GWAS Notes: A gentle, long-winded goodbye

Dear readers,

You might have guessed it, but Girl With a Satchel is taking a sabbatical (surprise!).

I am not the first media scribe to have headed to the not-for-profit/charity sector for respite and gainful employment in an all-too-uncertain media environment. But to say that were the sole reason for my exodus from online would be quite untrue. The reasons are manifold.

Parting is sweet sorrow, but excites me nonetheless. Sometimes it is easier to hold onto the familiar than to finally let go and see what God has in store. All feels like a new beginning. Which is where the very "me" that has been "me" must end, and so to it GWAS (we are impossibly inseparable, to some extent). 

As Watchman Nee writes, God is not satisfied with a simple exchange of interests. A change from economics and history, media and culture, to Corinthians and Ephesians, for example. "Origin determines destination," he says, "and what was 'of the flesh' originally will never be made spiritual by any amount of 'improvement'."
No great revelation to say that it is hard here online to make your way – operating at a dismal loss, ironically for the time I have felt least conflicted about, and most enjoyed, my work here, has been interesting to say the least! The site has been through many revisions in its time, all reflecting my current state of mind.

If the whole of life is based around one's relationships – with God and fellow man – then I have to say I've not always done a commendable job. When your heart is tugged in manifold directions, when your identity is in part tied up in your work, then it is easy to lose sight of what matters most: marriage, friendship, children, community, good health, God. Yes, there is also worthy work.
 There is something about the journalistic profession (writing, blogging, whatever you want to call it) that posits the journalist in a precarious position, forever negotiating whether the work is legitimately beneficial to others or not. The plumb line of truth is blurred. Loss is incurred. Human fallout is inevitable. No one is accountable. What of the Good News?
To be liberated from the thought of 'this would make a top story' is probably not what a practising journalist wants, and yet I cannot help but feel that all of life were not to be experienced as such. At least, not at this point in time. Not for me. There is very good journalism out there to be found.
For now, I am happy enough to sit on the bench and ride out the tide of this conundrum as the media world goes through its own growing pains (regressing or progressing? I'm not so sure). 

The world is in a state of absolute peril, as it always has been post-Eden. And all of the wrong that we still see is sparked by this 'going it my way' mentality. Oh, to be heard, to be thought highly of, to be proved right, to be loved! 

It is very human to want to improve, to better ourselves, to reach new heights and new goals, to think new thoughts, uncover new knowledge and accomplish some feat. But as Tasmin Archer sings in one of my all-time favourite songs, "Sleeping Satellite", 

In the rush of the race
The reason we chase is lost in romance
And still we try to justify the waste
For a taste of man's greatest adventure  

The individual is so often left behind in this relentless climb, sometimes to the point where there is nothing left of them at all. They are numb, irrelevant, dust. Or if they are the opposite, posited on high, the position is so often built on fleeting fluff; enough is never enough. That is not how things should be. 

And, yet, the quest to contextualise, to order, to make sense of what we see and hear and read makes us very much human. That is a gift. Where is it appropriate to do so? The classroom of life surely knows no bounds. Or does it? 
Sometimes we have to withdraw, decline, go offline, have some downtime to process what has been on rewind and work our way back to the present tense with better sense. And probably the best way to do that is in the comfortable pages of a journal (I have filled dozens of pretty little jotters in years), and not a public blog.

Which is not to say being here, and writing here, has not presented me with an abundance of opportunities – I have jetsetted to Singapore (thank you, Nuffnang) and New York (thank you, Planet Blue) where I skated on ice and made lifelong friends; I've been on afternoon kids' TV (yippee!) thanks to Rebecca Sparrow who wrote me into a script; I've seen and thought and asked things that I thought I never would. Not all of them good. 

I started blogging here six years ago with no clue as to how it would go; no agenda other than to write about those things I liked. Since that time, I have done a great deal of sorting out. I have found my truth, and it is wonderful and I hold onto it with all my might. 

As a wise man once said, 
"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field."

The emergence of my burgeoning faith, transparently accounted for here, has probably for many readers been an uncomfortable, disconcerting, irritating thing. That has troubled me a lot. To alienate is not the way, yet to deny that something incredible has changed within, and therefore the view without, would be inexcusable. 

Now, more than ever, I am confident in God, and so I lay down everything before Him and say, 'Take what you will.'  Should he choose to give GWAS back at some stage, then so be it. If not, I count it of no loss anyway. New assignments, not necessarily of the work-economy kind, await. New seasons, new duties, new wonders to contemplate.

There is so much to do in the world: so much hurt, pain, confusion to alleviate and joy to create. Let's not forget that for a second, even when we are "off duty" for a bit. No project with a worthy aim is too big or too small. I look forward to collaborating with my husband on a project or two, serving my church, doing a good job. 

Thank you so much for being such dear and true readers, without whom there would be very little point of posting anything here at all (and for bearing me with patience, extra gratitude!). Your patronage at the site has not been taken for granted.

The handful of kindred spirits whose 'offline' discourse I have cherished so much, thanks to emails exchanged on GWAS topics of interest (media, culture, faith), have warmed my heart. You know who you are! 

To contributors such as Georgie Carroll, our teen blogger who is now off to university (wow!) via a trip to the U.S.A; Brooke Lehmann, whose brilliant book reviews often made my day and who embarks for Egypt soon; Beci Culley, illustrator and girl-out-for-my-own-heart (off to Italy!); Emma Plant whose wit is always entertaining; Sophie Baker, whose photography is taking her places; Liz Burke, who is now an award-winning journalist at the Women's Weekly (ACP 'Rising Star'!); the always-lovely Alison Stegert, Julia Low and Lucy Brook... and Bloke with a Bag who is just a great dad, thank you.

To my fairy-blogmother, Diane, whose big, golden heart can melt the coldest of ice-capped personalities... you are a Cinderella's dream (and could teach those ugly step-sisters a thing or two) and your words of wisdom have been a beacon of light unto me. 

If you would like to be kept in the loop, might I suggest that you sign up to the Girl With a Satchel Mailings List (sidebar; right – though I confess, not a lot of mail goes out... the current newsletter is so detestably ugly that I can't bear to send it, and I've simply not had time to get it up to standard). 

You never know what you might find one day in your inbox out of the blue. If you would like to say hello or good-bye or good riddance (if you simply can't refrain), email

If you still would like to send us something, because snail mail is a nice way to do things, then I recommend this P.O. Box:
Girl With a Satchel
P.O. Box 204
North Tamborine Qld 4272 

For now, the comments section has been turned off (sweet relief, believe me!). And this grandiose, somewhat self-important soliloquy is just about over (phew). I fear I have said far too much (again). Quest: refrain.

So, until such a time as the wind directs me back here (like a Johnny Farnham reunion tour), or to another post in the precarious online media world or even the printed kind, farewell, so long, chin up and good cheer.

I wish you a safe and happy Christmas and wonderful New Year.

Erica, the Girl With a Satchel 
"'...She was made straight, and glorified God." Luke 13:13