Runaway jeep

Re-enacting Toy Story. One of the key toys has scarpered. Disappeared, just when needed to play a key part in the creation of a gingerbread house. I’ve searched high and low, even resorting to cleaning…Has Woody run off in it?

The lost things in the stories Jesus told were always found again. The sheep. The coin. The son. (thank goodness I haven’t lost one of those!!!)

I hope to report a happy ending. Back to searching…

Nonagenarian Wisdom

The two nonagenarians wanted to show me the window seat where they enjoy the view together. These tiny, frail women, strong in faith and love, have become neighbours in the home where they now live.

We walked the few steps down the corridor to the window. In the foreground loomed an ugly, boarded up and graffiti’d disused council building. If you looked around or peered over it, you could glimpse the street beyond with its bus traffic. It was the life beyond the structure that they enjoyed.

The empty hulk of a building may have gobbled up their view but they didn’t focus on it. They looked past it to the life that confirmed life to them.

There are looming, empty hulks in most of our lives, be they bereavements, health loss, anxieties, or whatever. They tempt us to focus on them but we can resist their pull, with God’s help, and see beauty and life beyond.

We imagined together how lovely that bit of ground could look if the building could be demolished and replaced with a vibrant garden. But maybe in their creative imaginations, such a natural space of beauty already exists.

I’m grateful to them for the unconscious way in which they were an example to me today. God bless you, Jean and Netta.

Confident expectation

Drawers left open. Ropes of tinsel as hillocks on the dining room floor. The table bestrewn with odd bits of wrapping paper, ribbon, pens and scissors and tape. A stack of cards from dear friends and family, waiting to be hung up.

Not a spare inch on the kitchen counters. Half-finished Christmas cake, awaiting the marzipan. Butter softening for baking. Cafetière. Ahh… An open box of mince pies.

Newspapers spread over living room couch and floor. Hats and boots. A box of tissues.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.

In amongst the mess of preparation, I have not forgotten the hope of Christmas. The confident expectation that good is coming.

Hope.

I’m hanging up my open heart, ready for God to fill it yet again with his Holy Spirit as I welcome Jesus, born again in me. The wonder of it all.

I don’t understand it, but I believe it. Because I experience it. Every day, and especially at Christmas when I remember the love of a God who gave us his only, much-loved son, so that we could be part of the family.

Like Mary, I ponder these things in my heart. And am thankful.

Waiting

Yesterday I thought about being prepared. ‘Our’ farmer spent yesterday ploughing the field that surrounds our home. Up and down he drove the tractor, tedious and tiresome but still requiring attention and care. He was busy prepping the field for planting.

Now I imagine he will wait a few weeks while the manure he dug in begins to break down and enrich the soil. The field, prepared, will await the right moment for the seed to go in and germinate.

Life goes on all around the field. Small creatures scamper across it. Birds dig for worms. Cars pass on the road beside it. But still the field lies still, waiting.

Most mornings I prep for the day by sitting in my prayer window and looking at God’s word and praying it into the day. I take ideas from what I read. Ideas about who God is. Ideas about how I should live.

Then I move into my day. Most my days are busy. But deep inside, I wait. I wait for God’s ideas, for his word, to germinate, to take root and transform me.

Every day is one of preparation and waiting, of seeing transformation and of resisting the urge to be impatient and independent.

They who hope – who wait – on the Lord shall renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not be faint.

Today, trusting in that promise, I wait on the Lord.

Potica

That’s the potica baked and ready for the freezer, to have on Christmas morning. A Yugoslavian sweet bread, the hardest thing about making it is getting it to rise in my cold house. So this afternoon I ran the heat more than usual and am delighted that it has risen!

It’s hard to ‘rise’ if the atmosphere isn’t just right. I can’t rush into my prayer corner with the clock ticking, as I did today, and expect to have a deep and meaningful with God. It just can’t happen.

I’m trying to get as much prepared now so that when family comes, we can enjoy each other without being too busy. First loved one comes tomorrow night. I’ll be ready.

I have been doing an advent study this year, too, one I’ve done before which looks at some pretty serious subjects like death and judgment and Jesus’ second coming. I hope to feel ‘prepped’ for welcoming Jesus this Christmas in a deep and meaningful way.

Getting the balance right can be tricky.

Give me Oil

Give me oil in my tank, keep us heated. Huddled in my prayer window, I heard the tanker inching up the driveway.

Now both tanks are filled. I’ll be back in the prayer window soon, at least by tomorrow, and it won’t cost me a dime. The more often I hook up to the Lord, the hotter burns the fire of faith and hope within me.

The king of the universe gives his time freely, to all who call on his name.

I’m waiting for the tanker driver to ring the bell and need a signature on the invoice.  Nothing free about that fuel.

Risks!

Now the gritter comes!

Mary and I had to abort our walk this morning as the white ice on the road underfoot threatened to bring us down. We’re cautious about risking our bones.

The gritter has just roared up the road, spreading salt and grit and preventing, hopefully, any unexpected slips. But we’ve now moved on into our days. Opportunity gone.

Been thinking about living on the edge for Jesus. Taking risks. I don’t want to sink into a comfy chair and be content while there are still things I can do to help others. I don’t want to look back and think, opportunity gone.

My prayer today is to have my eyes open to see the risks Jesus is calling me to take, trusting that he is the grit that keeps me safe. And to have the courage and strength to step out.

Family

‘No I don’t like blackcurrant jam because it reminds me of being sick as a child, when Mum would give us hot blackcurrant to drink.’

‘I love blackcurrant jam because it reminds me of being a child. The flavour is so robust.’

Family. Yesterday it was the family of a group of lovely ladies who share life together, looking at the Bible, praying, worshiping. We are from different spots around the globe, different ages, different experiences in life, different points on the journey of faith, and what a richness that brings to our gatherings.

What we have in common is God. Our love for him, our curiosity about what he’s said and done, of what he’s saying and doing right now, our need for him.

We are all broken vessels, every one of us a cracked pot. In our biological families and in our church families, we see things differently but we are one in the blood we share. Jesus’ blood, who died for us. In our biological families, our parents’ and grandparents’ blood. We are linked, joined.

We may not always agree. We may not always be as genial and happy as we were yesterday, eating pumpkin and pecan pies and sharing what we felt especially thankful for. But we are one, one in Christ, linked, joined. The family of God.

For that I am so grateful.

A message of hope

What a wonderful story I just saw, where two ecologists got a company to dump 12,000 tons of orange peels into a barren stretch of formerly-rich Amazonian rainforest, then seem to have forgotten about it all for sixteen years and when they returned, they discovered a whole new ecosystem teeming with life had regenerated the land.

A message of hope: just what we need right now.

Makes me think of Jesus, ‘dumped’ into a barren world. Though he wasn’t forgotten about, the life that has been spawned from his life over the centuries is just miraculous.

The message of hope is clear: as we ‘dump’ Jesus prayerfully into the barrenness stretching through our own lives and through the nations, life happens. Life overcomes death. Life spawns life. God has the last word.

I am so grateful that Jesus was ‘dumped’ into my barren life, and over the years his richness has helped shoots of spiritual fruit to germinate and grow within me. Nothing to do with me; I’m just the barren ground and his body, his sacrifice, his Spirit are working away.

Jesus is the miracle. Praise him.

Rainbows

A vibrant rainbow this morning caused my neighbour to wonder which arch-end rested on that legendary pot of gold. The postman asked if we’d found the pot of gold for, as he drove towards the house, the rainbow seemed to rest on our property.

I love rainbows. During a particularly difficult time, I felt God whispered to me, ‘In every teardrop is a rainbow’. Sunshine and showers are the ingredients for a glorious rainbow.

Rainbows are a sign of God’s promise of mercy and love to a flooded world. It’s so human for us to add a pot of gold to something which is intrinsically worth so much more. We are more tempted by tangible treasure than we are by divine love.

Today may my focus be on God’s gift to us in Jesus, a treasure beyond all others, and may that focus bring peace, contentment and hope.

Light, Stillness, Simplicity and Hope

The light shines in the darkness. The darkness has not overcome it. At this darkest time of year, I light a candle.

