Did you know...?

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Mary, did you know….?

The haunting tune and meaningful words of this modern Christmas carol swirl in my mind and play on my lips.

The Word was God from the beginning, yet he was born in a humble stable as Immanuel. ‘Did you know…when you kissed your little baby, you kissed the face of God?’

This year I am sitting with the mystery that is Christmas. The mystery that says that Almighty God who threw the stars into space was born to a young virgin in Bethlehem, vulnerable and dependent on the fallible humans he had created. Totally dependent on their kindness and love. He entrusted himself into the hands of those who are often totally untrustworthy.

Mary did you  know … the child that you delivered, would soon deliver you?

The Saviour of the world first had to survive an uncertain childhood as a refugee, then as the child of a carpenter, before he could embark on his divine mission to save the world.

He did it. He loved the world so much, no sacrifice was too great.

He was in the world but the world didn’t understand, didn’t accept him. But to those who did, he gave the right to be children of God. No longer servants. Children.

The light shines in the darkness. Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come again in my heart; come in the hearts of those I know who don’t yet know you; come in the hearts of the perpetrators of violence and distress; come in the hearts of those who have no knowledge of you. Maranatha.

In the beginning was the Word. He is the alpha and the omega. Hallelujah.

Immanuel

 

I don’t know how Santa’s doing with his list, but I know mine is getting longer by the minute.

Yet I find myself sitting here gazing at the beautiful faces smiling at me from my wall of love. I’m smiling back. Sitting here, doing nothing, smiling at images that can’t see me. Images of people I love.

That’s all God wants for Christmas. He wants me – he wants you – to sit and gaze at his beautiful face, and not do anything. Maybe not even say anything. Just gaze in love, smiling at him.

Not much to ask, but I need his help to do it. To push aside that to do list, and worship the King of Kings. Immanuel.

Maranatha. In my life, in the lives of those I love, in the lives of those who don’t yet know their Saviour: maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Blizzard or Peace?

 

I look out the window and at the moment, there is a white-out. I have an appointment requiring I drive to Aberdeen soon, so a blizzard is not welcome.

Then I glance down at my lap. Oblivious to everything, Indy purrs contentedly.

The Bible promises that God’s love is constant, unconditional, everlasting. Whatever storm is swirling round me at the moment, underneath are the everlasting arms. Whatever global situation of violence or injustice is clamouring for my attention now, I hold it up before the throne of grace and ask God to help me focus on him. The Father encourages me to curl up like Indy, knowing that the Lord is in charge.

It’s all about focus and perspective.

The sun is out now in a watery-blue sky, but it may slip away again behind the passing rags of clouds heavy with more snow. I will head out with caution and with confidence, not in myself or my own abilities, but in the care of the loving God who never sleeps, never leaves me, and always loves me.

May you do the same.

Potica and Traditions

 

During my childhood, my mom was good at keeping traditions. Especially at Christmas. Certain Christmas cookies were made every year: Pfeffernusse, Viennese Nut Cookies, sugar cookies, candy cane cookies, gingerbread. My dad did the candy making: Divinity, chocolate fudge, and rocky road.

For a household that rarely ate desserts, Christmas was a real celebration of sugar!

In my teen years Mom began baking a morning sweet bread called Potica, which she read was from Yugoslavia. When our Bosnian friends  stayed with us in the 90s, though, they’d never heard of Potica, so I’m not sure…

Over the years here I have kept many of these culinary traditions. Potica is one of them, and today is the day. I’ll make it today and then freeze the two sweet bread rings for Christmas and new year.

It was one thing making Potica in warm southern California, where yeast could stretch and grow in the heat. In a Northeastern Scottish December, in my cold home, it is a challenge to get it to rise, but the last few years I’ve made use of the bread-maker to get the dough started, and that has undoubtedly helped. As long as I can remember how I did it last year …

Traditions are touchstones with the past, tunnels into times of laughter and love with people who may no longer be here. Traditions can draw us to recollect truths about who we are.

The godfather of tradition is God. He calls his people to remember all the times he has been involved in their lives and salvation in startling ways, and he establishes traditions to help the memories revive. Passover and other festivals on the Jewish calendar. The bread and the wine on the Christian calendar. They reveal the unconditional love of Father God for his children.

Not all tradition is so profound of course, so my prayer is that those traditions which really matter I will embrace with love and enthusiasm, and that those which have become a chore performed out of a sense of duty or perceived expectation, I will drop.

So far, I’m still finding joy in producing potica, so here goes.

 

Wall of Love

 

We spent an hour rearranging the ‘wall of love’: the family room wall covered in photos of close family. Grandchildren have grown; activities have taken place. We needed to make room for new photos, and still there is not enough room on the wall for all the wonderful pictures I’d like to display.

Our kitchen table abuts with the wall, so I have the joy of contemplating these beloved faces three times a day. Don may get the view, but I get these precious, smiling faces.

