Perfect Fit

I made a rare excursion into Aberdeen this morning to get a variety of necessities – and a couple of fun things. Recently Don had my bike fixed so I needed a helmet, which I got. In the process I had confirmed what I long suspected: I have a small head. I’m in a JR sized helmet.

I joked with the salesman about the probable size of my brain then, and was pleased when he responded that he’d heard: small head, big brain. Hmm.

How can I bring this back to God? My head is the size he wants it to be. As is my brain. Even as he created me in my mother’s womb, he knew the size of my head and brain (I bet Mom was relieved that my head was on the small side…) The huge consolation in all of that is that the plans that he has for me line up perfectly with the size he made me and with my mental capacity. I am who I am so that I can fulfil his purpose for me here on earth. I don’t need to look at someone else and wish I were more like her. In God’s eyes, I am perfect for the job he has for me.

As are you.

Undergrowth

I took the clippers and hacked away at the undergrowth. I discovered a couple of trees taking root under the laurel. I found two bushes intertwining into one confused lump. And there were the inevitable weeds proliferating in the shadows.

‘Hide me, now, under your wings’: the opening line of the worship song, Still, expresses my feelings today. Sometimes things feel overwhelming. Too much, Lord, too much. I want to hunker down under his wings.

And yet, as he prunes away the overgrowth, the light of the Son can reach me more fully. I can see him more clearly.

May I focus on your face, Lord, and be strengthened and renewed. May I receive all the goodness you have for me this day, with a thankful heart.

May I trust in your wisdom and rejoice in your love today, Lord, and every day.

Always enough

I pushed the two babies sleeping in the pram down the lane. An older man approached, urging his reluctant little dog to keep walking. Soft white clouds slipped across a blue sky; the gentle breeze ruffled my hair.

‘Lovely day,’ I remarked, in the age-old British tradition of commenting on the weather rather than simply saying hello.

At the same time, as we passed one another, he opined, ‘Nae bad today.’

The same weather. The same day. Different perspectives: one looking for the positive, the other perhaps expecting the negative.

It’s not easy to change perspective. I’m struggling to change my perspective on the dreaded task, looming next month, of moving my dear mom into a smaller apartment in a different home. My vision is obscured by an unease that I am overlooking something vital in the planning, by a fear that her unhappiness and anxiety over a move will make everything heart-breaking, for both of us.

Life is a blue sky, with clouds scudding across. Praying that I can focus on the blue sky, and not let the clouds obscure the sun. Praying that I can focus on God, and lean in, letting Jesus walk me through the task, enjoying the unforced rhythms of grace. Already I have seen his hand. May I focus on his gracious interventions. He is always enough.

Glass Terrarium

I’ve had a glass terrarium for 45 years, but never planted and hung it in the conservatory until this summer. As nasturtiums snake up round the chain, growing before our eyes, lobelia and geraniums cascade out of the openings.

We’ve noticed how quickly the soil dries out. In fact, it is often so dry when I water, that the water puddles and pools and then gushes out the openings to drip onto the geranium below. Nothing soaks down to the roots unless I slowly drip it onto the hard soil.

I’ve been thinking about joy. A tender emotion, it can quickly dry up and crust over, especially with global situations as they are just now. Chasing happiness, confusing it with joy, doesn’t reach the root of the issue. Happiness is transient and fleeting, where joy bubbles up from within.

Spending time with the Lord – maybe in nature, on holiday, or in the garden or even prayer window – is like slowly dripping water onto parched soil. It has time to percolate down and reach the roots which are dry and thirsty. The joy of the Lord is our strength.

And then the growth and flowers come.

Fruit that Lasts

Golden blossom blows across the driveway. Flowers which were once beautiful, now withering on the ground. Some flowers are transforming on the trees into fruit which we – or the pigeons – will enjoy in a month or two. Others leave behind simply a dessicating residue of brown.

We flower. We wither. We can choose to leave behind fruit for others to enjoy. The fruit that lasts is the fruit that God grows in our lives. All that’s needed of us is a life surrendered to him.

Heralds of rain?

I remember an old wives’ tale that when cows lie down in a field, it’s going to rain. That’s a pretty safe bet these days, when we’ve had pounding rain for days on end! But this morning, the herd in the field I walked past got it wrong. Maybe they assumed it would rain because that has been the norm, but I see now they are up and grazing, with the sun, sometimes obscured by clouds I admit, shining on their backs.

We can get so accustomed to things going wrong that we begin to work on the assumption that they will. We lie down and give up. But life is full of twists and turns and changes, and ours is a God of creativity and surprises.

Today, despite Trump, despite Brexit morass, despite the many flash points globally, I am going to stay on my feet and look for the sunshine. It’s too easy to expect the rain.

Wind, wind

Wind, wind, blow on me…

The wind outside, whipping the rain in a parade of moist air across the field, is more autumnal than summery. I don’t like it.

