Precious Hands

 

In the days before Covid-19 restrictions, when toddler grandchildren could visit us at home, I always smiled when they had left, as I wiped away the tiny handprints they left behind, smudged on glazed doors. There is something precious and unique about our hands.

I have two hand-made Christmas cards sitting on my table at the moment, made by three precious grandchildren. Callan fashioned his handprint into a cheeky robin with a googly eye. Ella and Joel put their handprints together into a beautiful butterfly design. Special.

There is something amazing about hands. With them we can build, we can be creative, inventive, loving, protective, kind.

In Isaiah, God assures us that he holds our hand: ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you.’ Whatever we face today, he holds our hand and is with us, helping us. He declares that he has engraved us on his hands: the creative, kind, healing hands of our Saviour Jesus pierced and torn for us. Such desecration. Such love.

I thank God today that I have two hands which still function. Two hands with which to cook and clean and garden and sew, type and brush hair and caress loved faces. I thank God for the hands of those three precious little ones, preserved in a moment in time. What wonderful things will they do with their hands in their lifetimes, I wonder?

May we all put our hands to good use today, offering help, doing mundane tasks, creating beauty, having fun. So thankful for the promise of Jesus, that ‘no-one will snatch’ us out of his hand. No one.

Daring

 

The huge parachute which cushioned the drop to Mars of NASA’s scientific rover was red and white. It carried a binary message, a quote from Teddy Roosevelt. Dare Mighty Things. And co-ordinates to the launch site in Pasadena, CA.

I could have stared at the pretty red and white parachute and never realised that a message was embedded there. It is a message which requires knowledge in order to decipher it.

The letter to the Romans says that God’s invisible qualities – his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen since the creation of the world. They are understood from what has been made. The heavens declare the glory of God. His attention to beauty and diversity is everywhere. And his is not a message conveyed in an esoteric code which only a few can read. There was a thought in the early church that one needed secret knowledge in order to be saved. No. Jesus said he is the Saviour, the truth, the light, the way. We only need to know him.

During this pandemic, I’ve read again and again that nature is healing. That spending time walking in a wood or by a stream or appreciating flowers or bees brings blessing and calm to the worried spirit.

May you meet with our loving Creator God today, wherever you immerse yourself. No prior knowledge required. Just an open heart ready to receive his love.

Dare Mighty Things.

Vision

 

This morning, the sun streams through the window, dazzling me. Welcome! So welcome!

Yesterday, I had an hour to wait for the car’s windscreen wiper to be fixed. No sign of the sun then! I had crept slowly down to the garage, peering through the rain-spattered windscreen, finding it easier, weirdly, to see through the drips while wearing my sunglasses, than without them.

Leaving the car, I headed to the river for a walk. Should have worn those waterproof trousers. Rain was sheeting at me, horizontally, and before long, the waterproof jacket was successfully wheaking the water off it, providing a steady stream to soak my jeans.

I walked stoically on. Wearing a face mask, with a woollen hat pulled low and my hood encasing all, I was unrecognisable. If I’d met anyone.

The Dee was in spate, rollicking and spuming over rocks, carrying sticks and other debris in its cold waves. Meltwater and recent rains combined to swell it above some of the banks.

Speak to me, Lord, I prayed. I am listening. There’s a lot going on in my life, and yet there is a sense of suspended animation, too. A routine. A repetitiveness. A sense of being cloistered. I am listening, I said, again and again. And then I did listen.

I found myself thinking of Martha and Mary. There’s a lot to do, Jesus said, but you have a choice. Mary made the better choice. To sit and listen at My feet.

What will you do today? What will I do?

Chinese Rowan

 

Chinese rowan tree. The tree whose name I forgot yesterday. Beautiful creamy pink translucent berries in the autumn.

The tree whose name I forgot. God never forgets our names. I just reread the story of Joseph and the injustice he suffered at the hands of Potiphar’s wife. He was thrown into a dark hole of a prison but God didn’t forget his name. God didn’t forget him.