One of the best gifts our Father has given us is the gift of love. There is nothing more valuable than the smile of a loved one. There is nothing more heart-warming than the familiar voice coming over the phone or the image and voice on a video call. There is nothing more peaceful than sitting in front of a blazing fire or sunset with someone you love.

It’s no wonder God made the universe so vast. He declares to each one of us, ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love.’ Considering the number of people who have passed this way in the millennia since Adam and Eve, God’s ‘wall of love’ must stretch for many light-years.

The only trouble with deep love is that it makes us vulnerable to deep hurts. Look what it led the Father to do: ‘For here is the way God loved the world – he gave his only, unique Son as a gift. So now everyone who believes in him will never perish but experience everlasting life.’ Jesus went to the Cross because he loved us so much.

We sure don’t deserve his grace, mercy and love. It’s beyond comprehension, why he puts up with the way we behave.

God so loved the world. Immanuel. God with us. Everlastingly grateful.

A Global Gooey Mess

 

We shared the memory of a truly delicious meal of pumpkin gnocchi. We’d made them together twice. In our arrogance of thinking we knew what we were doing, we altered the ingredients. Slightly, we thought. The recipe stipulated pumpkin or squash – crown prince, kabocha or delica. Never heard of those, but we had a butternut squash so grabbed it.

It nearly fulfilled the quantity, but we felt we needed some pumpkin in if they were truly going to be pumpkin gnocchi, so we opened one of the ones from the garden and adjusted the recipe accordingly.

We thought.

A ton of flour later, trying to get the right consistency, we were left with a gooey mess which we did cook and heroically try to consume. Some of it we managed to choke down without gagging on the gluten. The rest is in the food recycling.

That little effort took nearly two hours.

Dinner was late and nearly inedible.

Take-aways from that? (Yes, a take-away would have been welcome…)

Don’t alter the recipe unless you really know what you are doing!

Jesus said, I am the way, the truth and the life. He is the way. In the arrogance of collective humanity, we have veered off the recipe and it seems the whole world is heading towards the cliff/shore like lemmings. We are in a global gooey mess.

Today I will keep my head, with my heart and my thoughts focused on Jesus, the light of the world. In my preparations for Christmas, may I truly prepare a space in my heart/mind/spirit to welcome Jesus anew. May I truly listen more carefully to his inspiration, and follow his recipe for life.

Pearl Harbor Day

 

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, a day which President Roosevelt said ‘would live in infamy’. The day when Japanese bombers swept out of the skies over Honolulu and wreaked havoc in their ferocious attack. Were there warnings which, had they been heeded, would have avoided the bloodshed? I don’t know.

I just listened to a Radio 4 program on Putin and the lead up to the invasion of Ukraine. There were warnings, which were largely disbelieved.

The Met Office has issued a yellow weather warning for the northeast of Scotland: snow flurries followed by clear skies and plunging temps. Winter is about to sweep in. We should prepare.

We ignore yellow weather warnings at our peril, though it is not always clear what response there should be to threats to peace.

Jesus encouraged us to be wise as serpents, innocent as doves. To be alert to the signs of the times. He issued yellow warnings and my take on it is that the only way through storms is to share the boat that Jesus is in.

I’m in. I just need to remember that while he is in it, there is no need to be anxious or afraid. He is in control.

Honest

 

I look out the prayer window at the stripped-down nakedness of winter. Bare branches blow in the icy breeze. Shades of brown fields fade into a sky showing shades of grey.

And then my eye is arrested by something different. Entangled in the barren bush near the window, the mother-of-pearl-y seed pods of stray ‘Honesty’ wave. Their translucence reveals the few seeds borne within the pod. Signs of life contrasting with signs of suspended animation.

Honesty. A rare characteristic amongst many leaders these days, where truth is spun to reflect well on those who spin it. Honesty. A challenging concept sometimes in my own inner life.

A reading I had this morning is from Zechariah 3. Satan stands before God’s throne proudly pointing at the filthy rags the failure Joshua is wearing. Does God agree the guy is a loser? No. He tells satan to shut up, basically, and tenderly cleans the dirty Joshua and clothes him in heavenly raiment.

The retina of God’s eye picks up not so much the dirt and shame, but the seeds of life Joshua carries. Perspective.

God is for us. I don’t want to believe the lies which drop into my mind, suggesting that I or someone else is not good enough. I choose to believe the One who is the way, the truth and the life, who looks at my skinned knees and dirty trousers, knows I’m not good enough, and draws me towards the heavenly sink anyway, gently washing the grime of the world away and re-clothing me in clean robes I don’t deserve.

Because the honest truth is that is exactly why Jesus was born in that stable long ago. Thank you, my Lord and the Saviour of the world, grimy and filthy as it is. You see the seeds of promise, and you will bring them to flower.

Deepening Darkness

 

The darkness deepens as December days draw in. There is a stillness in the air today, a hush as the hibernating landscape huddles under a canopy of low-lying cloud cover. A heavy lorry lumbers into view, fanning grit from the spreader it drags behind.

