Allsorts Welcome

It’s Easter Sunday, and this morning I did what I often do now — I took my kid to church.
Yes, that church. A real one. With pews and hymns and a bit of a draught.
And yes — people are often surprised.

“Wait, you go to church?”

It throws them a little, this idea that someone like me — What? That mad healer, energy worker, spiritual chaos navigator — also belongs to a church community?
It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s blinked at me and said, “Wait, you go to church?”

But here we are.
Anya and I are both church members. We go regularly. And we don’t see any contradiction in it.

For us, it’s all about love. And kindness. And a belief that faith isn’t a one-size-fits-all affair.

And there was the annual rendition of Thine Be the Glory — let’s be honest……that’s a tune!

Here’s the thing.
People who’ve known me forever — especially those who haven’t seen me in years — might be even more shocked.
I was brought up in a church-going family. Sunday school, youth fellowship, the lot.
And for a long time, I completely rejected it. Religion, to me, felt rigid. Confined. Judgemental.
It didn’t feel like it had space for someone like me.

But something shifted.

Over time, I realised that faith and religion aren’t the same thing.
Faith isn’t a rulebook or a box. It’s a conversation. A relationship. A constant unfolding.

When I stopped looking at religion as a set of shoulds, and started exploring faith as a way of listening — to the world, to myself, to the beyond — I found something completely unexpected.

I found space.
Space for mystery. Space for all my questions.
Space for Source and Spirit.
Space for Jesus and chakras. For grief and grace. For tuning forks and communion.

So now, here I am — showing up at church, not because I fit perfectly into a pew-shaped life, but because I don’t.
And because I no longer believe I have to choose.

Allsorts Energy

One morning, our church had a sign outside with a liquorice allsort on it and the words:

“Allsorts welcome here.”

We laughed: “Yeah, that’s us.”
Because we are the allsorts.

The kind of family that blends blendedness.
That talks openly about death and dying and angels and parenting and pain — and somehow finds home in all of it.
The kind that believes in Jesus and Source and spirit and chaos and healing and hot cross buns.
(Which, by the way, were delicious. Served up in the church hall with a paper napkin and a side of chat about the weather.)

It’s not about getting it right.
It’s about being open.
And being kind.
And showing up.

Faith doesn’t have to be rigid.
Spirituality doesn’t have to be exclusive.
Healing doesn’t have to be separate from hymns and holy days.

Maybe that’s the point.
Maybe we’re meant to be the allsorts — the ones who don’t fit the mould but still show up with open hearts.

And maybe God, Source, Spirit — whatever name you use — doesn’t actually care how you arrive.
Only that you do.

Maybe that’s what faith is — not a destination, but a willingness to stand in the middle of it all with your heart cracked open and say,
“Okay. I’m here.”

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Author’s Note

If you’ve ever felt too spiritual for religion, or too churchy for the woo-woo crowd — I see you.
If you’ve been told you can’t mix Jesus with chakras, or found yourself apologising for not fitting neatly into someone else’s idea of faith — stop. Right now.

You don’t have to choose.
You don’t have to pick a lane.
You get to believe in whatever lights your soul on fire.
You can be sacred and sideways. Grounded and a little bit woo-woo.

You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just doing it your way.
You’re an allsort. And that’s more than enough.

P.S.

Apparently spiritual freedom makes some people twitchy.
Don’t worry — you’re not the problem.