During Lent, along with IJM I’m praying for those suffering terrible injustices in the world. Those who are enslaved; those who are persecuted and unjustly imprisoned. Those who feel forgotten. I don’t know the names of those thousands, those millions, who suffer unspeakable horrors at the hands of merciless people in power.

I don’t know their names, but God does. May he bless and encourage everyone who is imprisoned in a dark place today, whether it be physical, mental, emotional or spiritual. Jesus came to set the captive free.

It's a new dawn

 

It’s a new dawn; it’s a new day. It’s a quiet house.

School is open.

Yesterday, I stared glaikit at the bird feeders hanging on the curvaceous branches of one of the trees whose name I just don’t remember! I was thinking a type of far eastern tree, which gets translucent berries in autumn. Rather than watching the frenetic feeding of the birds, my eye was drawn to the grace and beauty of the bare branches of the tree.

I do love spring, with its new growth, and summer in its fulsomeness, and the autumn colours, but the stark beauty of this tree was awesome. Seasonal beauties. Everything is beautiful in its time.

For the first time, a simple thought penetrated my mind. Although the tree there is dormant and stripped down, dead to the naked eye, the next season for it is not death. The next season is new life.

I know it’s obvious, but I’ve had death on my mind a bit as a friend of many years is being cremated today. And I thought, though his last months were stripped down and bare, today he is not dead, but born again to new life, just out of our view.

Easter is real. Jesus rose again. Spring is coming. I can feel it in the air. New life. New dawn. New day.

Meticulous Navigation

 

“The joiner is meticulous,” Don said. “If the plaster board on the ceiling is a tiny fraction out, we unscrew it and make it right.”

Of course. A small discrepancy can lead to a gaping hole by the end of the room.

I thought again about the BBC program I watched the other night. It documented the relationship between evangelical American Christians, Israel and Trump. It led me to question what I should call myself. A name should reveal principles and beliefs that I espouse, and if by calling myself a Christian, I am associated – in the minds of unbelievers – with the same beliefs as those evangelicals, I don’t want to call myself that. I may adopt one of two other names I’ve heard – ‘red letter Christians’, who stick to the words of Jesus as highlighted in red in many Bibles – or Jesus-follower. In my Bible study group yesterday, we read in Acts that it was in Antioch that believers were first called Christians. What a beautiful name, and what a privilege to be associated as a disciple of a healer, a man of peace, a man of justice and mercy and love who embraced all peoples no matter their creed or colour or gender. It is such a privilege to bear the name of Jesus Christ – and it fills me with sorrow to think how tarnished that name now is.

If a ship’s navigator is slightly out in his calculations, a ship may never reach its destination. The navigator has to be meticulous, constantly checking the ship’s position. Everyone who calls themselves by the name of Jesus Christ has to be meticulous, checking their viewpoints by the words and actions of Jesus as recorded in Scripture. Otherwise, what starts out as a small misunderstanding or misinterpretation can grow into a huge and horrible gap, where a believer is embracing a twisted theology and living out of a self-centred misunderstanding. Instead of being a witness to the love of Jesus, one can become a witness to human motivations and calculated manipulations.

I am reminded, yet again, of the absolute importance of prayerful Bible reading, and the helpfulness of studying Scripture with other believers. It’s as we gather, even on Zoom, that we find our understanding illuminated.

The Jab

 

Welcome rays of warm sunshine beam through my window pane (still dirty I’m afraid…). It’s a new day, a glorious day, a gift from God. What am I going to do with this precious gift of Today?

Amongst other things, I am getting The Jab today. I am grateful that God has given scientists brains to conceive of ways to fight this pernicious virus. I am grateful that the NHS is working so hard to roll it out in a planned strategy, not dependent on any individual’s ability to pay. I am grateful for all the nurses and doctors working so hard to make people safe. I am so grateful.

The vaccine isn’t 100% effective I am told. There are some people who may still be vulnerable to the original virus. There are variants which might still cause disease.

Jesus is 100% effective against sin. In this world we will have trouble, he said, but he has overcome the world. My part is to give him my heart every day, give him my mind and my life, and trust him. He will never leave me nor forsake me, however many variants of temptation may come my way.