Despite rising energy costs, I notice homes with Christmas lights ablaze. Part of me bristles at the waste of energy in this resource-depleted world. Part of me cheers at the bold celebration.

The light has come into the world, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Monday morning blahs warn me that I, too, am resource-depleted. Lord, help me to plug into the everlasting light of the world, that your glory might be fully displayed and celebrated as I put all my hope and trust in you.

Advent has never felt more relevant, as we walk in faith, anticipating and celebrating the fullness of God living amongst us, now and forever.

Security?

 

Airport security confiscated the jar of moisturiser, because it exceeded the 100ml limit (125ml) and the Duty Free Bag had not been sealed by the vendor at LAX.

They – and security at LAX – failed to spot something else which should have raised huge alarm bells. Lying forgotten in the bottom of my handbag was my father’s US Marine Corps field knife. I’d seen it at Mom’s and dropped it in my bag, wanting it for sentimental reasons. I’d forgotten it until I was unpacking at home.

I am greatly relieved it was not seen, but I am greatly concerned too. While they are busy confiscating new tubs of moisturiser because they contain a dollop more than is allowed, they are missing items which could, in the wrong hands, be used for violence and aggression.

How often in my own life does my eye get drawn to something I find offensive, overlooking that which has real power to harm? How often does my own inner security x-ray accept a new social norm or cultural opinion which has the power to undermine my standing on the rock?

Stolpersteine. Stolpersteine are scattered amongst the cobblestones on German streets. Each ‘stumbling stone’ is inscribed with the name, date of birth, date of deportation, and date of murder of a Jewish person who once lived in the nearby apartment or home, and who fell victim to Nazi persecution. Innocent people who caused others to stumble, just because they were there.

Lord, may I always see with the clarity and discernment of the Holy Spirit, that I might not be concerned about that which has no power to harm, and overlook that which kills. Jesus warned us about this. May we not be deceived; may the Holy Spirit’s security system in us detect that which has the real power to harm eternally.

Thirty Years: a Milestone

 

Thirty years ago, we welcomed a lovely family fleeing from the war in Bosnia to stay with our family, swelling the numbers from six to ten. Last night we celebrated that milestone with the Bosnians who stayed and settled here in Scotland. They sang songs and danced dances they knew from those days before the war. They laughed and we all shed a tear or two. Some have moved back; some have moved on; some have passed away. Children are now grown up into fine young women and men in their 30s and 40s. New children have been born.

Lyubisha took the mic and spoke eloquently, voicing thanks for the welcome Scotland extended to them. Don took the mic and spoke eloquently, too, voicing the truth that they impacted our lives and our children’s lives in immeasurable ways, profound ways. Their impact is reverberating still in some of the social justice causes each of our children has embraced.

It was one of the best things we ever did.

There have been other waves of refugees since, and now the Ukrainians displaced by this war. We thank God that somehow life continues, day follows night, laughter comes in the morning. There are always others eager to extend a helping hand, to open a welcoming door, to pull chairs up round a dinner table.

We are the family of God. We are all God’s children. May I never grow too weary to open my heart and open my door. May my ear always be open to hear their stories, and my heart open to their cries.

I will never leave you, Jesus promises. Whatever faces me, may I keep that promise in the forefront of my heart.

Second-best?

 

The Chinese (Japanese?) rowan tree stands bare, denuded of her pearly berries already. A team of blackbirds have feasted on them, ignoring the birdfeeders stuffed with nuts and seeds. They rejected the good to partake in the best.

May I never be so quick to accept the good that I miss out on the best. Sometimes it takes patience and perseverance to realise our dreams, to step into our call, to achieve our goal. There is blessing in the waiting.

Wild Wind

 

The wind is wild but the temperature is mild.

Suitably attired, Mary and I headed out on our normal route. For awhile we were sheltered by a stand of trees, and though we watched grey clouds scoot across the sky, the wind didn’t touch us. Then we passed the first substantial stand of trees. Blasts of blustering air slapped our faces and tore at our hats. We leaned into it, determined to complete our usual walk.

Slipping in and out of the sheltering stands of trees, we reached the end of the road and turned. Ah, we laughed. Now the wind was at our backs and we were propelled forwards. Easy. The wind was no longer an enemy but a friend.

When life slaps us in the face, it’s good to lean in and push forward. There will be times of refreshment, times of sheltering, times of rest. When people slap us in the face, it’s good to remember they might be outside of their sheltering stand of trees: they might be in a place of pain or vulnerability. It’s good to draw on the grace of the Lord and forgive. One day we might find we are both being blown in the same direction by the wind of the Spirit. And with them, we will laugh.

Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Like Jesus, let’s keep our eyes on what lies beyond the cross: everlasting life in Christ.

 

No Free Lunch

 

There’s no such thing as a free lunch, my dad used to caution.

I picked up an eye lotion I use for dry eyes this morning from the pharmacy. She recognised I usually get it on prescription. I explained I would be away for a couple of weeks so wanted an extra to take with me. She put it into the computer and I got it, as I get all prescriptions, free.

