That life is the light

 

The bush outside of the prayer window is denuded now, standing prepped for winter’s worst. I watch, mesmerised, as I notice that deep inside the tangled twigs and branches, life is bubbling through the many birds hopping and popping in apparently perpetual motion. I can see the life because the bush is stripped and bare.

In these days of global darkness, when all is stripped away and it can seem that brutality and greed and terror reign victorious, open my eyes, Lord, to see the way your Holy Spirit, working in your children, is active and alive. Day by day, may we all live a life of light and love, bringing hope to a despairing world.

The true light that gives light to all is in the world. We celebrate again His coming, the not-yet and the already. O come, o come, Emanuel!

The Next Chapter

 

Several years ago, we were enjoying a glorious autumn of golds and russets. The leaves clung to the trees longer than normal and then, literally overnight, temperatures plummeted, causing all the leaves to drop at once. The three intertwined trunks of one of our Norwegian maples were suddenly exposed, while beneath its bare branches was heaped an undulating pile of colour. It looked to me like a human form just emerged from a shower, perhaps, having dropped its bathrobe to the ground. Beautiful, striking and memorable. Naked and vulnerable.

Circumstances and routines can define us, becoming familiar and cosy, clothing us, like a protective bathrobe, from the world. When the seasons of life change, shrugging off the old, familiar and even somehow comforting cover requires courage.

I remember the fictional converstion imagined by Dostoevsky in his great novel, The Brothers Karamazov, where he creates an interchange between The Grand Inquisitor (the devil) and Jesus (imprisoned under the Spanish Inquisition). The devil posits to Jesus that human beings are happier living under the security of a dictatorial structure than they are having free will and being able to choose their own way. Jesus remains silent throughout the dialogue, his silence more eloquent than words, his love for humanity deep and strong.

May I, with my eyes fixed on Jesus and the courage he demonstrated in his life and death, step out into my day, ready to drop any covers which have become a shield, willing to live life to the full as Jesus enables me. May I step fully into my next chapter, whatever that may be.

 

The Waiting Game

 

One of our family’s catchphrases is, ‘You’re either a Steenbock or a Morrison.’ Steenbock is my maiden name, and if you are a Steenbock, you will always choose to be early, wherever you are going. If you are a Morrison, you will try to squeeze in one more thing before leaving for the appointment, airport, train station, whatever.

It has led to disagreements in the past. Now Don knows, it’s easier to just go along with the Steenbock. So he took Mhairi to the train station this morning, at least a good twenty minutes earlier than he would have chosen to leave for it himself…

Advent. Season of waiting. Generally, nobody likes to wait; to be ‘kept waiting’ is impolite, rude. But in Advent, God himself keeps us waiting, a deliberate period of waiting to allow time for reflection, for drawing near, for being still.  Advent is a time of settling in to the wait to commemorate Jesus’ entrance into the world as one of us.

As a mother of four, I have spent a good amount of time waiting. Routine medical appointments, sports, clubs, social visits, whatever. As the daughter of a centenarian, I spend a few hours every year in airports, waiting. I have a lot of experience waiting, but it can still be a challenge, especially when awaiting a hoped-for outcome.

We are all in heaven’s waiting room, but some of us are closer to the door than others. I think of my dear Mom, having lost so much independence, spending most of her days dozing, awaiting her Saviour’s voice calling her on. She waits in hope, in love, and, I pray, in peace.

Be still and know that I am God. May we all learn the art of waiting. May our Advent season be sanctified by the promise and hope of Immanuel, God with us.

On the run

 

Our heads were bowed in prayer. Tony led us to intercede for the nations, for our neighbours and for the needs of the dispossessed and brutalised.

The sounds of a crying child filtered through from the nursery area. Before the door was opened by the carer, the Gramma was on her feet and heading towards her grandchild.

The service continued into the sermon. As Tony opened up the final bits of Jeremiah to us all, challenging us to forgive as the Father forgives, new cries came through from the nursery. Once more, before the door was opened to reveal whose child was in distress, the mum was on her feet and hurrying forward, arms outstretched to receive her daughter.