I give him myself today and trust him to keep me focused on and abiding in Him. I am so grateful.

I Lift my Eyes

 

Temperatures rise and the snow begins the slow drip, creating slush banks on the verges and on the paths. Dampness and dirt. Boggy traps to ensnare the unwary driver.

What was pristine the other day has turned grey, dirty. What could be fashioned into igloos and snow princesses puddles on the drive and on the grass as it slips and slides off the roofs and bushes. Killer icicles give way and impale whatever lies beneath.

I lift my eyes to the hills, and the snow there appears clean and white. I lift my eyes to the hills, and am reminded of God’s purity and love. I lift my eyes to the hills with gratitude that because of the love and sacrifice of Jesus, I am seated in the heavenlies with him today, and I can share his perspective.

I lift my eyes to the hills, and commit this dirtied world into his loving care, grateful for his promise that he never leaves nor forsakes us, and that as we lean into him, he inspires our spirits and renews our minds.

The sun is out and it’s a beautiful Monday. (Just not underfoot…)

Picture-Perfect

 

Picture-perfect winter scenes, where snow drifted listlessly from cloudy skies and laid a soft, pliant blanket over the lumpy earth, are yesterday’s story. This morning the wind is blowing, picking up mists of powdery snow and laying them in soft, treacherous drifts along the drive, along the road.

Today we will celebrate Tet, so much culinary prep is going on in the kitchen. Celebrations are important, even – maybe especially – during these weird days. So today it’s Tet, and tomorrow we will be all hearts and flowers for Valentines’ Day, celebrating our love for each other.

There is a rhythm of life in the Bible, too, where God instructs his people to celebrate, in order to remember. To remember his love expressed in many powerful and gentle ways.

God wants to remind us, every day, of his unconditional love. He doesn’t set aside one particular day on which to remember his love – although Good Friday could conceivably be identified as a supreme expression of God’s love for his world.

Whether celebrating with others or just remembering on your own, may you know the love that God has for you today. His love covers all the lumps and bumps of life. It never melts; never disappears.

It isn’t just what God does. It’s who he is.

California Dreamin'

Frozen fingers on branches of trees stretch up to the heavens. The sun lights them as glittering silhouettes, outlined against a thinly clouded sky. Peace.

The sun shines through the dirty panes of glass, backlighting the ornaments in the window. A Willow Tree Happiness girl stretching her arms out so that birds settle on them. She exudes openness, happiness and peace. A scattering of stones and pebbles gathered from a beach walk last summer, when I sheltered from a burning sun and revelled in the heat.

The words from the sixties song, California Dreamin’, play in my head. I can appreciate the beauty of this wintry landscape, while hankering after the summer sun.

I am grateful for today, and hopeful for tomorrow.

 

Grace and Peace

 

Grace and peace.

The grace of God falls gently from heaven. As I open myself to receive this undeserved favour, his peace covers all those sharp edges, all those imperfections I worry about, all those unresolved concerns.

February 2021 and the snow keeps drifting down, accumulating on branches and paths, on parkways and drives, on porches and roofs. Roughness is hidden; smooth, gentle contours transform the landscape. Peace prevails.

Grace and peace to all today, in the name of Jesus.

Good News Bad News

 

Good news! Don came in to let me know the good news of a recording job Mhairi has got. We all have to be very quiet – or leave the premises perhaps! – for half an hour this afternoon as she fulfils the contract.

The trouble with starting out with the words, ‘Good news’, is that in my head, I hear the beginning of a joke. A good news/bad news joke. I can’t hear the good news without a silent anticipation that there might be bad news to follow.

Sure enough. As if to prove my point, within an hour our internet had crashed. Consternation all round as Doug, calm and skilled, worked to get us back online in time for this afternoon’s commitment.

My reaction, when the internet went down, was to finish breakfast, have another coffee, and retreat to my room to pray. And so I want to praise God, for giving Doug the wisdom to find and fix the problem. I know that, in the big scheme of things in the world, our internet is small potatoes. But to this household, this morning, it matters. Thanks be to God, who answers prayer, both the big prayers and the small ones.