Well, I say free, but of course I’ve paid into the system over the years. The NHS is a system which is tough to maintain, but the idea is that anyone who needs medicine or care can get it, whether or not they have the means to pay for it. Some need more than others, obviously. Is that fair?

I think of the story Jesus told about the workers who were outraged because those who started work a few hours after they did still received the same wages. It isn’t fair, they felt. The employer explained they still received their agreed wage; they only felt aggrieved because they compared themselves to others.

In God, there is such a thing as a free lunch. A free life, actually. Because Jesus lived and died for us and rose to eternal life, he freely gives us his Spirit who enables us to live the life he calls us to live.

I just have to give him my life, and he gives me his.

No, it’s not fair. I am so grateful.

Late Autumn

 

Most of the trees are denuded, bare branches exposed. I’ve gathered and bagged thousands of leaves, left to mould and enhance the soil. But still there remain hillocks and swirls of once golden leaves, now beginning to decay into slimy mounds. This is the autumn detritus Doug has always disliked.

I love autumn for the magnificent rich colours and bursts of vibrant glory. Now, as the symphony of colour quietens, drifts to the ground and turns slippy and black, I’m not such a fan.

And so, too, with human seasons. There is a glory and a peace in those who live long. A wisdom and a contentment. Until long years overwhelm the senses, the health, and the mind. Watching and waiting then becomes a grief of conflicting emotions and prayers. I turn my eyes to the hills. My help is in the name of the Lord.

For all those whose years exceed their health, I pray for peace and the powerful presence of God. I pray that those whose perceptions are dimming on many fronts would be stirring spiritually, sensing the springtime of the spirit.

There is a hope deep in every believer, a blessed assurance that in Jesus all is well. All will be well. Amen.

The Glory of God

 

The heavens declare the glory of God. They cannot be muted, even on a day like today, when thick grey clouds hang low and heavy, when rain slashes the air. We need the rain. Thank you, Lord.

May I declare the glory of God in all I do and am and say today. May I not be muted, even if things aren’t exactly as I would want. God works everything out for good; he never stops loving and never leaves us to navigate our paths alone.

So grateful, even on a grey Monday morning.

Sabbath Time

 

The clocks have ‘fallen back’ here in the UK. It’s easy enough to change all the clocks (except in the cars!!!), but it’s more challenging to change my body clock. I’m thinking dinner an hour before I should be, and same with bedtime.

So much of what we do is determined by outside, artificial factors. Often it has to be; if we are to have any social interaction, we need to all be adhering to the same clock.

I wonder if that’s one thing we should/could relax when we take sabbath rest. Whichever day that is. Would it not be a relief to be emancipated from the tyranny of time for one day a week, and move to our own rhythm?

I wonder if God had that in mind as an aspect of sabbath? After all, he lives outside of time. Maybe there is a sense in which there is real relief in just embracing freedom from clock-watching, even if only for a few hours? (I’m laughing – obviously then I’ll have to watch the clock if it’s ‘only for a few hours’, so I know when my freedom is over!)

Just a thought.

Where's my ... ?

 

‘Where’s my …?’  ‘Have you seen my …?’ ‘What happened to the …?’

If you’re not someone who habitually returns items to where they belong, it becomes imperative to be intentional in remembering where you put it down. There is nothing more time-wasting than searching everywhere for a tool or other object.

In my experience, searching for lost items can lead to crankiness, chilling the atmosphere and challenging joy.

It was my mother – and maybe yours – who used to say, ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ Google tells me Mom took it from Benjamin Franklin.

God put eternity in the heart of humans. He hasn’t misplaced it, though many don’t know it’s there.

May I be given the wisdom and discernment to help others to find their deepest longing: God.

Glorious!

 

How blessed am I? This is the view from my prayer window this morning. I don’t take the beauty for granted. I know the golden carpet will darken and decay. Some of it will blow away. Some of it will end up in a bin bag to transform into rich compost in a year or two. Some will lie on the flower beds and lawn until next spring.

I give thanks for the beauty of this moment.

Overhead, formations of migrating geese honk and holler at each other, the flexible V transforming as they seem to argue about which way to go. This morning I watched as about seven broke away and turned in a different direction, leading most of the rest with them. A lot of noise as a few continued the way they had been going.

It reminds me of Parliament. A lot of arguing, honking and hollering. Some certain they are headed in the right direction. Others convinced it’s time to turn round.

Who is right? Praying this morning that the Lord will raise up wise leaders who listen to his voice and follow. Praying he will raise up wise leaders in our churches, who listen to his voice and follow. Praying he might grant me such wisdom, that I might listen to his voice and follow.

I’m pretty sure the first step isn’t a step at all. It’s that pause in the prayer window, drinking in the autumnal glory, heart swelling with the beauty I see in this little corner of God’s creation.

Thank you, Lord.

