From 1
Order Out of the Mess
Imagine there's nothing. No ground, no sky. Just a dark, churning soup of water and wind. It's cold, pitch black, and one big mess.
Then says: let there be light. And there is light.
But light alone isn't enough. So the tidying begins. God draws lines. To the water he says: you go down there. What's above, we'll call sky.
Every day the world takes a little more shape. Plants push up, whales start swimming, everything crawls into its own corner. Everything gets its own place.
And on the seventh day, when the biggest project ever is finished, God sits down. Looks at what's there. And rests.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
Your room. Lego all over the floor, markers underneath, clothes in a pile, books half off your bed. And when it's time to sleep you can't, because your head feels just as messy as your floor.
Or a week. Monday school and football, Tuesday swimming lessons, Wednesday a party, and by Thursday you're wiped out. That's the churning soup.
You can't tidy everything at once. But you can do one thing. Put your markers away. Or say you're not coming on Wednesday. One line is often enough to breathe again.
Tidy up? Not a chance. I'm sweeping it all under the rug — no one's ever going to notice!
Take a look in the mirror:
- How does it feel in your stomach when everything around you is really messy or really busy?
- What do you like doing best when you don't have to do anything at all?
- If you could cancel one thing from your week, what would it be?
Mirror line
I'd love to just shove everything under my bed and leave it a mess, but I've learned you don't fix chaos all at once — you just start with one line.
From 3
Suddenly You See Everything
and live in a garden where everything is good. has given them one rule: stay away from that one tree.
And of course. Whenever something's forbidden.
There's a snake that whispers: just take a bite. Then you'll finally know how things really are.
They take a bite. And instantly everything is different.
Their eyes open. They no longer see the world as a place where everything works out by itself. They understand what danger is. They look at themselves and think: we have nothing to wear.
For the first time they feel ashamed. They hide in the bushes and hope no one sees them.
The time when they thought about nothing is over. And it doesn't come back.
For today
Does this sound familiar?
You accidentally overhear something that wasn't meant for you. Grown-ups arguing in the kitchen while they think you're asleep. Or something on the news that you're still thinking about that night.
You never used to think about that. Now you do. And you can't go back to how it was.
Or this. You say something mean and you watch the other person's face change. In that moment you know exactly what you've done. It makes you go hot, and you want to disappear.
Say sorry? I'll pass. I'll just point at whoever's standing closest!
Take a look in the mirror:
- When did you most want to make yourself really small?
- What do you know now that you'd rather not know?
- Would you want to go back to being as little as you used to be? Really think about it.
Mirror line
I'd love to pretend I hadn't heard it, but I've learned you can't go back to not-knowing, however much you'd sometimes like to.