Be still and know that I am God. Be still and know. At this busiest time of year, I choose to take time, to be still, and to know.

The stripped-down simplicity of the first Christmas. Bare. At this glitziest time of year, I focus on the natural simplicity of this supernatural event.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. At this time of worldly crisis and despair, I receive the joy and peace of Jesus, trusting in him and overflowing with hope which is based on the faithfulness of our loving Lord.

Infusion of peace please

My uncle was infected with E. coli in his bloodstream recently. For a fortnight he received daily infusions of antibiotics at his local hospital. The seriousness of the infection required the powerful medicine to be introduced straight into his bloodstream.
I need a daily infusion of God's peace. We all do. The world is full of turmoil and tragedy. Our individual lives are full of disappointment and decision, stress and worry, and the antidote to this worldly infection is an infusion of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. I need to step aside from the action in my life daily to sit with him and receive. I can't will myself to be peaceful. I can't work it up. I have to receive it.
The Lord, using British Air, took me halfway across the world yesterday, through Storm Diana. She did her best to upset my travel but though I missed my connection, the Lord, again using British Airways, popped me and my suitcase onto one just an hour later.
I could have been anxious about all of that, not least the turbulence of the landings, but the Lord held me in his perfect peace.
It's so simple, but somehow so hard to do. Be still, and know that I am God, and in the stillness we receive his peace. What a Saviour!

Costly gifts

I opened my jewellery box and thought how pretty this would look on you, she said, as she fastened the clasp of a delicate and beautiful opal bracelet on my wrist. The bracelet is beautiful, but even more beautiful is her self sacrifice and her generosity in wanting to give me something which would look so pretty on her, too. A gift from the heart.
David ... Or was it Abraham?... said at one point that giving God a gift that didn't cost him anything would be meaningless.
In this season of gift giving, I pray I might remember that.
Leaving here today. Shredded and tired and aching, leaving mom alone over the holidays, leaving Mhairi. God bless these dear ones.

Gridlock

The freeway slowed, compressing to gridlock. As we crept past an off ramp, the lady on the app advised shrilly that we should take it as an alternative, but her advice came too late.
Ok then...she sounded resolved to our poor choice and informed us there was a major accident in three-quarters of a mile and it would take nearly an hour to get past it. We crawled on, resigned.
An on ramp joined on the right of us, and we were appalled to see a driver, realising the congestion was serious, reverse back down. Into any oncoming traffic which could potentially suddenly round a corner. Then another such foolish driver. Then, unbelievably, someone on that on ramp actually did a u turn and drove quite casually the wrong way. As I watched in the rear view mirror, I saw many more make such a potentially lethal decision. Perhaps there was another car crash given the foolishness of those drivers.
Sometimes life slows to a crawl. It seems there is no forward movement. We feel stuck. The temptation is to bail. The temptation is to seek a way off the road which seems stagnant and is hard. The temptation is to go into reverse or even hang a u turn and drive straight into oncoming traffic.
But as we remain faithful, living the way we believe in, following the way of Jesus, clinging on at times unable to see any progress or forward movement, trusting in him, we eventually reach the car crash which has stalled our lives and safely get past it. We put it behind us without endangering anyone else's safety.
The road opens up. We pick up speed. We have choices again. Life beckons with promise and hope is revived.
Trust in me, Jesus invites. Trust. Keep moving forward, even if progress is hard to discern. It is there, nevertheless. Keep Jesus riding shotgun. Keep him in mind. Keep him in heart. Follow his advice, not the shrill voices of others throwing out good advice. It can be hard to hear him in the cacophony of life. Hard to follow as others seem to get round their crashes and move on. But his is the only real healing. His is the only way which guarantees life in its fullness, life which will suddenly open out again in technicolor, lifting us from the sepia landscape of pain.
Jesus, prince of peace, healer.

Grounded

We smelled no smoke, saw no blackened earth, so drove up into the dry Hollywood hills near Malibu. We were headed to Eagle Rock, where we hiked and prayed and released a balloon last year. Just below the giant rocky escarpment which so resembles the head and body of an eagle, with wings in flight jutting from each side, we sat down on the dirt and gazed at the landscape. We felt connected, grounded in a place familiar, a place with a look that takes me back to my childhood, camping trips, laughter and fun.
We sat beside Eagle Rock as others climbed its bare surface. We sat.
You will soar on wings like eagles. You will run and not grow weary. You will walk and not be faint.
Grounded. Grounded in the Word. Hanging onto the promises. Trusting that soon I will see my sweet Mhairi soaring, running again, walking in faith and freed from all fear. Healed and whole.
Looking across a dry, scrubby landscape, full of promise. Looking for the green shoots.
They who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. Waiting, though the wait may be long. Knowing our God never disappoints. Knowing Jesus is our strength and our refuge and even our song.
The Lord is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the earth. In him we trust.

Perspective

Perspective. Hemmed in in high density neighbourhood. Activity. People. Cars everywhere. So we're  pulling back this morning, about to head for the hills once we confirm they are no longer on fire. Last year we climbed to eagle rock, and we hope to retrace those steps today.
Weirdly we plan to reward ourselves afterwards with Macaroons and tea in Beverly Hills, in a French shop Mhairi won a voucher for. It may require a quick change of clothes in the car to ensure we don't enter the posh neighbourhood sweaty and stained.
I sense I need to gain perspective on what I've been doing here these last two weeks. To pull back, be still and listen to the one who gives the clearest understanding.
Praise the one who knows the end from the beginning, and can keep us in his perfect peace whatever the challenges.

Foundations

We came off the freeway and followed the route the sat nav dictated. Heading west, out onto the Palos Verdes peninsula, roads increasingly rural despite our position geographically right in Los Angeles. We passed horse ranches which sparked memories of stories my dad told. Growing up in this beautiful area in the 1930s, he and his brother used to rent horses here and ride bareback in those halcyon days before the world discovered Southern California. Rural landscape soon gave way to ocean views, breathtakingly beautiful.
The earth is the Lord's and everything in it. Houses perched here, beautiful though they are, sit on a cats cradle of earthquake faults. Everything seems secure but one day things will shift.
I admire the gorgeous scenery and quiet oasis in the bustling city, but think of the foundation Jesus is to us and am grateful there are no faults undermining our security in him.
We gathered round a thanksgiving table, Vietnamese who suffered and fled their homeland as refugees decades ago, an Iranian who moved to New York decades ago for a new life, Scots and Americans who once came from elsewhere. Grateful for those who welcome the lost, the refugee, the poor. Grateful for friends and family. Grateful to God.

Refuge

Be still and know that I am God
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear...
Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness. Don't worry about tomorrow.
Words of scripture are a spiritual skeleton. They keep me upright and remind me of truth.
The other night a car drove straight into my car as I went through an intersection, bashing and bending it and rendering it inoperable.
Once again I stand at a crossroads with Mom. Perhaps the light remains red and we are to stay put. Perhaps it is amber, encouraging me to be prepared to shift gear and move. Perhaps there is a filter arrow guiding me right or left. Perhaps the road ahead is clear and beckons.
I don't want to be stationary with fear but with faith. If it's not time to move, I want to be confident that I will recognise the signs.
Neither do I want to be blindsided as I was the other night. I need an awareness of tangential forces as well as prompts to move.
Be still and know. Don't worry. God is an ever present help in trouble.
Today is thanksgiving and my gratitude wells up from within, lighting up my entire being. Without Jesus before and behind, within and without, leading and guiding and encouraging, I would have crashed and burned long before now.
So, with his help I will trust in him and wait. Be still and wait.
Happy thanksgiving.

Oil spill

An oil spill on the freeway when a truck overturned. Three lanes closed. Chaos and queues. Fortunately some things haven't changed here,and I could come off onto surface streets and find my way back, meanwhile driving literally down memory lane as I followed a route I took for years to have cello lessons. A little different,but not much.
As hordes headed out of town for thanksgiving, the queues grew and Mhairi took three hours to get here. A thirty mile drive.
Peace, Jesus says. I didn't see anything yesterday that looked just right for mom. Peace, Jesus says. He knows what is right for her. Like Scarlett OHara, I'll think about it tomorrow.
Continuing to feel thankful for everything, praising God that my stiffness is abating and I am fine. Thankful to be here with Mom, here with Mhairi. Thankful for my praying friends and family.