Golden Leaves

As we rested by the crackling fire last night, a blustery wind rose outside and pummelled the golden raiment of the autumnal trees. Raindrops pattered on the windows, as if seeking refuge inside with us.

This morning, I expected to see a thick carpet of colour spread out under and around bare trees. But no! The golden elm outside the prayer window still stuns in shades of fire. There are more leaves on the ground, but there remain many still held tight by the twigs and branches of the trees. Some are not yet ready to drop.

When I talk to my dear Mom, I always hear the weariness in her voice. Yesterday, she said she is tired out just getting dressed in the morning. At 98, reaching for the phone is an effort.

She is one of those golden leaves. Psalm 63 has a favourite verse of mine: My soul clings to you, your right hand upholds me. This is such a beautiful picture of my Mom. Her soul clings to God, and his right hand continues to uphold her. And at just the right moment, that right hand will close round her in a loving embrace and carry her home, where all the turmoil, confusion and tiredness will give way to joy unending.

Thank you, Jesus, that you made a way for this to be our future. 

The Leaves of our Lives

 

Awoke to the patter of rain on the windows. No rising sun streaked the sky with its golden rays. Rather, a dark canopy was anchored to the horizons on all sides. A light wind tussled and prised dying leaves until they dropped, wet and heavy, from swaying branches.

Autumn is here.

With uncharacteristically-mild temperatures lingering still, though, it’s hard to know when to lift the dahlias, which are still flowering, and as a novice pumpkin-farmer, when do I harvest my three modest-sized pumpkins, which are still more green than orange?

Unbelievably, I’ve been looking at my Christmas cake recipe this morning. The passing seasons don’t just swirl round and round, like a screw with a broken thread. Each new season moves me closer to reunion with my mighty and loving maker. There is forward motion in the swirling seasons of the years.

The other day I swept leaves and bagged them; in a year or two they will provide rich mulch for the veggie patch. The events of my life – good and bad – develop, flourish, mature and drop like the leaves. Most are beautiful, vibrant memories I still cherish. Some are spotted and withered, painful memories I still have. They are bagged up in me, and if I allow God to have his way, together they rot down and develop into a rich mulch which informs my hope and my faith in the absolute faithfulness of our loving Lord.

May the leaves of our lives enrich the hours of our days. Today and always.

 

Wind Turbines on the Hill

 

Seventeen wind turbines on top of the Hill of Fare. That’s the proposal. So, I am eager to transition to green forms of energy, away from fossil fuels and CO2 emissions. But seventeen structures towering over our skyline, the height, as my neighbour described it, of the Eiffel Tower, creating flashes and noise, disrupting wildlife habitats, bike paths and camping sites …

I’ve submitted my views to the company hoping to gain a small fortune from such a wind farm. It doesn’t sit well with me that this initiative is driven by profit-based commercial enterprise. But maybe that doesn’t matter as long as we reduce our carbon footprint.

God entrusts us with the stewardship of this beautiful earth he has created. So far we’re not doing very well. This situation reminds me how complicated it is to determine the best way to steward it.

Has there ever been a time of greater turbulence in this world? Maybe. Maybe we just know more now because of the digital age we live in. Or maybe it is just becoming clearer that there are so many grey areas in our personal, national and international lives, and so many different points of view, that without the guidance and leadership of Lord Jesus, we will never navigate the best route; we will rarely arrive at the right answer.

As I look out on the peaceful, pristine landscape surrounding me, and imagine the possible hum of seventeen wind turbines, I pray, Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus. Bring clarity and wisdom.

 

Glory!

 

I think I probably write about this every autumn, but the beauty this morning is breath-taking. Walking down to meet my neighbour for our regular walks, I walked through low fog, its damp fingers wheedling their way under my knit hat and causing some shivers. Then I noticed the spiders’ hammocks slung between thorns of the gorse bushes, bridging the gaps between barbed wire fencing, their delicate, lace patterns picked out in glistening dew drops. Oh, I love this time of year.

As we walked, the mist lifted. First there was a tiny tear revealing a glimpse of blue sky, and then before long there was blue sky stretching from one horizon to the other. On the way back, pausing to photograph the spiders’ webs, I admired the fiery foliage on the acer tree, and its orange counterpart on the elms.

Jesus said the stones themselves would declare the glory of God: certainly, this morning, nature at the ‘hillock is singing out his praises. And so am I.

All things new

 

The writing was on the screen.

A warning. ‘You’ve used up almost all of your memory...’

Hah! There are days that I think that…

‘Buy more now, or you are in danger of not being able to access your emails…’

Deep breath. I don’t need to buy more memory, to build another barn to house my old emails. I need to clear the clutter, delete the dross.

So far I’ve spent several hours looking back and deleting. I’m back into the 11,000 era now, having shed about 4,000. It’ll take me awhile longer and it is tedious, mostly.

Doug advised that there is a way of deleting everything older than however many years you want, erasing them in one fell swoop. But that would wipe out beloved voices from the past. Emails from my dad, who passed away nearly twelve years ago.

I want to get rid of the rubbish without losing the gold.

