Creative Studio

In retrospect, my earliest religious memories were not benign ones. They were not framed in pithy clichés about love or grace or cuddly predatory animals who lost their desire to eat you. They were framed in warning. I was four years old when I first asked my mum who Satan was. It was a question…

Growing Up in a Theology of Hurt I grew up in a faith that treated suffering not merely as an inevitable part of life, but as something close to sacred. Pain was not only expected. It was encouraged. It was framed as evidence of devotion, proof that one was truly walking the narrow way. In…