Angels in our midst

Angels in our midst.
We sat in Shirley's living room as I returned the things I rescued from her bashed car. I described the accident. She sat close to her ailing husband in his wheelchair, massaging his cold hand, gentle and full of grace and love. She was just relieved there were no serious injuries. A car is a car.
One of the young men who was a passenger in the car that struck mine, a Muslim engineering student from Saudi Arabia, said the same thing as we stood beside the busy highway Sunday night.
So many kind messages received, all voicing the same thing, many of them accompanied by prayers.
We walk through tough times but are surrounded by angels on the ground as well as those who are invisible.
God is good. Without much delay, he provided a replacement rental car from the hotel next door, so today I can go forth again, more cautious and a little fearful, to check out future possibilities for Mom. Shoulders and neck slightly aching, but heart so full of gratitude.
This is the day the Lord has made and I rejoice in him.
Thank you. The theme of this thanksgiving week. From the heart.

Wham

Unexpected turns and nosedives.
Another pleasant reunion in another beauty spot on the other extremity of LA, perilously near the wildfires but so far unaffected directly. A fond farewell and heading south when out of nowhere, an SUV broadsided me.
In a moment, from the secure cocoon of a borrowed car into the cool night air.
Tow trucks. A dear daughter coming to my rescue.
God is good. All the time. So grateful to have escaped without injury.
Thanksgiving week indeed.

Hallowed be thy name

Our Father. Who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name.
He invited us to lunch, invitations coming through our dear sister in the Lord, in a setting as near to heaven as one encounters on earth. Three arch bay, sharp jagged rocks thrusting skyward from the ocean bed, waves crashing, tides returning, fine sand hot underfoot.
We sat at a table, beautifully laid with love, and ate salad and sparkling water and pumpkin dessert, lovingly made by caring hands.
We sat down, some as strangers to each other, one or two linkings fashioning the whole. The synergy of the new relationships. The joy of exploring Jesus in our midst. The ineffable beauty of prayer together as we listened and shared from the heart.
We stood up again, dried our faces, laughed and hugged, hugged and laughed. This is thanksgiving week, and we embarked on it in a beautiful way.
Hallowed be thy name. Thank you Jesus for the oasis. Bless your holy name.

Caravan

A world on the move. A caravan.
People so terrified they walk away from home carrying only what they can bear. A small backpack. A tote bag. A child.
An old person.
The things of this world weigh us down. The big wardrobe, the closet full of shoes. The extra coats and wine glasses.
Everything can go, jettisoned on the journey, except loved ones. We are walking each other home, through harsh terrain sometimes, carrying the weak and the weary. Being carried, sometimes on a chassis of prayer.
Praise God we are not headed towards a border where a welcoming committee of heavily armed soldiers awaits us. I pray for those who are on that perilous path right now, pray for peace, for kindness and compassion to drive out fear.
Don't let your hearts be troubled, Jesus said. Trust in me. He awaits us all with open arms. He's got our rooms ready for us, and we don't need to bring anything but ourselves.
Praise God.

Eyes Up

Hiking in the Pyrenees with Don last May, the terrain on one side sloped away steeply to the stream at the bottom. We realised it was beautiful there, but we couldn't look as we had to keep alert to the path to avoid an accident.
Alert to the path to avoid an accident. It is hard to keep a focus on the promises of a bright future in God while navigating some of the challenging points of the path through life. Just at a time when keeping focus on Jesus is critical, we feel insecure about taking steps forward unless we are really focused in on the path. It's a dilemma, and a challenge.
Choices to make for my Mom, on a path she would never have chosen, one she often said she didn't want to be on in the future. Memory loss is heartbreaking. It erases confidence and personality as the sufferer struggles to grip on to who she is.
We are more than our memory. When her spirit is released from the grip of a deteriorating body and mind, she will be restored to who she was and much more.
Meanwhile, I need to take these next steps with focus on the horizon, trusting the Lord will keep my feet on the path. The darkest hour is just before dawn. And that Dawn is going to be breathtaking.

Be still

Be still, for the presence of the Lord, the holy one is here.
Living in community opens you to germs and bugs you might not meet if you lived in isolation. Close proximity and a buffet line are perfect for the proliferation of tummy bugs.
No fun.
Living in community, though, also opens you to contagious faith. As one person can share her love for the Lord, he can take it further.
Living in our world today, with the upheavals and demigods and wars and famines, opens us up to fear and despair.
Living in our world today, though, also opens us up to share our hope for the future based in Jesus' promises.
As I move towards recovery from the bugs which moved into me yesterday, may I express hope and be light in this bit of world today.
May you be, too.

New horizons

Horizons. Expanding. Contracting. Exciting.
I was going to write a negative emotion to describe contracting horizons, but no. Expanding horizons can be unsettling and confusing, offering endless possibilities and choice. Contracting, on the other hand, bring focus. Or should I say, can bring focus.
Busy lives distract from the important. Lives winding down have few distractions and can in fact be the richest time of life.
Theoretical thoughts as I rub shoulders with many nonagenarians who share a residential facility with Mom. I know many continue to pursue distractions, be it television or whatever. Declining cognitive ability can impair focus too, and just create fog.
So important to squirrel away spiritual riches now, so that in the winter of life there is much to nourish the soul, whether or not the mind or body is able.

Silence

Silence in the near space. Sounds of traffic beyond the windows of this flat. Touches with my past surround me, bringing a smile, bringing an ache. Reunion with loved ones, so precious, so deep the love.
This is the day the Lord has made. He blesses moment by moment. He is in the silence. He is in the rush. He is in the past. He is in the future. But in peace I grasp his hand for he is in the now.
This is the day he has given me. I am full of joy and gratitude.

The Light shines in the darkness

The world sinks into sepia as November marches on. It is tempting to sink with it. But the crab apple tree boasts a myriad of vibrant red fruits, sharply contrasting with the dying colours all around. The last roses of summer still bloom. All is not sepia.

Up before dawn this morning (sounds more impressive than it is, given the short days), I noticed the bright morning star twinkling strong and steady.

The cliché is that it is always darkest just before dawn. Certainly, the morning star shone brightly out of the greying sky, reminding me of Jesus. The light has come into the world, and the darkness has neither overcome nor understood it. It’s time to protect our inner flames from the diet of poison in today’s atmosphere – be it the political, the environmental, or the social arenas.

It’s time to shine.

When the darkness closes in, when the conversation resonates fear and uncertainty, I’m going to remember that morning star, take a deep breath of the Spirit, and share hope. Jesus invites us to walk in the light, trusting that he has it covered; he knows the end from the beginning; he is good; he is love, and he is faithful.

This is a fitting month for thanksgiving.

Hard as Granite

Today I parked in a lot I don’t usually use in Aberdeen. It meant that I had the pleasure of walking past the beautiful Marischal college, reputedly the second-largest granite building in the world. It has had a face-wash in the last few years, and the apron in front has been paved and turned into a mostly-pedestrian only zone.

As I returned to my car, I paused to enjoy the beauty of this 19^th century building. Yes, grey granite, but glinting in the light, its intricate towers gleaming and beautiful.

I thank God for craftsmen and women who can transform hard stone into a thing of beauty.

I thank God for Jesus, who transforms hard hearts into soft, compassionate ones. Praying he works to soften hearts as Americans go to the polls tomorrow.

Slightly Wonky

I spent a happy Friday afternoon building a red car out of cake for grandson Gregor’s second birthday party. Following a guide on YouTube, I was attempting to copy what the instructor demonstrated.

The cake didn’t rise as well as hers did. Oh well, I thought, it can be a low-riding sports car. She recommended piping the frosting on, but then, she sounded like she was in sizzling Australia where the butter cream icing remains soft and pliable, not in a cold farmhouse in northeastern Scotland where it goes brick hard. I spread it and smoothed it with a knife dunked in boiling water. I discovered later that I should have rested the piping bags on the radiator – but then, it hadn’t been on yet when I was decorating the cake.

