A long incubation

Eggs. Symbol of new birth. Of hope. Of waiting.

The poor hen has to sit still for days while waiting for those eggs to incubate and hatch, releasing chicks into the world.

Be still and know that I am God. Be still. Children have a hard time being still and waiting as Christmas or birthdays near. Lovers have a hard time being still and waiting for the wedding. The disciples had a hard time being still and waiting, trusting that Jesus had told them the truth. In fact, they were so traumatised by Friday's horrors that they seem to have forgotten everything he said, and perhaps were just laying low til the Passover crowds drifted off, diminishing the danger they believed themselves to be in. Waiting.

The women who knew where the body was were waiting, not perhaps very still, gathering together the things they would need to cleanse and anoint the body at dawn on the first day of the week. It must have been a long, heavy wait. Hopes were dashed. Their Lord was dead.

It's hard to see the possibilities when hopes are dashed. It's hard to remember promises. It's hard to wait.

We are all waiting. Many of us with dashed hopes and dreams. Finding it hard to remember the promises, to keep imagination and dreams alive.

Dawn is coming. New life. Love deeper than the ocean, higher than the stars. Keep hope alive.

Via Dolorosa

From the age of 5, I walked the half mile to and from kindergarten on my own. But I didn't know the route by osmosis. Before I was let loose on the streets of Long Beach, Mom showed me the way. She spent a few days walking with me, so that I would safely know how to go when I was on my own.

Now I am driving Mom here and there for appointments and so on. When the doctor yesterday acted as if Mom were invisible, addressing all his comments to me, my heart broke again, knowing how upset she would be by this. And she was. But she recovered, a blessing of poor memory I suppose, and we had a lovely evening together. A nice conversation with a taciturn, shy lady over dinner. Then a CD of classic music and time on the couch looking at old photos, telling stories, laughing and crying together. Remembering.

She is still walking me home, as I try to walk her home.

Jesus stumbled through the streets of Jerusalem, beaten and abused, bleeding and hurting. The women particularly are mentioned as hanging in with him all the way to the end. When the stone was rolled in front of the tomb, two of the Marys were there. That took hours, hours of the excruciating pain of watching a loved one suffer, as Jesus suffered more than anyone ever has or could. They did what they could.

Today I will do what I can. Walking Mom home, as she walks me home, and as Jesus walks with us both. All glory to him.

From A to B one step at a time

We were trying to go from A to B in Los Angeles, where major roads experience regular gridlock. So we used an app which led us block by block on an alternative route. We weren't given the instructions ahead of time, like you get on Google maps, but rather, the app is interactive and constantly updating according to changing traffic conditions, so we had to trust that one block at a time we were nearing our destination.

Two disciples were told to head into Jerusalem. They knew the way and though the city would have been heaving with folk for Passover, they didn't face gridlock. Their challenge, though, was to look for a couple of specific signs that would indicate they were at their destination, an upper room in which to prepare the meal. They trusted Jesus, their guide, so off they went. I wonder how they felt. Nervous? Concerned that they might miss the critical sign?

I've got things to follow up today for insurance. Phone calls to make which are confusing to me. I have been given some instructions and will launch out, trusting that one thing will lead to and clarify the next, and by the end of the day we will have a sort of Google map for the supplying of Mom's meds where she can still get the benefit of the insurance cover. I am going to think of the disciples' challenge, tune my spiritual ear to Jesus, and step out in faith.

I notice that the two disciples then prepared the holiday meal. I wonder if those disciples were women. Just a thought. After all, whoever they were, they weren't the 12, who arrived later with Jesus.