I don’t like its unpredictability. I don’t like the way it blows my hair in my face and then standing on end and then hard back. I don’t like the creaking branches overhead as I walk. I don’t like its disruption.

I find it hard to say anything good about the wind.

The Holy Spirit is described as being like a wind, which blows where it wills – unpredictable. Maybe that’s why some of church has neglected the Spirit. We like to be in control.

And yet I pray today, come Holy Spirit. Because with the disruption, with the unpredictability, comes life beyond our wildest dreams. We can’t imagine how good God is. But the Spirit can reveal him.

Come, holy spirit.

Beginning of the Rainbow

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, my grandson Callan whispered quietly as he played with his toys. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.

We live in a time when families, institutions, nations even, have fallen off the wall. For all the claims of some leaders to have the answer for the future, it is easier to believe that nobody can fix what is going on now.

Peter declared to a discontented mob that the man they nailed to a cross was the Son of God. You don’t get any worse mistake than that. One would think that nobody could fix such a blunder.

Then he claimed that the one they had killed had been brought to life again. We are witnesses to this fact, he said. Peter didn’t risk simply being un-PC. He didn’t risk simply offending a few folk, or even offending the mob. He risked his life.

Peter and the friends of Jesus were witnesses to the fact that Jesus had risen from the dead. I am a witness to the fact that Jesus has risen from the dead. When I was at my lowest, Jesus came to me and breathed his Holy Spirit into my deepest being.

I was that Humpty Dumpty. The king’s horses and the king’s men were useless, but the King could restore, could refresh, could renew life in me.

He did it in me. He does it in everyone who comes to him. Our world is broken, but it is not beyond repair. I pray that today I might share this Great News. Jesus is alive and lives to bring life and light to the world he died for.

I don’t need to figure out how he’s going to work this miracle. I just need to trust that he will.

I looked out my prayer window. Barely discernible, especially in my photo, but there nevertheless: the start of a wonderful rainbow. My thoughts were sealed by that rainbow – the sign of the promise of God. He will never leave nor forsake any of us. He is faithful.

Stumbled

She stumbled forward, slipping on the scree on the road perhaps. As she went, she called out my name, but I was already grabbing an arm, steadying her, preventing a fall. She flexed her ankle, thinking perhaps it had twisted, but no, it was fine, and on we went.

It’s good to do life with friends. Sometimes they may slip, sometimes I might, but when we walk with others, we fall less often.

It’s good to do life with Jesus. He never slips, but is a constant support on whom I can lean. Today I step out with him, in the company, too, of good friends, all walking each other home.

Juggling those balls

I remember years ago being along the coast in California with my kids and my parents. In this little shopping arcade, there was a juggler entertaining the passers-by. He was an amazing juggler, but as the act progressed, another juggler got involved, inserting himself seamlessly into the choreography of this act. Together they kept all the balls in the air.

Most of us are juggling more balls than we can happily handle. It’s so encouraging to know that when we invite him in, Jesus is more than happy, more than able, to be part of the choreography that is our lives. With him in the act, no balls will fall to the floor – though he may toss a few away which were only serving to distract us.

Discarded stuff in the garden

Continuing with yesterday’s thought. Worship is the gate into God’s garden. The worship at Cherish took me into his presence, where there is fullness of joy. Joy was the characteristic I felt most lacking in me. My jar was nearly empty. I was moving forward, trusting and walking in faith, but without that spark of joy that lights up a room, that lights up a life, that spreads the love of Jesus.

He filled my jar. When I left his garden on Saturday night, I left my stuff scattered at random. A bucket full of worries about my Mom. Another bucket of family concerns. A watering can tipped over and draining hopelessness for the nations of the world, hopelessness for the environment. A discarded pot of anxieties about the future.

I left those in my Father’s garden. He is picking them up. He is tidying them away. He is the Prince of Peace. He is the answer to all concerns.

My face is 8 inches from my Father’s face, and I am focused on him. Eight inches is as far as a new-born baby’s eyes can focus – eight inches from breast to mum’s face. As I feed on the Father, I focus on his face, and I receive his grace, his strength, his love.

What’s not to celebrate?

God's Garden

Mud soup in the red bucket on the back porch. Play pots and pans on the grass. Chalk and pretend food all over the playhouse floor.

Evidence.

While I was away, some precious children were here. Having fun. Playing as if – because – they hadn’t a concern in the world.

Oh, to be a child!

And yet, I was away at Cherish Conference, realigning my perspective, reconnecting with God on a newer, deeper level, and standing shoulder to shoulder with sisters from around the globe, sisters with many languages and colours and experiences and ages, all loving God, all worshiping together. We may not see things eye to eye – politics, child-rearing, whatever – but we experienced that deep family love which sees beyond the transitory to the eternal.

Just like those precious children who played here, I feel like I was away playing in God’s garden. I am so grateful.