we could share

So, though the heavens are crying in pain

And though I weep – oh! To see you again –

I let the raindrops break down in my place

Feeling the tears of God on my face

IMG_3579 - Copy

Dedicated to my precious Grandpa, “Stan” Stanfield

Tears of God © Emma McGeorge 15 February 2015