Skimming the Waves ... Or sinking

We stood on the shore and watched as kite surfers skimmed across the waves at exhilarating speed. The wind was gusty and strong as the four surfers crisscrossed on the surface of the water.
They needed impressive strength to be able to steer the ropes connecting them to the canopy sails above, in order to avoid one another, and also to head back out on the waves each time they approached the shoreline.
Occasionally one would catch the wind in such a way as to be lifted right off the water and fly through the air before descending back to the surface of the waves.
Peter answered Jesus' invitation to walk on the water. It was gusty and wild on the Sea of Galilee when he stepped out of the boat and headed over the surface of the deep, focused on the Lord. It must have been exhilarating for him, until he let the wind and waves distract him from his focus, and he started to sink.
I have been distracted overnight, leading to sleeplessness as I focused on anxieties rather than on the Lord. Sometimes the wind is so strong that it's tough to stay focused on Jesus. I am encouraged that when Peter called out to Jesus for help, the Lord immediately reached out and took him into the safety of the boat, and the storm ceased.

Investment

Jesus took time out during his last week on earth to people watch. He saw the wealthy make a show of their investment in the kingdom, giving lavish gifts to the temple. Then he saw the poor widow give everything she had.

Spending time with God is an investment in the kingdom, enriching God's temple, which is each one of us. He is delighted when we are hard pressed for time and yet spend those few minutes we have on him.

Rare air and Paddington Bear

In one of the Paddington Bear story books I used to read to my children, the family takes Paddington to the seaside. He is told that the air there is special, and when he sees someone doing deep breathing exercises he 'fixes him with a cold stare', fearful that this rare air is going to be used up. Before leaving the seaside to return to London, he captures a sample of the air in a jar.

Capturing the atmosphere. Filling a jar with something special, a sort of matrix which is precious and carries unique memories: we are those jars, those clay pots as the Bible would say. God invites us to wait on him so that we are strengthened and renewed, so that we are joyful and our fears are replaced by faith and trust. The more we wait, the more we, as temples of his Holy Spirit, are filled with him, the less room there is for the money changers who jockey for attention and disrupt our peace.

I had the joy of worshiping with Mhairi in her church yesterday. The jar within me, the temple of the Holy Spirit, was topped up as I did my deep spiritual breathing exercises there, inspired by the message and the worship. Now it is Monday morning, and I am reminded that this, too, is the day that the Lord has made. As I pick up the threads and walk through this day trying to help my dear Mom with the nuts and bolts of her life, I will wait on the Lord and keep the jar filled with him, so that those anxieties which crouch at the periphery of my being will have no way in. He is the Lord and he reigns.

Runaway Stagecoach!

I grew up on cowboy movies. Roy Rogers was my favourite cowboy. This morning I've been visualising a scene where a stage coach driver is struggling to control four or more horses who are running at full gallop. There is a sense that up ahead there is a cliff, but how far ahead is unknown. One horse sets its face in one direction and pulls with all his might, against another to which he is tethered, pulling in the other direction. The driver is exhausted, trying to calm the horses, get them to work together, avert any danger of going over the cliff.

Suddenly beside the driver is Another. Quietly he reaches out and takes the reins. The driver at first looks fierce and wild, shouting to Another, waving arms, barking instructions. His fears and remonstrations are quieted instantly, however, when The Other looks at him, a look of love. Trust me, that look says. Sit back and enjoy the exhilaration of the ride. I know where the cliff is and we shall not go over it. I understand the needs of each of these horses and I can meet their needs. I am the ultimate horse-whisperer. Enjoy the ride as you trust me, as you see what I can do.

I am that crazed driver. Are you? Today, as each horse pulls, I am going to be thankful that The Other, Jesus, is holding the reins, guiding the stagecoach, protecting the passengers.
Trust and gratitude. My words for the day.

Insurance

I've been delving deep into files today, and have often felt like Alice, that I've slipped down a rabbit hole and nothing is quite as it seems. Trying to make sense of health insurance so that, if anything happens to my mom, I will know who provides what cover. There is more than one problem to resolve, but as I began phoning to check the status of a policy there was paperwork for, for catastrophic cover and custodial care, I realised it was all out of date. Way out of date. One call led to another and, six calls later, I was told the policy terminated a week after Dad died. Why? 'We didn't receive the monthly payment, so it terminated.' Just like that.