End result? A slightly wonky car with a flat tire. Did Greg notice? No, I think I got away with it…

Whatever you do, do it in love, Scripture advises. I may not utter the perfect prayer when in a group or meeting; I may not remember the name of the new girl coming in the church door but I can still smile a warm welcome; I am not perfect. Despite our apprehensions, it’s the love that others see, not the perfect offering. It’s the love that God sees.

My life might look a mess, slightly crooked and with a flat tire. But God sees my heart. I don’t have to be perfect before I come to him.

Walking on Frozen Ground

Minus 5C. I’ve hung out a wash, standing on the frozen earth and looking at a leaden sky and wondering why I was bothering. In a few hours I’ll bring in stiff sheets and thaw them out. An exercise in futility I guess…

But my days are numbered, as are everyone’s, and every moment counts. So how can that time be redeemed? Is there anything of value to be gleaned from those moments wasted hanging out a wash on a frosty morning?

I noticed the birds, scavenging for sustenance. I connected with their plight in a way I couldn’t by looking at them out the window of my warm kitchen.

Native Americans have a saying to the effect that you should never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their moccasins. Jesus sat with the sinner. He ate with the outcast. He walked with the diseased and the rejected.

May the love of God in me impel me to take the time to walk a mile with those whose experience is different from mine, that I might better understand our shared humanity. May I be more eager to listen to others’ stories, to walk on the frozen ground of some of their lives, than I am to share my own opinion. May God help us all to hunger to know him, to know others, so that we can more truly know ourselves.

A Gang of Pheasants

A gang of pheasants hangs around our garden most days. Actually, they don’t hang around; they graze on by as they try to consume enough calories to keep going another day. They eat what they find, as do the hunter-gatherer tribe from Tanzania who we saw on a programme on the telly last week. Pretty precarious life.

On Friday we were feeling sad for our beautiful feathered friends, knowing the local syndicate had a scheduled shoot on Saturday. We thought many were destined to die soon.

However, I was delighted this morning when, as I walked down the drive, a dozen or so of these creatures tiptoed and lurched into the air in front of me. The ones that got away to live another day.

Generally I act as if I were going to walk on this earth forever, enjoying the rainbows and sunsets, the joys and laughter and love, the challenges and new experiences life offers. Today I was reminded that my life is just as precarious as the pheasants and the hunter-gatherers.

Underneath are the everlasting arms. Thanking God tonight for another day on this beautiful earth.

A Grinning God

Pulling out a Bible buried underneath other reading material in the prayer window, I discovered Thomas the Tank Engine and a toy caravan, neatly parked away. What is for me a place of quiet contemplation is for my grandkids a place of play and fun.

Jesus was accused by his enemies of being a party guy, eating and drinking with some disreputable characters. He was building the Kingdom of God, though, bringing the joy and light of God into all sorts of places, including those which others thought of as places of reverence and quiet contemplation, or places of disrepute.

When I watch a nature programme and see the wild, glorious diversity in creation – from weird and wonderful creepy crawlies (best seen on a screen) to breath-taking waterfalls and plants – I know that the Creator of such spectacular things rejoices in colour and texture and variety. I am sure that when he sat back on that seventh day and saw that all that he had made was good, he grinned and laughed with pleasure.

Black holes into Gold Mines

Our persistent eight-legged interloper was back in the shower the other night. So I dropped the marge tub on top of him for Don to remove later. I’m becoming quite blasé about it all.

We both forgot about him until the next morning. I was concerned he would have died, deprived of oxygen, and thought a quick death by vacuum would have been more humane. Don turned over the tub to discover – he’d filled the tub with a web.

Trapped, he’d got busy making something which could trap other victims, or perhaps protect him.

Some victims make other victims. Sometimes they may do it as a means of self-protection, of masking their own vulnerability and woundedness.

Some victims make a healing balm for others.

Paul wrote that the bad things we suffer in life can strengthen and equip us to encourage and help others. It’s the taking God into the pain and trusting him with the healing that transforms a victim into a victor.

May I trust God enough to transform my black holes into goldmines of his light. For his glory.

Last Roses of Summer

The last roses of summer share their intoxicating fragrance throughout the kitchen/living room. Big, ‘buxom beauties’, their magenta hue and sweet smell make these flowers the queens of my garden. Got them in just before the winter winds strike, forecast for this weekend.

I can’t protect everything that is precious and loved in my life. Husband, children, grandchildren, mother: they all have lives in the matrix of a turbulent and often hostile world, and I am not there with them ( – as if that would make all the difference!).

So I entrust them to God, who loves them all even more than I do. He died for each one. He has plans for each one, plans for good and not for evil. He knows every hair on each head. And he has the power and the will to bring each one through whatever valley they are in and up onto the mountain tops, where their perspective is unrestricted by giants that may threaten on the valley floor.

This morning I give God the glory, totally grateful to Jesus for what he did for us all and to the Holy Spirit who empowers, inspires and guides each of us now. Thank you Lord.

The Autumn Leaves

Clear blue skies. Hillsides alight with orange bracken. Reds and sienna, bronze and gold, leaves and needles cling and release, littering the ground beneath and laying down a bouncy carpet. A perfect autumn, after a perfect summer.

Already, though, many trees stand bare, denuded and prepared for wintry storms. For wintry storms shall come.

I feel the earth move. We live in ‘interesting’ times. Brutality and war. Injustice and oppression. Calloused hearts and shrouded minds. Confusion and bewilderment. Lost in a maze.

Our God is our strength, a very present help in times of trouble. For many, the times of trouble are here. For others, the autumn leaves are falling and the prospect of a freeze looms. But in God we trust, and we know that just as day follows night, so spring follows winter: new life, new hope, new prospects.

I live today with a grateful heart, grateful to my God and king.

It will do

Into middle autumn now, where the flaming leaves drop like a curtain to carpet the damp ground. With the sun on our backs and at times in our eyes, we took advantage of a windless and perfect autumn day. Armed with secateurs, a long-handled tree trimmer, and a bush saw, we set out to give a short back and sides to the trees drooping into our drive. Especially the graceful larch, which has been here since before we were, almost forty years ago now.

Up and down sometimes precariously-positioned ladders, stretching to trim and saw limbs away before they could do any damage. The result is a successful short back and sides done by amateurs. But it’ll do.

For years, I was barber to our three boys. I could wield those clippers – just like cutting grass. Though the result was probably amateurish. Fortunately, I got away with it. And saved a small fortune.

Life often dishes up challenges that we are not expert at dealing with. I am facing one or two at the moment which make me feel inadequate and fearful of failure. But with God’s help, I can do it. Trusting in him to guide. The result may not be professional, but it will do.

Comfort or Clangers

I thought I knew what a chord was. I can play arpeggios on my cello, which I figured just about covered it. No. Turns out there’s a lot more to these clusters of notes than I thought. Relative minors. Added on notes to convey a depth, an emotion. Patterns, numbers, theory.

Sheet music for modern praise songs generally come with no bass clef written in. Just the treble, with the tune, and chord changes for the guitars noted on every bar.

For years I’ve shied away from joining in on those songs. Or I’ve played the melody. Or occasionally just chugged away on the note named for the guitars. But I long to let myself go, to express my worship to God in a creative way and just somehow sing out a countermelody or a harmony. And to be confident that when I do, I’m not going to play a cringing clashing clanger.

That’s where a bit of study of chord theory seems a good idea.

Trying to find words to comfort a bereaved friend, I find there is no line prepared for me. I have to draw a deep breath and silently pray as I fumble for words that will console. I’m afraid of uttering a clanger that will sound heartless or cold. I rely on listening more intently, hugging, expressing my sorrow for her loss.

Sometimes life’s melody is in such a sad, minor key that it’s hard to find any way to harmonise. That’s when a strong bass note comes into its own, perhaps. The only note that can offer real comfort is the name of Jesus.

Spiritual Superfood

Outside the window, clusters of ripe red berries rest in golden fingers of rowan tree leaves. Yellowing larch needles sway in the gentle breeze. Cows which bellowed an hour ago, desperate for food, are now calmed and resting, the farmer having arrived with the daily ration of hay. Though they inhabit a fertile field, that season is past and no green grass is growing.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

In some seasons of life, we recognise just how dependent we are on the provision of the Father. He feeds us spiritual superfood, restoring our strength and giving us hope. Today I lift my head to the loving Lord who sits at the table with me, in the presence of my enemies. All I see is Jesus.