A parable before our eyes. The minister used words, and God was in those words. God was also in the actions of the mother and gramma.

Both the gramma and the mum recognised the cries of the ones they love; both were moving towards the distressed child before they even saw them. They knew their kiddie’s voice. They were eager to comfort and console.

God, our Father, knows our voices, all eight billion of us. He hears our most feeble, and our most desperate, cries, and is running towards us as soon as he hears us.

Thank you, Lord, for your love, and the creative ways you communicate your love to us every day, in so many ways. Open our eyes to see and our ears to hear and our hearts to receive and our wills to obey. Amen.

Food for Life

 

As we awoke yesterday to our world blanketed with soft snow, we realised the birds needed more than just the breadcrumbs we continue to scatter throughout all seasons. Don filled the seed feeder, positioned a fat ball, and we ordered a new supply of peanuts.

And then we watched as the birds clustered round this new thing in their neighbourhood, apparently unsure of how to access the seed inside the swaying tube. One or two would perch momentarily on the lower tray, attempt a few pecks, and flutter off.

By the afternoon, they’d all remembered or learned the technique required and this morning there is a bevy of birdlife jockeying for position on the feeder and the fat ball. The ground is strewn with the seeds they are spilling, and the still-fat pigeons and the beautiful pheasants are re-discovering this garden of plenty.

I am so grateful that God’s provision of the nutrition of his Word is not seasonal, but is always available. His presence, in prayer and in Scripture, is with me always. It is unlimited, available to all who open themselves to him. I don’t have to jostle and jockey in competition for a scrap of wisdom or encouragement.

I thank God for prayer. Not the kind of prayer that is written on hankies and hung to catch the breeze in the trees, in hopes that someone is listening, that someone who cares will catch my prayer and answer. No, I thank God for the kind of prayer that is a relationship between me and the holy and perfect Almighty, a two-way communication of honesty and peace, in which I can pour out my deepest desires, anxieties and regrets, knowing that my companion understands, forgives, and has power to restore, refresh and inspire me to greet this new day with hope in my heart.

What an amazing God we have.

Minus Five

 

Minus five here this morning, but the sun is out and the world looks amazing.

As always, I am seeing headlines on my newsfeed predicting the next snowfall, the next storm, the next power outages we can expect in the UK. Sometimes the headlines even promise the ‘exact day’ or even the ‘exact hour’ these dramatic events will occur.

Praise God that in Him there are no freezes, no storms, no power cuts. Praise God that we need rely on nothing else other than him.

Though the temperature drops, his love for us is as passionate and fervent as ever. May he keep the fires of faith stoked and burning in each of us today.

Meagre Harvest

 

I harvested my pumpkins this morning. It took about a minute. Sigh. Not much of a pie here. They’re not even orange. Big disappointment.

Why didn’t they grow more? Why aren’t they orange? Why did three plants yield only this meagre harvest?

Lack of rain, and a gardener negligent at watering. Lack of nutrients in the soil perhaps? Lack of sunshine to ripen them?

The stem connecting the bigger pumpkin to the vine was withering and black. Left any longer, and I imagine the pumpkin itself would have begun to rot.

‘I am the vine,’ Jesus said. Stay connected.

Circumstances can strain that connection from my end. The stem of faith connected to Jesus can face challenges in this crazy world, challenges conspiring to wither and break my grip on Jesus.

‘I’ve got you,’ Jesus assures us. ‘My right hand upholds you. You’ll always have a tough time in this world, but don’t worry: I’ve overcome the world.’

What a relief. It’s not all down to me. In fact, none of it is down to me. I surrender.

I offer myself wholly to you, my loving Father and Lord. May I be so nourished from your word today, encouraged by your love and surprised by the delightful details you sprinkle into my life that my faith in and love for you swells and matures.

When my time here on earth is up, may you not be disappointed in the harvest.

Your assurance is that as I remain in Jesus, so the harvest of my life is found in Him. You look at me, Father, and you see Jesus. Praise Him. No disappointments there.