Did anyone warn us the policy was going to be terminated? I don't think so. There is no paperwork to say we were warned or asked if we wanted to continue it for my Mom. Maybe we lost something in the grief. I was stuck in a snowstorm in NYC trying to get here from Scotland. For four days. Did anyone phone to ask where the insurance premium was? Perhaps. We had other things on our minds. So it was terminated.

How grateful I am that God never terminates his love for me. I don't need to pay a monthly dues so he will love me. I'm not going to worry about the loss of that policy. The only catastrophe is to die without knowing and falling in love with Jesus. We don't need an insurance policy for that. Just a heart full of love, an open and compassionate mind, and a willing spirit.

How great is our God!

Hiking

She slid past me into the window seat. I always get an aisle. I noticed her hiking boots and thick socks. Her utilitarian jumper with a lightweight turtle neck layer beneath. Her cargo pants. Everything told me this lady was off on a walking holiday, until I noticed her outsized red handbag.

I had stowed my roll aboard in the compartment above, and had my handbag with reading matter under the seat in front. Perhaps I, too, looked quite utilitarian until you notice my red fingernails.

Life is a journey. A pilgrimage. We all carry our baggage differently. Some of us look like we are travelling light when actually we are carrying huge weights inside us, dragging us down. Others may drag a heavy suitcase but inside, spiritually, be soaring light.

Today I am depending on my saviour to keep me travelling light. I'll let him bear the weight for me, as I stride along with my bright red fingernails (which may well be chipped by the time I arrive, but maybe that is another blog...)

Perhaps we all cling to one or two quirks that set us apart from the rest. A red handbag as she strides over the Alps.

No Dress Code

Be alert. Be prepared.

So when we awoke this morning, the white stuff was back, blanketing fields and drive in icy cold snow. Going to Dundee after church for the Blue Water Tea Party to raise funds for Signpost, we took the smaller car, which is better in snow and ice. Instead of a blue party frock I wore trousers, two jumpers and a jacket, and knee-length, fur-lined boots.

After church, we drove into the sunshine, on cleared roads, beside brown fields, and arrived for the tea party where the other ladies were attired in pretty dresses. Oh well.

I was going to say that Jesus doesn’t have a dress code for heaven, when I remembered the rather uncomfortable story of the wedding guests who arrived improperly attired and were not allowed in. 

That story, though, refers to our spiritual attire – we are to be washed and clothed in the clean white clothes Jesus won for us at Calvary. We don’t have to earn the clothes – just believe that Jesus bought them for us.

There is no dress code for church, for heaven, nor for the Blue Water Tea Party. Signpost International is working hard to provide clean water for villages in Tanzania and Uganda, where polluted water sources serve all purposes – drinking, bathing, toileting, and spreading disease. There is no dress code for helping raise money for such a noble purpose.

Beast from the East

Just when we thought the #beastfromtheeast had blown itself out, it seems his cousin is beginning to huff and puff our way. Snow is a possibility for the weekend. And there I was yesterday writing about crocus and the sense of spring in the air. Sigh.

There’s another beast from the east commanding the attention of news media right now, too, a sinister beast whose huffs and puffs threaten indiscriminate mayhem and destruction. This morning I read Psalm 37, which includes some verses about beasts, referred to as ‘the wicked’. Despite their schemes and attacks, the psalmist declares that the Lord laughs at them. Generally, one only laughs at a bully when one is confident of one’s own power and might.

I find it reassuring, that as nightmarish as it is to know that the wicked lay in wait to target victims with lethal horrors, God is more powerful and he knows that their story will be short. We are to hope in him, trust in him, and pray. That’s where the real power lies.

New life!

At some point last autumn, I abandoned the garden to its own devices. I let the fallen leaves lie wherever they fell and moulder away happily. Most seem to have landed in the flower beds. I left the dying flowers to cling on over winter, brown and shrivelled and ugly.

Occasionally, I noticed. And I thought, hmm, better get out there.

Today I took half an hour or so – positively balmy out there in the high 30’sC – and trimmed back a couple of the shrubs and voila! Beneath some of the fallen stalks and piles of slimy leaves, brave crocus opened purple and vibrant. New life, not just promised but already presented!