Compost Bin Minuet

Last week, we performed the annual compost bin minuet. For months, we dump raw food and plant waste into the plastic stacking bin, and when it finally reaches the top, we turn to the neighbouring heap mouldering beneath black plastic sheeting. As we pull back the plastic, we find that over the months, what was decaying and smelly has transformed into a black tilth-like material which, when dug into the vegetable patch, enriches the soil. When that mound is gone, we shift the plastic layers very carefully off of the undigested plant waste. We cover that hill with the black plastic and are back in business, ready to make a new mound of organic waste.

What was no good for our digestion – egg shells, potato peels, etc – breaks down into great nutrients for the garden.

Some things in life are no good for our digestion. Illness, abuse, poverty, loss. But, placed into a divine compost bin where God can work on them, they can transform into a rich material the Holy Spirit can use to enrich the soul.

And when the time is right, God can dig that rich tilth, formed through our experiences and suffering, into the lives of others.

Where there is darkness, God speaks light into being. Transformative light. Powerful and full of life and hope and joy.

No Masks

In the America of the 1950’s, at least in my corner of the States, every kid dressed up at the end of this month, pretending to be something else. Not everything was scary. When I was 3 I was Little Bo Peep, but the pull-along lamb I had could no longer bleat as I had fed her far too much paper…

One year my costume included a rubber mask. I still remember the clammy heat beneath that awful mask, which clung to my face like a jellyfish, making me sweat and desperate to get it off.

Not sure if that’s the reason, but I just do not like masks. Menacing or not, they disguise the truth of who someone is.

It’s hard to go through life without a mask of some kind, though. Feelings of inadequacy, of guilt or shame all contribute to the gradual construction of a caricature of our faces and personalities which disguises and distorts the person we really are. Once the mask is on, it undermines our true potential and may prevent us from flowering into the beautiful creations God has made and loves.

That is why I am so proud of my dear daughter Mhairi. She has torn off the mask and can now blossom. Jesus came so that we would have life, life in all its fullness. He is the truth, and he is the light, and he calls us to live in the truth and the light. No masks. He loves us for who we are. And it turns out, so do other people.

The Saviour

One of the drawbacks to warm summer days is the number of fly spots on the windows. Open doors, open windows, hundreds of yellow spots polka-dotting the glass. They don’t really obscure views but once one is aware of them, they certainly spoil the vision.

I thank God that I have been blessed with a big, wonderful family and a group of amazing friends. Recently, there have been situations in the lives of those close to me which have spotted my view of Jesus. Each spot represents a moment when I thought it was up to me to ‘fix’ something. To say just the right words to heal. To give the perfect advice. To do the right thing. To pray the right prayer.

I assume responsibility to ‘fix’ things beyond my ability. The motive is simple: I want the best for those I love, because I love them. But as long as I leave those spots there, I will never see the complete love and faithfulness of Jesus. An accumulation of spots distorts the truth of who Jesus is, polluting my understanding of the vastness of his love and his mighty power.

Jesus invites us to give him all our cares. This is so hard to do. But today I scrub the window of my soul again and pray that as I contemplate the King of Kings, I will relinquish my self-assumed duty to save my loved ones from every pain, to make the perfect decisions always and right every wrong. Jesus is the Saviour. Not me.

Much worse than a simple spider

Yesterday I equated a spider in the shower drain with unhealthy, wrong thought patterns which could creep stealthily into my mind and twist and distort my thinking. No sooner had I written that than my daughter Mhairi published her story of assault and abuse. We have talked and cried together about her experience, so none of it was a surprise to me, and yet when I read her story in black and white and looked at the picture of her sweet, lovely  face crumbling in pain, the mother’s heart inside me broke.

The spider lurking down the drain can be memories, horrific or just haunting, which we can’t deal with in our own strength. And so we push them down. Hide them away. Hope that the eight-legged monsters will just disappear, won’t hold us in their webs of pain. I suspect we all have spiders, of various sizes and toxicity, which we fight, with varying degrees of success, to suppress and disable.

There was no spider in my shower last night, so I am keeping the cover firmly over the drain. So trivial compared to trauma, but for me, a picture of a common reaction to deep, deep hurts.

With experiences which distort one’s own self-worth, it’s no good pushing the memory down and covering it over with busyness and distractions. So far, no spider has been strong enough to push the drain cover in my shower off, but with buried memories, some of them are powerful enough to keep pushing up, to keep disrupting, to keep distorting, to keep spinning webs which entangle and hinder the life God blessed us with. It’s just no good trying to keep them down, because they ultimately poison us.

Mhairi is being blessed with many words of encouragement and wisdom and support. May she be protected from some of the vitriol and hate that can appear in social media. One young woman who grew up in an abusive home has shared her story with Mhairi, advising that the only real healing comes through forgiveness. Forgiving yourself for the misappropriated guilt, but also, agonisingly, forgiving the perpetrator(s).

This is such fundamental Jesus wisdom. The only way I know to get that spider out of the drain (the swamp…) of one’s memory is to give it continually to Jesus, asking him to bless with forgiveness.

Jesus came to set the captives free. Memory can be a cruel jailer. My prayer today is that Jesus will set Mhairi, and all the others who have been so traumatised, free. Free from guilt and self-blame. Free from shame and remorse. Free from anger and bitterness. Free to forgive. Free to live, to embrace life in all its fullness.

Jesus is the master gardener who coaxes life from what looks dead. The God of the second chance, the new creation, the resurrection and the life. May he bless all who struggle today under the burden of toxic memories, shining the light of his love into every dark situation.

Spiders!

Apologies to those who like arachnids. (Anybody?)

Nearly every night, at least one very large spider is found lurking in our shower. I resist the urge to squash or hoover, and call Don to pick up and eject out the window. The window is rarely open. It’s a mystery how these guys get in night after night, unless they somehow dive through the stagnant water in the U-bend in order to reach what they may think of as Nirvana, only to find themselves turfed back outside into the cotoneaster. (Although I’m sure some of them succeed in slipping from shower to bedroom and who knows where else!)

I’m trying an experiment today. I’ve covered the drain, so we’ll see if any of my 8-legged friends revisits the shower. It isn’t that I grudge spiders space in the shower: it’s the potential of them moving into my clothes or bed which compels me to throw them out where they belong.

Paul wrote that God transforms our minds so that we can have the mind of Christ. I fall so far short of that goal, struggling with the same old bad thought patterns. Every so often, I sense I may have made some progress, only to have an unhelpful thought swim through the murk and take over my thinking yet again.

I’m covering the drain in my brain, again today: covering it with the blood of Jesus, covering it with the power of Scripture, covering it with the indwelling Holy Spirit, and every time I see a wee leg of nastiness trying to squeeze back into my brain, I think I may be justified in just SQUASHING it. (In spirit, of course.)

Because once that nastiness moves in and settles down, it has a way of derailing the mind of Christ in me and skewing all my thought processes. So grateful that in Jesus we are always given another chance, and in him we always have the victory.

Pain in the Rain

My knees gave way crossing the Pyrenees. Disappointed, my focus was on the first part of that sentence, but I’ve been challenged to focus on the second half. I crossed the Pyrenees on foot. Carrying a pack. In the rain. The pain in the rain in Spain was not in the plain, but in the mountains.

But I did it.

The tendency is to focus on the negative failures and leave the positive accomplishments in the shade.

Jesus looks at us and sees our potential. He calls forth the gold in each of us. Whether it’s crossing a mountain range on foot or in our hearts or heads, we need to celebrate our victories and let the failures fade.

Whatever tough terrain we’re navigating, he is right there with us.

Smell the Coffee

Smell the Coffee

Dear friends came to visit us after they’d been in Rwanda for a month, so they brought us a bag of coffee. We so enjoyed our time seeing them again, and long after they have gone, I am reminded of them every time I make coffee. It is delicious coffee, with a mild, rich aroma and taste, and its fragrance makes me smile as I remember their cheerful smiles and the time we spent together.