In amongst the pages of emails, I am finding poignant reminders of situations of heartbreak and distress over the years, as well as reminders of successes and joys. Both laughter and tears are scattered along memory lane.

My own inner life has parallels. In some ways I would like God to just wipe away a lot of the junk that clogs my memory. But as with my emails, I don’t want to lose the great memories that glisten like diamonds on the bare earth. Nor, really, do I want to miss the sad memories which revive relationships now dormant or gone.

God has taken on a lot with me! I am so grateful that I don’t have to trawl through my memories, as I am with my emails, looking for things to delete. I can trust Him to bring back those events which he wants to heal, to remind me of those relationships he wants to restore, and consign to the chasm of oblivion those things that just pull me down.

‘Behold I am making all things new,’ God promises. His patience and perseverance are astonishing, and I am so grateful.

 

 

 

Flames against the Grey

 

The sky is an unbroken canopy of pale greys. No tears for a welcome shaft of yellow sun-stream. No textures of types of clouds. Just a wash of grey.

It’s a perfect background for the increasingly vibrant show of autumn leaves. In their russets, oranges and yellows, they explode across the landscape, sprouting from the fading greens and tans of weeds and grass.

May my life be the canvas for the richness of God’s beauty. May his life erupt out of me, spilling love and light into the hatred and darkness and confusion all around.

The light shines in the darkness, through those who love the Lord. So let it shine in every aspect of my relationships and decisions, revealing the God who gave his life so we might live forever.

Acer beauty

 

Not all the changing leaves on the acer are beautiful. Some have great ugly black spots on them. Disease from within? Some have been chewed and nibbled by elusive insects, leaving them light and lacy but not particularly beautiful. Some are curling and weathered.

All will drop, whether or not they transition to a flaming red. They will drop, providing rich nutrients for the soil, sustenance for seeds scattered by the wind.

The flaming colours of autumn consume the beautiful and the weathered, withered and worn.

It can be a relief to release the withered and worn during times of transition. To just let them go.

Be still and know that I am God.

Autumn can be a time of peaceful quiet, of rest after the frantic liveliness of summer spurts. It can be a time of focus, finding faith deepening in the God who flung stars into space and who holds time in his hands. Transition invites introspective and imaginative engagement with the moment.

As I seek stillness in God, I ask him to take me deeper into all that he has for me, right now, in this moment of transition, where doors may be swinging shut, but new networks are revealed.

Flames in the Grate

 

Dinner was ready. The diners weren’t.

I wondered if I should clear out the dying cantaloupe plants from the conservatory. Then I noticed the fire, blazing in the grill. And for once in a long time, I pulled the chair closer to the fire, and sank into it, doing nothing. (Mae, I know this will gladden your heart!) I just sat and watched the fire dance.

The flames rose and fell, lurching left and right, disappearing and reappearing and stretching trembling fingers up the chimney, as if trying to flee. But, of course, it couldn’t. it was rooted in its source, the fuel which it consumed.

It was beautiful.

Jesus told us to abide in him. He is our source. He is the fuel even our errant lives can never consume, because he is endless, everlasting, everything.

When we remain rooted in him, our source, we can dance and stretch and lurch and lean, appear and reappear and disappear for a time. Because of Jesus, we can be beautiful. We can give off his warmth, his light, and his love.

Remain in me, he said. Remain in me.

Transition

 

Transition. Change.

As I did the laundry this morning, I glanced out the utility room window, and paused, gazing at the garden acer tree which I so love. It is a pretty tree at most times of the year, with its undulating branches showing bare in winter, its pink buds in spring and of course, its magnificent deep reds in autumn.

Right now, it is in between. The leaves are starting to turn, and soon the whole tree will be ablaze. It's not yet at its best: at the moment it is in transition.

There is beauty in the transition, if I open my eyes to see it. I nearly started this blog by saying how much I hate change and transition, but looking at the acer, I had a revelation: there is beauty in the transition. I only have today, so where there is transition in my life, I ask God to open my eyes to the beauty in these moments, in this day. I want to live in anticipation, not trepidation. Anticipation that beyond winter is spring, with all its hope and promise.

Though I felt the message was a direct word to me from our loving heavenly Father, it had an immediate application for Mhairi, clarifying a situation and enabling a decision which instantly relieved stress and anxiety.

Life is precious and it is short. I don’t want to waste a moment dreading something, or ploughing through something with grim determination or anxious thoughts, both dreading and yet almost wishing for a coming change to be over. Jesus came to give us life, life to the full, and that does not include anxiety or dread.

God is so loving and gracious. I was awake in the night, and in prayer I asked him to transform my thoughts to his. By his grace he did that as I looked at that acer tree this morning. Isn’t he wonderful?

Ear Tags

 

Somehow the cow lost one of her ear tags. Without it, she can’t board the truck with the rest of the herd tomorrow. The farmer waits anxiously. The new tag is in the post. But the post is on strike.

