The Maori have a saying:

He aha to mea nui o te ao
He tangata, he tangata, he tangata

which translates to:

What is the most important thing in the world?
It is the people, it is the people, it is the people.

Here are some of the people of Christchurch.
Kia kaha Christchurch

(click on any photo for more detail)


We passed this foal on our walk this morning. She was full of energy and the joy of simply being alive. Teenagers are the same in any language… It was hilarious watching the response of the older horses.

kicking up
and kicking over
the traces

kickin around

‘Now what’s she up to this time…’

kickin around3

‘Just wheelies Mum…’

kickin around2

praise God and keep praying – there are small signs of improvement with my niece…


For Syria

Bare branches are silhouetted against a brazen sky beyond the village. Today the planes have stayed away, but no-one knows when they will return. A few chickens scratch urgently in the red dust.

Presently the rumble of tank treads shakes the dusty road. A mother looks up from where her child sucks listlessly at an empty breast. Behind her the tumbled stones of their makeshift shelter tremble. Her eyes meet those of the man standing above the tank’s turret. Then the barrage starts up again and they are hidden by the blossoming explosion…

beyond the trees
the storm clouds gather

© Maureen Sudlow

coming storm

Will not know any more about my niece until this afternoon.  I would be grateful for your continued prayers.

Though the fig tree does not blossom, and there be no fruit on the vine… yet will I rejoice in the Lord… God the Lord is my strength.

Habakkuk 3


Horses stand patiently in early morning mist as the days shorten. The old red barn is dry under overhanging trees, stacked with hay piled upon hay, and smells of remembered sunshine.  A tumble of orange pumpkins shine from a gloomy corner.  Outside I am surrounded by a blanket of moisture that mutes everything, and even the cicadas are quiet.  Spider-webs are luminescent with small drops of water threaded as carefully as the pearls on a necklace.  Somewhere in the distance the sound of a truck.

lost years
only the pines are constant
in my memory

© Maureen Sudlow