It’s easy to miss the signs of new life, of blossoms opening anew, in myself and in others close to me. It’s easy to become so accustomed to the detritus of past bad attitudes or unhelpful habits or harsh words that I can overlook the new life growing inside.

Coming into spring now – hurray! Time to spring clean soon – not just the house or garden but also the character. Time to uncover new life which God might just be nurturing in my heart and the hearts of others, new, positive outlooks, new hopes and dreams. Time to clear away the mouldering rubbish and let in the light, let in the air, let in the warmth.

Flash Drive

Flash drive. Memory stick. Whatever. I spent a few hours last night transferring data and photos from my old, to my new, laptop. All the data I wanted to transfer, all my writing, accounts, everything, fit on the flash drive in one go.

Then I got to the photos. Four trips between laptops later, and I still can’t fit some wedding pictures onto the flash drive to transfer. I’ll have another go later.

A picture is worth a thousand words. That was the expression, and it certainly seems true in terms of megabytes.

God is for us. When I sit in my prayer window, I ask him to plug his flash drive into my spirit and download his Spirit, reawaken my sensitivities and encourage me to walk into this day, hearing his voice, sensing his presence, trusting him in everything. Sometimes he speaks to me in pictures; sometimes in words; sometimes in sensation of his presence; sometimes through Scripture.

God doesn’t unplug his flash drive when I get up and move into my day. His flash drive is plugged into me 24/7, not just when I sit in my prayer window. The exciting challenge for me is to grow ever more sensitive to his communications throughout the busyness of every day. And be thankful in it all.

Let them come!

Let the children come to me, Jesus said.

Toddlers staggered around clutching sippy cups; pre-schoolers danced around with excitement; babies gurgled or fussed or slept. Church gathered for the dedication of one of our precious grandchildren.

I sat in the second row, husband on one side of me, youngest son on the other. In front of me sat the other two sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren. We sang a new chorus, new to me anyway, expressing a sentiment that although I look like I’m surrounded by troubles, God is surrounding me. There was a physical gap where Mhairi would have loved to be sitting, but I know that in spirit she filled that gap. So there I sat, on Mothering Sunday, surrounded by my tribe, surrounded by God. Gathered to pray a special blessing on the youngest grandson. Gathered to celebrate life, love, and the Lord.

Watching my boys, the brothers, cuddling each other’s children, playing with them, rocking them to sleep: I needed no gifts or cards or sentiments (though I did receive them! – thank you!).

Let the children come to me. And they did. Profoundly grateful.

Rats!!

Rats!

One of my neighbours is fighting to reclaim her garden from an invasion of rats. So far they have got rid of about seven of the rodents, but one very smart, very fat rat is too clever to take the bait, no matter the type of trap. 

My neighbour planted crocus bulbs in a patch, years ago, and delights every year to see the carpet thicker and more vibrant than the previous year as the bulbs open in burst of golden and purple colours. It’s taken years of careful husbandry to achieve this beautiful spread. It took the rat just one season to decimate it, eating his way through one bulb after the other.

It isn’t an overnight task to bring the fruits of the Spirit to maturity. It’s a lifetime’s effort, and it requires us to be alert to the ways in which little rodents can get in and nibble away at what is growing in our spirit, our personality. It only takes one rapacious rat, ignored or unnoticed, to undo the years of careful attention.

Pheasant or Buzzard?

I opened the curtains onto a new day, a new world, less soggy and drippy than yesterday, with the welcome sun making a comeback and smiling out of a blue sky. On the fence post next to the manure hill sat a big bird. I could only see its silhouette because of the position of the sun, so wasn’t sure if it had the colours of the pheasant which often warms its feet in the manure. 

I continued to watch, sure that pheasants don’t usually perch on fence posts, but neither do birds of prey usually come so close to our home. Still only a silhouette, the bird turned slightly and I was pretty sure I glimpsed a hook in that beak. Still unsure, I waited, eventually realising I would only really know what it was when it moved. So I opened the window, slightly startling the calm bird, and he looked my way (I think) and then dropped gracefully from the fence post, skimmed the ploughed field and rose to the height of the telephone pole to resume its reverie. A buzzard, not a pheasant.