May he answer yours today, too.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? That the word ‘gospel’ means ‘good news’, and God’s good news is the last word. There is no bad news coming from him.

Slithering Reptiles

 

The huge snake rose up at the top of the plunging slide. In fear, people fled in all directions but the slide was turned towards me. I understood that though the snake had already devoured a man, and despite there being many other people closer to this horrid reptile than me, it was coming for me. The slide was aimed towards me, and when the snake had risen to its full height, it would plummet towards me to eat me.

Then I woke up.

Gregor had had a dream the night before, in which a snake was trying to eat him. I concluded that the suggestion of his dream had been the conception of mine.

But my readings right now are in Daniel, and as I considered the way Daniel went to God to beg for wisdom concerning Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, I thought I ought to do the same. Maybe such a nightmare was a warning to me, a warning from God.

I believe God showed me a meaning. The snake, I understood, rising up preparing to strike, represented all the fearful things going on in the world just now. Pandemic, climate change, economic collapse, nations in political turmoil. Huge threats to hope. He had already consumed the hope of one man. He had me in his sights.

Knowledge is power. Rather than fleeing the threat, a turned to it in my mind and sang the old chorus, ‘Jesus is King, and I will adore him, give him the honour and magnify his name. He reigns on high, enthroned in the heavens; Word of the Father exalted for us.’

I will not let my hope be consumed by the snake of fear. ‘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.’

The snake is defeated by the faith of Jesus’ followers boldly proclaiming that Jesus has already won the battle, and we claim his victory. However dark it may look, the light of life shines through. Amen.

Renewal

 

I am about to cut my Driver’s License in half and return it to the DVLA. I got this license after refresher lessons and a challenging test, over forty years ago when I moved to Scotland. It is valid until I am 70. In 1976, that seemed an eternity away. Now it’s nearly here.

I’ve renewed the license with an up-to-date photo, so that I am still legal to operate a car. Without that renewal, I would not be deemed safe to drive.

Some things need renewing more often than others.

Paul wrote that we are to go on being filled with the Spirit. That every day we need to come to God and ask for a fresh filling of his Spirit. Without Him, our compassion and patience, our kindness and love, reduce to a trickle. As we remain connected to him, as Jesus told the woman at the well, streams of living water continue to flow through us into this thirsty, hurting world.

I can’t wait forty years to renew my connection with God. I need him every hour, as the song says. Minute by minute I need Jesus. So grateful that he never lets me go.

Weary

 

Yesterday’s snowscape that greeted me when I opened the curtains was glorious, beautifully backlit by a weak sun hanging low on the horizon still.

This morning, the sun is not there. The bleak midwinter lies still, unforgiving. There is a hardness in the stark white, a hardness in the frozen, bare branches, a hardness that elicits an inner sigh.  Groundhog Day today, and I am weary of the repetitiveness of everything right now. I don’t think I am alone in my weariness.

I look into my Bible for a pep talk. ‘I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.’

God answers. ‘Put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love.’

The sun is obscured by a curtain of cloud. But it is still there. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.

Leaning in

 

There is a softness across the landscape this morning, as a fluff of snow settles on the iron-hard ground. Overnight it has drifted down, adding gentle contour to the sinuous branches of the acer, resting on the skyward side of the flowering cherry, highlighting the dainty busyness of the apple tree. It clings to the supports for last year’s runner beans and lies on the roof of the children’s play house.

And now, as the sun gains height, it begins to drip. Soft and slow, steady. Breaking the muffled stillness in the air.

Those busy birds I counted yesterday flit and flutter to and fro, their daily struggle for survival made all the more difficult by this blanket of snow and ice. A great tit lands on a branch outside my window, its head bobbing as its keen eye seeks prey.

The radio is off. Silent. My attention is on the beauty in the world, and I trust God to deal with whatever negativity is coming out of the newsrooms.

She who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. We were encouraged yesterday to lean in to the Lord during this season. I choose to lean in, and how welcoming and beautiful God is.