Change is Weird

Change is weird. There are no two ways about it. Big or small, a change in one area of your life has a domino effect on the rest of it.

I moved rooms this last week. I’ve gone from the small room in the house, to the big one. I didn’t know until I left it, that the small room was actually made out of the same material as Mary Poppins’ bag. It became apparent when what had filled the small room, also managed to fill the big room.


I went into that weekend thinking it was going to be no big deal. I was moving about 4 meters to the left. What sort of real change could that bring?

Lots as it turns out.

You see me moving into that room means someone has moved out of it. It’s the most bittersweet thing for me. My best friend is moving into a new season of her life. It’s wonderful to watch (well right now it’s funny to watch because she’s set up a tent in our back garden for a little while until her new place is ready – she’s basically a wood nymph though, so this is not unexpected or surprising) but it’s also sad because we have only been able to live together for a year. We knew from the first cup of tea that we shared, that our friendship would be something special and last a life time, but being in her room, and trying to make it mine now – well it’s weird.

I also got some new things for this room – because it was bigger. One of those things was a clock. It was put on the market place page that we have for our church. It’s got a really nice cream edging and the hands are a deep red. It’s really cool. It’s loud though. I got so excited about the concept of owning a clock (I think I thought it would make me more grown up) that I forgot how loudly I HEAR clocks. I hear all of them. Incessantly. When I released how loud this clock was I thought it was going to be a problem very quickly. It turns out though that there’s something about it’s consistency that is actually very soothing. Also, I’m more aware of the time now. Which is important for someone like me who is perpetually late if I’m not careful.


I thought that since I was moving rooms, I would also use this as a season to grow in my tidiness factor. I was not born with a whole lot of that naturally and I decided that this room would THE room. The room that I got tidy in. I sent a photo to a friend of mine in Australia of my new room. I had spent hours sorting it, getting everything in it’s place. I was so pleased. I sent him this:


And he responded with this:

… I like it. What I did notice was the bottom left of the bookshelf, it’s almost like there’s the old Sarah that I know. You’ve put everything else in it’s place perfectly all around the room, and then the bottom shelf is like “ah man, I forgot I had to find a place for this stuff. This is the perfect place for it” and then you put it all there!

I looked at the picture again and I laughed. Because he’s right. I love to organise, but I’m not always good at organising myself. And there is always going to be a part of me that is not 100% tidy. And I can spend my life trying to change that and feeling inadequate, or I can realise that that is a part of me and it’s OK.

I’m not saying that I get to spend my life in a mess all the time or I should make no effort to be organised, because that would not be stewarding well the things that God has given me. But God has gifted me in areas of hospitality and creativity and leadership and other things that I haven’t even discovered yet, and I can spend my time trying to change the things that are weak about me and probably fail, or I can grow in my strengths and manage my weaknesses to the best of my ability and seek God’s joy in all that that brings.

So, change IS weird. It’s where we discover the most about ourselves. It’s where we realise what matters to us and what doesn’t. It’s where we learn what we are good at and what we aren’t. Change helps you change. And that can be a good thing.




Ready for [the] Launch

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I remember the first proper touring band I saw play live.  Growing up in a small town in the middle of no-where we didn’t have the opportunities to socialise in fun places – no cinema, no bowling, no concert venue, all we had was the park, the high street and (I’m really racking my brains now), oh yes… the fields.  No disrespect to small towns, but it sets the tone why I was 13 when I saw my first film in a cinema, and 17 my first proper gig.  Being a musician I had performed countless times at concerts and seen local bands play regularly, plus at our church we had a Sunday morning church band – a collective of instrumentalists that weren’t too shabby and the youth band (some arguably were the better musicians).

Back to the gig – in Norwich, took us an hour to get there, and inside it was dim, crammed and everyone was excited.  Of course, being short I had to weave my way to the front next to an older guy with long white greasy hair that would later end up in my face as we moshed the night away.  My uncle came too (the driver)  and he ended up loosing his voice, so loud was his singing, and the band were brilliant.  Now, when I say it was loud, I mean it was LOUD.  The drums and bass particularly thumping, the front man an artist engaging the crowd, and every song sounded different…better…as it was always meant to be.

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Got to admit, I’d played their albums a thousand time or more.  But after seeing the band live I had a new connection with the music and a picture in my mind of how it really should be played.  The live experience enhanced the studio album and the songs became mine.  

On Friday 8th September we’re playing the first live PYRAMID PARK GIG – THE ALBUM LAUNCH PARTY.  Honestly, the stress of releasing an album is enough, without planning a large gig on top of it.  But releasing an album without a live experience somehow feels lame, or certainly anti-climactic.  So, we’re pulling all the stops out with two quality support acts (go check out Tom McConnell, above, and Judah Chukualim, below) and PYRAMID PARK playing all the songs from the new album.  My hope is this inspires you.  My hope is that the music gets on the inner side of your skin, and remains in your brain for a long time.  My hope is that you will hear the songs differently because you heard them live.  No matter how polished the studio album is (and we think we did a really good job) LIVE will never be replaced by studio.