People reveal who they really are only when they move, too. Jesus said his disciples would be known by their love. Love is a verb, and is revealed in action. We can claim all kinds of things, but the litmus test is who we are towards others, and how we show that.

Three-ring Circus

‘It’s like a 3-ring circus,’ my dad used to say, describing anything that was a bit chaotic. I wonder if 3-ring circuses even exist anymore? Mmm, in my memory I can smell the hay and the animals, sense the steamy heat in the Big Top Tent, and thrill to the energetic music as the Ringmaster ran into the centre and introduced the acts taking place in the three rings, all at the same time. Clowns, trapeze artists, animal acts. As a child, it was just amazing. (I hasten to say that I don’t agree with animals in circuses, but the memory lingers on...)

I sat down to be with God this morning, and my mind was like a 3-ring circus. I was reading the Bible when I realised that though my conscious mind was recognising the words in their coherent order, below that level I was thinking about my mother’s insurance and my nagging tooth ... it was a 3-ring circus, without the razzmatazz, just the chaos.

Jesus spoke peace into the storm at sea, and the wind and waves ceased and peace was restored. I reminded myself of a verse from a recent reading, Psalm 34:4: I sought the Lord and he answered me, he delivered me from all my fears, and I breathed deeply. My peace, Jesus claimed, is different from any other peace. You’ll never understand it, but it is real and it is powerful and it calmed my mind and helped me regain focus on him.

Shalom.

Let it Go

‘Let it go, let it go!’ I’ve got a precious picture in my mind’s eye (I don’t seem to have it on my camera...) of Felicity sitting on her Daddy’s knee, watching her favourite film, Frozen, and belting out one of the songs with real gusto and panache. Out of the mouths of babes ... The memory brings a smile of delight to my face every time I entertain it.

I don’t know the lyrics so am not sure what the girl singing the song is counselling about, but through that one repeated phrase I hear God speak. ‘Let it go!’ Let it go. Easier said than done. In my experience, it usually needs to be done repeatedly before I finally relinquish ‘it’, whatever that may be, to God. 

He knows. Come to me, he invites, and I’ll help you rest. We wait in hope for the Lord, for he is our help and our shield, the psalmist writes (33:20). That’s easier said than done, too, but as I restrain my impulses and encourage myself to wait, I see Him act in amazing ways. 

Stewarding my mother’s resources so that she can have all the best care she will need until she joins Jesus, I am constantly tempted down the path of worry. I am in uncharted territory. It is a decision and an act of will and self-discipline to pull myself away from that path of worry again and again and instead ‘let it go’ and wait in hope for the Lord, trusting that he guides my decisions and loves Mom even more than I do.

That’s just one of the worry paths that tempts me, but today I embrace the faith in Jesus which enables me to let it go, again.

A Monochrome world

It’s a monochrome world out there. Or should I say sepia? Brown reeds rise above the icing sugar white powdering the marshy field outside my window. The sky is white; most of the ground is white; and from time to time, the air itself is white as a sharp east wind blows new snow and old, picking up what already lies like hills of flour and shifting it into drifts blocking the driveway.

We went for a walk, trudging through knee deep drifts in places, skating across bare patches, too. A tractor left its tracks down the lane and we speculated: surely there are no cows out in these arctic conditions? But yes, there are, clustering forlornly in the patchy shelter of gorse and trees lining the fence of the field. I took a picture, but our internet is as sluggish as molasses in January and so I hold no hopes of actually uploading it to my blog post. You’ll have to take my word for it. The cows and their calves, some quite small, look miserable.

Now, though, despite the white sky, air, and ground, the sun has broken through, lightening the view. Sometimes life itself can feel sluggish, monochrome or sepia, until the light shines through a friend or acquaintance, a word or the Word, instilling hope and installing peace deep inside.

Shalom.