They’ll be back at work tomorrow, and if the postie gets to the farm ahead of the cattle truck, the day will be saved.

So grateful that the price for eternal life has already been paid, and my ticket is my heart, not a cross round my neck or a degree paper. When its my turn to board the transport to eternal life, my confidence is in my Saviour.

And then there were two

And then there were two.

I guess Lockdown has lifted at Barehillock. Our precious daughter has moved out and moved on. My cooking partner for the last two-and-a-half years, during which we explored so many plant-based recipes. During which we clocked up thousands of miles walking the neighbourhood. During which we engaged in endless discussions about politics, God, the environment, taxes, justice and fairness issues.

We’ve done the empty nest before, but it’s a different feeling when the one moving on has become a best friend rather than a bolshie teenager eager to explore the great big world.

Shortly after arriving home last night, my body was wracked with a gastric upset which was violent and almost shocking in its ferocity. Not only my house was empty: my body was empty too!

Another new season, and with God, it, too, will be beautiful, full of surprise and delight, laughter and serious conversation. When things shift, it is time to ‘lift my eyes to the hills, knowing that my help is in the name of the Lord.

 

The Pianist

 

The pianist’s nimble fingers flew with apparent ease across the keyboard as she breathed vigour and life into the explosions of notes. Written long ago, the music of Chopin and Bach, Beethoven and Britten sparkled in her interpretations.

We were an intimate gathering, a select few, and she was a star, giving us a glimpse of heaven, so with each conclusion the applause reddened the palms of the audience, eager to show our appreciation of the technique and talent, embarrassed at the poor numbers. Another hangover from Covid lockdowns? Or a sign of the soaring cost of living? Where was everybody?

No-one lights a lamp and covers it under a bowl, Jesus taught. Instead, it is put on a lampstand or a hill, where it can give light, where it can shine and reveal the beauty of the one who is the light of the world.

The renowned pianist revealed the light within her magnificently. She was given a talent and she shared it with all who would listen.

Jesus has lit a light in every believer. I may not be a talented musician, but I pray that the one who is the light of the world will shine through my every encounter today.

 

Vicious Weeds

 

While I’ve been distracted harvesting some of the fruit – raspberries and strawberries, currants, cherries, brambles, and now apples – couch grass and nettles have crept in among the roses, entwined themselves among the sweet peas and marigolds. I never noticed, and then suddenly, yesterday, it was all I could see as I passed them on the way to water the greenhouse tomatoes.

Choking the flowers I nurtured, these unwanted weeds were ferocious in their resistance to my trowel and fork. A rogue cherry tree had taken hold, its roots resting on the roots of a rosebush also gone rogue, bearing rose hips this year. I had just enough time before the rain fell, to dig and cut and wrestle the roots out as best I could, leaving a small expanse of bare soil.

It won’t be long before that bare soil is filled with another scattering of weeds.

When Jesus expelled the demon from the man, he encouraged the delivered individual to be filled with the Spirit of God now, lest an even more vicious cohort of demons should invade the vacuum of his soul. A vacuum is never stable, always open to accept whatever will stabilise it.

Go on being filled with the Spirit, Paul encourages. Coming to God, being cleansed of sin and restored through the blood of Jesus, is a daily routine for a serious believer, and offers the delight of being filled again with the Holy Spirit so that God’s beauty and love and presence can be fully experienced in the daily routines of life. May I be filled again with the Spirit today, strengthened and enabled to walk in the peace of Jesus and extend kindness and hope to everyone I meet.

The Robin Trembled

 

The robin trembled, hunkered down in the corner of the entrance lobby. Obviously, the cat had been disturbed and, thankfully, released her before dealing a fatal bite.

Speaking to her softly, I approached the robin slowly, and carefully enfolded her in my cupped hands. She sat still, making no attempt to escape, allowing herself to be carried outside to the window ledge to recover.

The cat stayed in.

After an hour or so, the robin had regained enough strength to fly away, and she was gone. Such lovely, friendly wee birds.

Consider the birds, Jesus taught. They don’t work, but the Father not only feeds them, but knows each one and cares for them.

How much more does he care for you, Jesus asked his disciples? Where is your faith?

Hurricane Ian has wreaked a terrible path of destruction through Florida and is now regrouping for an assault on South Carolina. The wind outside my window is wild and strong. The world is assaulted by storm forces from every direction: natural disasters (as a result, often, of our profligate living), wars, political and economic turmoil, relationship challenges.

As I cower in the corner of my world, Jesus comes to me, scoops me carefully into his cupped hands, and gently soothes me. He carries me to a safe place and gives me space to breathe, to be restored and refreshed so that once again I, too, can fly.

Thanks be to God.

Pumpkin Pie

 

The pumpkin pie cooled on the counter, releasing its tantalising aroma into the kitchen. Mom was outside. I was probably around four years old as I tentatively brushed my index finger on the top of it.