Their presence lingers on in the smell of the coffee. Jesus’ presence lingers on in the words of the Bible. Reading about what he did and what he said fills my mind with the rich fragrance of his loving presence. His words draw me into his warm embrace where I can linger and sense his encouragement and peace.

May you sit back and enjoy the fragrance of Jesus today, either through his words in the Bible or through the lives of others who love him. May his fragrance draw you into his embrace, and overpower the foul, worldly smells rising all around.

Grandpa took the hit

Grandpa was playing with his two-year-old grandson, ragging around on the couch. He lifted the wee boy aloft and leaned back, misjudging the placement of pillows and backrests, and suddenly found himself rolling right backwards and off the couch onto the floor beneath. The wee boy giggled wildly, thinking it was all part of the game. Grandpa grimaced as his rib hit the wood, but he didn’t say anything.

The bruise was deep, invisible to the naked eye. He ignored its soreness and ache, so happy was he that his grandson came through unscathed. And they continued to play.

Jesus took the hit for us. He didn’t complain, either. He chose to be hurt in order to save us. He still takes the hit for us, every time he intervenes, stepping into our messes and helping us sort them out. There is a price to pay, and Jesus pays it. Because of his love for us. For you. For me.

Thank you, Jesus, from the depth of my being. Thank you.

Put out the Fire!

Tucked away between the knives and the notes is an unobtrusive fire extinguisher. It’s sat there for years, and thankfully I’ve never needed to use it. But, I wonder, would it work in an emergency? Should I try it every so often just to make sure it’s still good – or would that simply use it all up?

I have a fire extinguisher in my spiritual heart, and I know he never wears out. I don’t have to check if he’s there or he’s active, because in fact there are small fires, wild fires, breaking out in my life every day and I have never found he’s run out of peace or encouragement or wisdom.

He is ever faithful. I’m so grateful.

What's Happening?

What’s happening?

I infrequently open my Twitter page but today when I did, what struck me was the question, ‘What’s happening?’ It made me smile, remembering the story I heard recently of our wee granddaughter going through a water park in California and as water sprayed from surprising directions, she reportedly kept shouting, ‘What’s happening?’

The disciples must have wondered that in those final days of Jesus’ life on earth.  Things were coming at them from surprising, and predictable, directions, and the growing sense of unease must have been alarming. I’m sure many of them asked one another, and probably Jesus, ‘What’s happening?’

As I wrote that, I remembered the song from Jesus Christ Superstar, ‘What’s the buzz, tell me what’s happening’. I’m not the first to recognise that the disciples would have been perplexed and unsure.

How often in life, though, we don’t recognise what was happening until it’s over. As we look back, we discern patterns and clues which we missed as we walked through our days.

In the confusion of our daily lives, it is so encouraging to know that Jesus is with us, that he goes before us and behind us, that he weeps and laughs with us, that he wraps his arms round us and always cares for us. It’s incredible, when you think of all the people that ever lived, and that are alive now, he knew/knows each one, and he knows what's happening.

We can trust our uncertain today and future to the God who has our back.

All I can Be

Watching the green and changing leaves shimmer in the morning breeze outside the prayer window, I catch glimpses of a soft grey sky beyond. Growing up in southern California, there was always a slight ‘feel’ to autumn – liquid amber trees became resplendent in shades of gold and the air became nippy – but my first real encounter with autumn leaves was a year studying at Stirling University. I couldn’t get enough of the vibrancy of the season and spent many hours wandering through woods round the Wallace Monument, breathing in the beauty. I still love this season which is opening up to us now, despite the fact that it heralds the frosts and freezes of winter.

I read a quote from Elisabeth Elliot this morning: ‘A clam glorifies God better than we do, because a clam is being all he can be, whereas we are not.’ Jesus chose to be Immanuel, God with us, because he was being all he could be – which is Love. He could have looked away and let us sink into the mire. He could have opted out rather than hanging in and hanging on the cross. But in so doing, he would have denied the essence of who he is – Love. He glorifies God by being all that he can be. The trees in their autumnal regalia glorify God by being all that they can be. May I, with his help, move in that direction myself today, being all that I can be, all that he made me to be.

Your own song to sing

I took cello lessons for 10 years, most of those years with Glaswegian Mr MacKenzie, who had jumped off a cruise ship in Long Beach and put his roots down there. I think he was a great teacher, though his soft Glasgow accent rendered much of his instruction incomprehensible! I always played with sheet music, though, and as I grow older I have an inner urge to play with my soul instead, but I don’t quite know how.

So today I have tried accompanying various songs on YouTube, feeling my way through what might work, trying to ‘sing’ to God from my heart rather than from the written page. Sometimes it was cringingly wrong, but other times I felt I was on the edge of letting go and making my own sound. Not sure if my confidence is going to take me off the written page on Sunday, but I hope to try.

It’s easier to blend in and play what is written on the page. But God invites us to sing to him a new song. He wants us to sing from our hearts. Not just on Sunday in a music group, but every day, in every way. We don’t have to follow the crowd. We each have our own song to sing.

Fruit

When we moved in here over thirty years ago, there was a damson tree in the garden which dripped with a profusion of fruit in the autumn. We paid the Cub Scout son of a friend, working on a ‘bob a job’ badge, to climb the tree and bring in the crop. I then discovered how labour-intensive it is to deal with damsons and in future years, as the tree’s fecundity lessened, I was relieved.

Well, the birds graciously planted a new damson for me and this year, we returned to find a carpet of the richly-coloured plums spread on the ground. I’ve now gathered them in, and am about to figure out how to deal with them. Damson gin isn’t the answer as we don’t particularly drink it and am not sure if anybody else does.

I always seem to be going on about harvesting fruit, but that is because this is such an unusual year. We’ve not really had many, if any, damsons since that early year, nor have we had the cherries or plums like we do this year. Conditions have been perfect for the crops here at the ‘hillock, though others we know have not enjoyed such bounty.

The Bible talks of Christians as people who bear the fruit of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, and so on. We are to nourish others with the goodness that comes from Jesus through us. But as they say, life happens, and sometimes the storms disturb the blossom before it can set the fruit. Or drought shrivels what is there. Not every year is a good year. When we are going through drought or storm, we may not have it in us to bear much fruit. We’re not always aware of the droughts or storms others are going through, so can find it hard when we are let down, left un-nourished by others.

My dear friend often says, ‘Put your expectations in nobody but God. Everyone else will let you down sometimes.’ It’s unintentional, often, but it may be that someone else just has no fruit to share.

If you’re in a place of plenty, may you find many ways to can, bottle, bake and infuse your fruit so others can enjoy it. And if you’re in a drought, may you draw nourishment from Jesus himself, so that his fragrance and love can once again bless others.

As Psalm 1 says, blessed are those who delight in the Lord and meditate on his word, because ‘they are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season.’

So as I tackle my crop in the kitchen, I will put on praise music and delight in the Lord, meditating on him and his wonderful love for us. And hope the fruit is not just in the jars and puddings and pies, but also in me.

Connections

‘In .3 miles bear left,’ I said, having turned off the annoying lady on the SatNav. At least I don’t whine on about recalculating every time we have to make adjustments. But just how far is .3 miles? Tricky to know when it’s time to turn or need to remain on the road we were on. Despite my crazy directions which led to many U-Turns, Don didn’t lose his temper. He calmly adjusted our direction and we tried again. For some reason, Bristol was the worst, despite having a major landmark by which we could navigate.

It wasn’t always my poor navigation which led to our turning round. Road Closed Ahead. Twice we had to recalculate and were grateful for the book of maps. Accident on the Edinburgh By-Pass which we heard on the travel report and then found ourselves threading our way through Leith. Snow Gates Closed on the Cairn o’Mount (really! No snow yet, thankfully!) which necessitated a return to the motorway.

We drove about 2,000 miles, from one coast to another round the UK. We reconnected with friends and family. We reminisced, ate together, made new memories. We discovered treasures of geology, history, architecture, and literature which we didn’t know were there. Ironbridge. Lulworth Cove. Wells Cathedral. Ipswich. Whitby and Robin Hood Bay. Lindisfarne.