I love that at launch parties you can do something unique, because no one else is telling you how to run it.  In 2014 my mum made 11 cakes with each of the song titled on individual cakes.  This time round we’ll be making a video with you in it (not just a crowd shot cheering a band, but a fan video based on a new music video), there will be new merch, a giant….oh wait I’m giving it all away.  Come along, be part of making  memories.

Tickets can be bought on Eventbright at £5, just click here:

The journey continues and more than anything else, I want you along with me. See you there.


Chapter 1: The Unexplained

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To celebrate the eleven songs soon to be released from my new album Vulnerability, we begin a blog series titled Chapters.  Each chapter will explain something about the writing and revelation of the song, giving you, my readers the most intimate experience of the creative process.  My hope that this will not only tell fascinating stories but inspire you in worship and creativity.    The Chapters are listed in song order (not chronologically) and now that you have access to the track listing, I think these stories will give you a autobiographical experience of the album (even before you hear the full project).

Chapter 1: The Unexplained

The thirty minute drive to pick up my guitar from an over-due service became the perfect opportunity to listen to a mix tape (CD actually) of new music.  A friend who was yet to release a batch of songs had asked me to listen to the tracks and see if I could come up with melodies and lyrics.  The second song on the rough project caught my attention, it had mood and groove and while chilled, had some sort of intensity that was calling me.  Singing randomly to it, I clicked a continuous repeat until these words lodged “The unexplained, the unthinkable, it’s how you move, it’s who you are.”  Over. And over. And over again.  Eventually the car turned left up a deep-in-to-the-countryside lane, I grabbed my phone and pressed record singing this lyric repeatedly.  It stuck and I liked it.

Fast forward three or four weeks, and the same song whined repeatedly with no more lyrics (insert sad emoji).  Surely, if a chorus arrives within thirty minutes why wouldn’t I be able to create at least a bridge or a hook or something!

Some songs are meant to die a while.  It was clear I was going to make limited progress, and so it became a stack of unfinished songs on my unfurnished shelf.  As I wrote several other songs for the album Vulnerability it became obvious that to make the album really work, we needed a few upbeat tunes.  ‘The Unexplained‘ as I had already titled it, surely could become that, but who else could I work with?  Historically I have struggled with co-writing.  I get too uncomfortable and nervous ending up agreeing with what really doesn’t sound great, and second guessing my gut instincts.  This was until I met Feranmi.

Feranmi had a way about him, a confidence beyond his years and talent for days.  We got chatting at a mutual friends wedding, putting a date in the diary to meet, write and hang out.  Our first session went swimmingly.  He was deeply interested, wanting to know all about me, calming my nerves.  He was creative, and mad with it, which outed my inner weirdness.  Perfect!  Oh, and we wrote a song together, which you’ll hear more about in Chapter 7.  Success!    One month later, it was time to unleash this beast of an untamed song on him.

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It was time for lunch, and neither of us were enjoying the suggestions of the other.  Feranmi’s white board had long been filled with lyric ideas.  My pad, more lines crossed than ticked.  Our chemistry was waning, the song reluctantly clinging to the depths of the universe, allowing us no room to pluck it out.  We had at least found a vocal hook, but even deciding the structure was tricky.  Was the hook the chorus?  Was the now-chorus a pre chorus or even bridge?  I wanted to write about the grandness of God, having walked through quite a season of songwriting (nearly 40 songs) when personally I was struggling.  Coming out of this time my desire was to declare that although God was unexplainable, He was always GREAT,  and ultimately with questions answered or not, He is to be worshipped.

I’m unsure how, but I’m sure Feranmi inspired it.  We came to this bridge which seemed to lift the song to another level “Mountain high, I’ll show no fear.  Valley low, I know you’re near.”  Perfect – the summary of the whole album in twelve words.

The verses took longer – “I’ve come to a place where you’ve been for all time” summed up our searching for God in a season when He has already been there and waiting for us to see Him in it.  Then it started to click in verse two, the real musical lifter, explaining the peace, awe, power and Kingship of God.  This wasn’t my wallowing any longer, these were statements, confessions of faith.  The chorus no longer became a question but a proclamation.

Feranmi was jumping up and down shout-singing the chorus, we were elated!  I couldn’t believe that we’d been able to wrestle through that song to the point of completion.  In the process of a day I’d lost the will to song write with anyone ever again, to strutting back to the tube with a puffed out chest knowing we’d created something special.  What do they say about songwriting?  90 percent perspiration, 10 percent inspiration?!

It was a pleasure to invite Feranmi to drum on the record, with the additional de-tuned toms and kick drum rolling like thunder (listen to 3:07, 3:14, 3:18 for the fills).

Last, but not least, you can now pre-order Vulnerbaility from iTunes today.