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Tuesday, 19 June 2012

Coal in June

It is a depressing comment on the warmth of our summer to note that for the first time ever, we took a delivery of coal this morning, two days ahead of the Longest Day – midsummer. The midges were out in force at 7.30 am, but the coal man assured me that meant the temps were rising. So. Is it a choice then? Freeze or be devoured?

It paints a dismal picture of Scotland, but perhaps I should ameliorate it by noting that now, just after lunch, the sun is out (though the grey clouds still scud across the sky) and the midges are taking a siesta. After I write this I plan to do a little work in the garden, although it may in fact be raining again by then ...

Raining again. Dusty and I walked round our local hill this morning and I noted that on the steep slopes there was clear evidence that torrents of rainwater had carried forestry detritus downhill, now strewn in gullies that streak the hillsides. Evidence of storms past.

The storms of life also carry away detritus. Some of it we’re glad to lose, but sometimes we feel bruised and broken after a tumultuous time of trouble. We may feel gouged and gutted and just plain weary. A storm can steal our sparkle and joy, and we feel scarred.

Jesus invites us to come to him and he’ll refresh us, look after us, and help us rest. 

All I have to do is go to him. All I have to do is sit still and rest in him. All I have to do, is just be.

I am thankful that I can afford to buy coal. I am thankful that I have a fireplace in which to burn it. I am thankful that I have a beautiful dog who thinks I’m wonderful, and I’m thankful that I have a God who thinks I’m wonderful, although clearly I am bruised, scarred and broken. 

Gratitude lifts my attitude, and the clouds of depression are blown away. For the moment, anyway.

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