Much like life, writing sometimes comes easily. At other times, both take a little more concentration. Putting together this post has been an example of the latter, and things have felt stilted. But reaching for the right words has always been important to me. Sitting down to scribble or type is how I feel my way through it all: the good and the bad.

September has been a month of lovely, if clichéd things: cool, golden evenings; stewed apples; the satisfaction of zipping up a good pair of new boots; the comforting spice and warmth of chai lattes; the sound of rain on the roof and a good pile of books to read.

Yet, this month has also been a time of unease. Like many people, I have been deeply troubled by the national and global news, to the point that I have stood in the shower and cried tears of sheer frustration that the world can be so hateful, so mean-spirited and so violent.

In my own life, also, there are things that are troubling me, personal struggles that can lead to feelings of despair and inadequacy.

In a world so troubled, and so dominated by media, in all its forms, the threat of overwhelm can hover over us constantly. So how do we live with peace and courage? How do we live with hope at a time like this? Is it possible to find joy?

It’s tempting to try to find answers, to wrap this post up neatly and present it to you, but that would feel contrived and insincere. My feelings on all these things – on life – fluctuate.

I try to be mindful of my emotions, knowing that they will ebb and flow, and to stay present in my own time and place. I am not God, over all the world. I am me, in my little corner of Devon. I am fortunate, loved and imperfect. I am flawed, but my intentions are good. I am strong – sometimes. I have doubts and weaknesses. I believe I have the Spirit of God in me, to help me with the impossibilities of my life. To God I must also entrust the chaos of this wide, precious world.

Today, this meant reconnecting with the small things. It meant making peppery vegetable soup for the week ahead. It meant making play dough for my class, taking my time kneading the warm dough, slowing down. It meant cooking for my family and catching up on some work. It meant getting out and tending to my plants in the gentle rain and breathing in the scent of thyme. It meant getting outside when the sun came out and taking care of the dog. It meant sending messages to friends when I felt stressed, and praying about my worries. It meant taking one step at a time and breathing and resting and reminding myself I am human.