We came home expecting to find our huge crop of plums would have ripened and rotted while we were away. The morning we left, we discovered one branch had buckled and torn under the weight of the fruit, and we thought we would lose it all. But no. It’s all perfect. Even the plums on the broken branch, which remained connected enough to the trunk to continue to draw nourishment and provide fruit.

Travelling is full-on. It’s hard to find quiet space to connect with God. But even when the connection is weak from my side, He never lets go, and hopefully he can still provide fruit for others.

Preserves

Preserves. I’m not sure if that is a word used in the UK for jams, but ‘back home’ we sometimes call jams, preserves. It’s a nice name, redolent of having something of value that you want to save for later pleasure.

I couldn’t resist the voluptuous brambles growing at the end of the road yesterday, and within 15 minutes had 3 pounds of plump berries. I came home and immediately set to making them into jam. Preserving their taste. In order to do this, according to the recipe I found on Google, I had to cook the berries in a little water and lemon juice for an hour to break them down and make them into a soft mush. Then I added the sugar and boiled hard until the jam was ready for bottling.

There is something immensely satisfying in seeing a cupboard full of preserves. Independent of electrical power (like all those berries in the freezer). They are there for years, until they are needed.

I love the joy of sharing the bounty with others, too. Most people are delighted to receive a jar of homemade jam, free of additives.

Jesus looks at us and, (I know this is a flight of fancy), he sees plump berries. (I make no comment on the plump aspect…) All we need is him, the sugar, and the steady heat of the Holy Spirit to preserve us. Then he can give us to the world, to sweeten the sourness, to encourage and cheer, to draw others into the fold.

May you be a sweet dollop of preserves to others today!

Brambling

Just back from picking brambles. The sun is out; the sky is blue; my heart was singing to the Lord (and so was my mouth sometimes!)

As I filled my fourth punnet, I thought of the lavishness of this year’s bramble and cherry harvests. Delicious fruits, growing without any husbandry. They grow on the verges of the fields, fields which the farmer lavishes with care and chemicals, fields which yielded poor crops this year because of unusual weather conditions.

Everyone watches the fields for the harvests and bemoans the poor result. Relatively nobody is looking along the verges, which the Lord is blessing with abundance.

I thought of my own prayer life. I lavish most prayers on certain people and situations. I watch carefully for signs of growth. Meanwhile, what is the Lord doing along the neglected verges of my life? I am missing great things when I fail to see what the Lord is doing, and join in with him to bring in the harvest.

So my prayers  coming back changed as I asked him to show me the verges in my life, so that I can join in to bring in an abundant harvest, a harvest all down to the Lord of the harvest. I asked him to give us more workers in our community, to scour the verges for signs of growth and then to nurture and bring it into the Kingdom.

And if you’re out my way, bring some empty punnets. The verges are ripe unto a delicious harvest.

A heart that grows two sizes in a breath

Oh, the thoughts I have as I look out my prayer window! This morning I realised that the bushes I trimmed a few weeks back are now throwing up new shoots, and the whole body of the bush is growing up as well. The view has shrunk by about a quarter. It led me to think how easily I can let shoots of thought – many of them selfish, critical, or negative – to grow up and restrict the God-given perspective Jesus wants me to have. It’s easiest to trim out those shoots one by one as they appear, rather than wait until they strengthen into wooden branches of unhelpful thinking.

Having read books for years to my four kids and now some grandchildren, I thought of one favourite – How the Grinch Stole Christmas. While the self-centred Grinch punched the air rejoicing in his presumed success at stealing Christmas from the Whos in Whoville, he was interrupted by the sound of sweet singing where he expected to hear heartbroken wailing. He had assumed that Christmas came in gifts – all of which he had stolen, rather than understanding that it is a Gift, and that Gift is love. And ‘his heart grew two sizes that day’.

The errant branches were pruned away and the Grinch could see clearly. The vision was breath-taking, transformative and life-giving.

May I recognise the errant branches in my mind today and prune them off as soon as they tempt me to think selfishly, critically, or negatively. Scripture declares we have the mind of Christ – but only as we work with the Holy Spirit to develop it. I long for his perspective, not my own, for in him only do we have fullness of life and are we set free from thoughts which rob us of our peace, compassion and love.

The Wanderer

Sitting in my prayer window this morning, I suddenly realised there was a cow on her own in the harvested barley field. As yet unperturbed by separation from her calf and the other mums across the road, she grazed happily along the verge of the field. A few of her friends bellowed, but she ignored them.

As I got up to call the farmer, he arrived, on his own. I saw him park the tractor in a strategic place, but still. Somehow he had to entice or usher the stray out of the wrong field and through the open gate of the right field, without losing the rest of the herd. I quickly put on shoes and jacket so I could give him a hand, but by the time I was ready, the cow was back where she belonged.

Over the years, we have participated in many a round-up, doing our best to help farmers with their errant herds. We have discovered our own ineptness. It takes skill and experience to move a herd, or even a single cow.

Jesus told stories of lost sheep rather than roaming cows, but the symbolism is the same. It is comforting to know that he is that skilled, experienced, loving ‘farmer’ who can seek out the one who has wandered off, without losing any of the rest of the herd.

I am the good shepherd, he declared. Today I’m praying for those I know who have strayed. He doesn’t need my help to restore them, but he graciously responds to our prayers.

Falling Cherries

No way could I have ever picked all the cherries this year, even with the help of friends and family. And now the inevitable is happening. The ground is littered with overripe cherries, staining the driveway and pressing into soles.

That which was delicious in its time, on those warm summer days, is beginning to rot and stain.

The fields are ripe and ready for the picking, Jesus told his disciples. You can’t do it all: pray for helpers.

Our neighbours and friends don’t all know Jesus. They are missing out on so much, but we can’t reach them all. Partly because there isn’t time, and partly because they may need someone else to listen to. People don’t always respond to friends and family, though they are always watching to see if we walk the walk.

Press into the Lord of the harvest and pray for helpers. Pray for new ways to do church. Pray for new ways to present the ancient truth of the gospel.

Lines of communication

Forty years ago, a letter took three days to wing its way from California to north-eastern Scotland. Postage wasn’t very expensive. Transatlantic phone calls had to go through an overseas operator, who rang back when she had a clear line and it was ringing. It cost a lot. £1/minute. Those were the two options for maintaining contact with my family, so my parents wrote to me, and I wrote to them, every Sunday, and we received the up-to-the-minute news the following Wednesday.

Today, a letter takes a week or more and may never even arrive. It costs a lot. I paid over £10 to send a small packet to my mother and it never arrived. E-mail is free and instant. Skype is free to a computer, pennies to a phone. I can skype Mom most days. The biggest obstacles are the time difference and her busy social life!

I haven’t even mentioned WhatsApp, SMS, Facebook, Instagram…

Getting in touch with God hasn’t changed, though. Call out to me, he invites us. Sit with me. Rest in me. Confess to me. Come away with me. Listen.

I love you, he says, and it echoes through my heart. It’s free, and it’s instant. Praise him.

Isn't it beautiful?

A month ago, our cherry trees were literally dripping with cherries, which for some reason the pigeons ignored. Freezer full now, some jam made, many cherries didn’t get picked. I just couldn’t reach.

Now I look out and the apple trees are drooping towards the ground, so heavy is the fruit on their branches. Big, healthy-looking apples, not yet ready, but when they are, there will be apple butter, crumbles, pies, sauce.

Even the plum tree, which has never done much, has a healthy crop beginning to ripen.

And yet, the raspberries were poor quality and scarce. The strawberries were small, though sweet. There aren’t many blueberries.

I’m no horticulturist, but it’s evident that weather conditions which bless some fruits, harm others.

So it is with people. A climate of corruption can encourage some to let their integrity flower and grow fruit to feed those whose hope is waning. Or it can tempt people to participate in corruption.

We are not to live like people who have no hope, the Bible claims. When the storms of negativity, of fake news and alternative truth buffet our world, we are to look up. He who started a good work in us will not leave it incomplete. Filled with his Spirit of hope, the joy of the Lord as our strength, we are the cherry and apple trees in my garden, feeding the hungry poor.

This is the day the Lord has made. Isn’t it beautiful?

