I grew up the youngest of five kids born to two beautiful humans, and Pentecostal Christian pastors in Sydney.
From my first mission’s trip to India at the age of six months old with my parents, to my formative teen years of Friday night youth group – and of course writing music for the church – almost every night had a church activity of sorts.
My parents dedicated their time and lives to church work, we were constantly hosting people from every culture in our home, opening our doors to rehabilitate drug addicts and provide free counselling to some of society’s destitute. My teens were littered with colour, in a very different way to many of my schoolmates that grew up in the Sutherland Shire.
At the age of nineteen, a bombshell entered my life. One Sunday at church, I met another pastor’s daughter and the connection between the two of us was undeniable. It was the strangest feeling, our days and nights couldn’t be spent apart, and before I knew it we were inseparable.
The genuine feeling of love and wholeness when we were in each other’s company was confronting for both of us: we were two women who believed in God and yet we were in love. There was no choice. The next few years of life were full of amazing adventures, highs and lows, valleys and mountains, trying to navigate a path less travelled and unlearning the fear I’d held.
Confronted by the fact that just perhaps love could no know bounds, perhaps know no gender, and it didn’t discriminate. The feeling and depth of love was unlike anything I had ever experienced with anyone else before, and I was forced to face the reality that love was love.