Lens of Grace

Awhile ago, we got a comic book for Flick which had a ‘camera’ attached, a camera which showed pictures of various fairy-tale princesses. It took Flick a little while to figure out how to see through the finder and view the pictures, but she mastered it. It’s not easy learning to close one eye while keeping the other open.

Paul wrote that we see ‘through a glass darkly’. We don’t get the full picture, and can be disappointed and discouraged because our perspective is narrow and our focus can be more on ourselves than on those we are feeling disappointed in.

It is hard to distance oneself from events so that the outcomes don’t seem personal, but usually there are valid reasons for other peoples’ actions or reactions. I heard a powerful talk once in which the speaker declared she decided never to allow anyone, or anything, to offend her.

It’s called grace. It’s the way God sees us, through a lens of grace. And it’s the way we should see others. Like Flick trying to see through the finder, it takes practice to allow God to broaden our vision and erase our own expectations and feelings from the picture. A lifetime of practice, and the help of the Holy Spirit.

Living in grace, though, is living life to the full. Which is what Jesus died to give us.

Lean in

Don was explaining, in more detail than I cared about, how the bench saw worked. The motor had stalled and overheated, and he was puzzling out the reason. He’d just realised that perhaps the guide had shifted slightly, so that when he pressed the long bit of wood hard against it, the saw itself was having to work extra hard to go against the grain of the wood, rather than with it. The motor may have overheated as a consequence, and stopped working.

Jesus is the guide who never shifts. We are never thrown off square when we lean in to him. We do not have to work extra hard at life. When we press hard against him, we can go through our challenging, painful times, held secure in his peace that passes understanding. That peace only comes from him. We can’t work it up. We can only lean in.

Change

Lights flashing, engines roaring, the huge green behemoth crawls through the ripe grain, its paddlewheel nose cutting and separating, storing and discarding, bringing in the harvest. The noise wails out that summer is drawing to a close, that lows and rains, gales and ice lie ahead. But today – today the sun is shining from a cloud-scattered sky and in that sun is warmth.

We always live on the cusp of change, though we don’t always notice. Day follows night and we get into a rhythm, almost oblivious to the changes all around. There are annual changes, and there are forever changes. When we were expecting our first baby, we looked forward to a time when life would get back to normal. Of course, we soon found ourselves embracing a new normal.

Today I choose to live in the joy of the moment, swollen cheek and all. I see signs of change and pray that I’ll be enabled to embrace change with grace and hope, always trusting in our loving Father.

The Dentist's Chair

Maybe dentists get a bad rap, but let’s be honest. Who enjoys sitting in their chairs?

I had some dental surgery yesterday. It took an hour and a half and has left me with six stitches, a swollen cheek and very sore. But I was there voluntarily – having an implant is better than having no tooth – and the dentist was good, hygienic, skilful. Most places in the world, you might have to just ask your neighbour to pull the offending tooth. And gum it after that.

So this is a first world moan.

Or is it a moan at all? It’s just what happens in life. Some things hurt. Yesterday, though, I was grateful of the truth of God’s promise, that when you walk through the waters/fires/troubles he’ll be with you. I was grateful that as I lay, head down, mouth wide, and the dentist hammering away, I had chunks of John 1 going through my mind. What a blessed diversion! I have some of that chapter memorised but it didn’t come out in a coherent narrative but rather in snatches. But they were life-giving snatches, and I am grateful.

He never leaves us nor forsakes us. That is life to the full. Even in the dentist’s chair.

Battery Low

Battery low. Recharge.

My laptop lets me know when it needs a boost. Plug it in and in an hour or so it’s good to go again.

My body lets me know when it’s time for bed. I yawn. I fall asleep watching the news. I go to bed and on a good night, waken refreshed a few hours later.

My spirit lets me know when it’s time to linger with the Lord. Anxiety replaces peace. Irritability shoves patience out of the way. Critical thoughts drive out grace. If I’m smart, I head for the prayer window. I’d like to say I always do that. But sometimes I run on empty, full of fear, irritability and judgmental opinions.

This is the day the Lord has made. His love is faithful and steadfast and his grace is all I need. He is waiting for me. He is waiting for you. His unconditional love never runs dry, and is sufficient. With the help of his Holy Spirit, I believe that and linger in his presence.

Times of refreshing are a gift of God.

Time Out

My lifestyle is hectic. It’s just the way I am. So when I take a sabbath afternoon’s rest, reading the Saturday papers, followed by a ‘fix’ of Poirot on the telly while eating leftovers, why should I feel guilty and unproductive?

God knows we need time out. For those parenting in this generation, ‘time out’ is a punishment a child is sent to for misbehaving. For God, ‘time out’ is a blessing, an opportunity to draw breath, take stock, relax and be refreshed.

I don’t mind being sent to Time Out. Think I’ll read some more of the papers now.

Sunrise, Sunset

The sunset last night. Only God could have painted such a thing of beauty. I rushed for my phone and ‘captured’ it, three times. None of the pictures begins to do it justice.

I remember seeing the Grand Canyon a few years ago, after a lifetime of seeing pictures of it. None of them did it justice. It took my breath away, literally, and was almost a transcendental experience itself.

Some things of beauty can’t be captured, explained or passed on. They have to be experienced.  I can share my experience of being born again into God’s kingdom, and the most I can hope for is that the listener will be so excited about my experience that she will rush off and start asking God to reveal himself to her, too. She will never be impacted by his presence until she opens herself to be impacted by his presence.

May your day be shot through with beautiful ‘sunsets’ which can’t be explained, only experienced, and may you take time to drink those moments of beauty deep into your soul.

New Directions

For some reason, the Lord took me back to a memory of hemming squares on a sewing machine. When did I last do that? Can’t even remember. But as I lingered, I saw the dexterity required to anchor a sharp corner…the need to position the needle through all thicknesses as I swung the fabric into a new direction.

God sometimes calls us to change direction. The only way to successfully negotiate such a change, is to ensure that the needle … the anchor … our connection with God through Jesus and the Holy Spirit … is firmly in place. Then, once our face is turned in the new direction, we are free to run with him, sometimes at pretty high speeds. Allowing the needle to release any of the fabrics of our lives results in a messy ‘corner’ and perhaps a wonky way forward.

Isaiah quotes God saying, ‘Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”’ He’s always there, guiding us on, if we keep our ears open and our lives embedded in him.

I wonder if he’s preparing me for something? What about you?

Rotting Fruit

Cherry harvest is coming to an end. Not because the trees have been picked clean. I can’t get up high enough, nor do I have the energy to keep going much longer!! Friends came last night and picked a couple of boxes, and the red ones are beginning to spoil, though the black remain firm.

So what happens now? I imagine the ground will be carpeted by rotting fruit, which might call rodents and other undesirables. I may still have work to do out there, sweeping and putting into the compost heap, or we may find our cherry trees have the pulling power of the Pied Piper of Hamlin.

What is a blessing and sweet to the taste can go bad. What nourishes and delights can turn sour and sickly. God pours out his blessings and gifts on us, which he wants us to use for the good of the Kingdom. The important thing in life is that old saying, carpe diem, because what is wonderful today may be horrible tomorrow.

It’s not always easy to choose how to spend time, which gifts to use when. I had planned to do some writing today, but the forecast is that this good weather is drawing to a close, so I better take my own advice, and get out there and carpe diem. I can write in the rain, but I don’t want to deal with rotting cherries in it.

God is good, all the time

The profusion of summer foliage on the trees along the drive obliterates the view of Scolty. Maybe in winter, I’ll prune those lower branches on the Norwegian maple (or is it an elm?) tree so that next summer I can still see for miles, or maybe I won’t, because they do look lovely right now.

When autumn comes and the leaves change colour and then drop, the view will be restored.

When life is full, perspective can be lost. I can be so satisfied admiring the beauty of people I love, work I’m enjoying, a church where I can worship in freedom, that I don’t even miss what I am missing. It’s when things are stripped away, when good things are lost and I stumble into a challenging valley, that my perspective is broadened. As I seek the solace of our loving Father, I begin to see his trademark love in unexpected places.

Busy, productive life full of joyful reunions and happy memory-making is wonderful, but there are hidden jewels revealed only when the leaves of plenty drop. God is so good. All the time.