I was horrified as my finger lifted a skim of the pie top, leaving a noticeable mark. I rummaged in the kitchen drawer to find a knife which might smooth it. Made it much worse. Shoving the dirty knife back into the drawer (never thinking to cover my tracks), I withdrew hastily outside to play. Maybe she’d believe I hadn’t been in the kitchen…

Half a guilty hour later Mom called me in and confronted me with the evidence of my crime, including the pie-stained knife. I had no excuse. This was the pie for Thanksgiving, and now it indelibly bore my fingerprint and a smear from the knife. I spent the next half hour behind the bedroom door, a frequent punishment.

Thinking about the ‘referendum’ in eastern Ukraine, where 98% ‘voted’ to join Russia, I am amazed at the cruel and calculating bravado of a world leader who is increasingly pushing the world into a major conflagration. Now the gas pipelines have sprung leaks. I wonder if he could use a knife from the drawer to cover up his fingerprints, which are all over this operation.

Jesus taught, For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.

I don’t think half an hour behind the bedroom door will be enough, somehow.

 

Perfect Creation

 

Somehow I managed to hem the neck opening of the Barbie cape on the machine without pinning my fingers to the velvet. Have I just forgotten how fiddly and tiny doll clothes are, or have my fingers lost their nimbleness over the years? Hmm.

Creativity in whatever form it takes can be so satisfying – when it goes right.

God must have thought that on the seventh day. He looked at his creation, and he saw that it was good.

That was before his creatures exercised the free will he’d so graciously granted them, to choose to disobey. What a mess we’ve made of the perfect world he blessed us with!

 

 

Faithful to the End

 

Precision. The impeccable precision of yesterday’s state funeral for Queen Elizabeth II was breath-taking. Involving so many hundreds of participants on the ground, moving the casket, playing the sombre music, singing and speaking and silences…and they didn’t have months to practice the detail.

But although they didn’t have months to practice exactly what happened yesterday, all those involved have had time to practice and perfect their gift: be it preaching and presenting the gospel so clearly as Justin Welby did, singing like the angels as the choristers did, or marching in time and in step and in the right direction as so many of the uniformed services (and their horses) did.

Always be ready, Peter advised those to whom he wrote. Always be ready to give an answer to everyone who asks you for the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.

The stage is set. A hush fell over much of the world yesterday as billions watched the faithful servant Queen be laid to rest. She set the stage. Now is the moment for followers of Jesus Christ to step forward and share the reason for the hope they have. We don’t need to have all the theological answers. We just need to be prepared to share what we know, our own testimonies of God’s interaction in our lives, and of the truth revealed that Jesus died for the sins of the whole world and offers salvation, peace, and hope to all who love him.

May we be as faithful to our calling as Queen Elizabeth II was to hers.

Delayed

 

Mary and I usually meet at 9 on Monday and Friday and walk together for an hour. Same route, down the road and back.

She was running late this morning, so we were delayed by about ten minutes, during which time I watched from my prayer window as the farmer moved his large herd of cows up the road and into the field round Mary’s house. Had we been walking on time, we’d have been in the middle of that herd of cows and calves. A daunting prospect.

Today Queen Elizabeth II will be laid to rest. A wonderful Christian woman, selfless in her service. I pray that whatever the plans are for the services today, with an unprecedented number of world leaders and public well-wishers converging on Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace and Windsor, that the Lord will be in the detail of the day, occasioning delays if needed to avoid any malicious intent.

May she rest in peace, and may her bereaved family have time and space to grieve in private.

 

Clear Sight

 

Every month, Mom gets a shot in the eye. Sometimes more than one shot.

The ophthalmologist is trying her best to save Mom’s vision. One eye has already lost sight. The second macula is now leaking.

Her eyes have seen a lot over these 98 years, and the macula, I guess, is wearing thin and tearing. It’s a serious situation. If she goes blind, how will she navigate her living space, especially as her understanding declines? Lord, have mercy.

Worldly cares, personal concerns and shifting cultural understandings can tear at spiritual vision, blurring the clear teaching of God. We are all in danger of spiritual blindness due to cultural degeneration. Lord Jesus, may your Spirit not only prevent further deterioration of my spiritual macula, but even restore clarity, purity and godliness.

Give me Holy Spirit specs, dear Father.

Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me. Restore to me the joy of my salvation in Jesus Christ my Lord.

Fresh Filling

 

Working to a tight schedule, I threw the ingredients into the bread maker, turned it on, rushed out the door with all that I needed for Bible study and … dead battery.

Don kindly turned back from his errands and off I went in the other car, a little late. Nearing my destination, the narrow road was blocked by a huge lorry with flashing lights. I turned back, found one parking lot full, and on my third attempt, found a parking place.

It was well worth the effort: this group is so enriching. I had to dash off early for a blood test, got home only to discover a flat loaf of unproven bread: I forgot the yeast.

So I think I’ll have a quiet afternoon. Obviously this is the day for unhelpful situations.

Jesus warned his friends to beware allowing the yeast of the Pharisees to mix into their beliefs. Perhaps that yeast would lead to a rigidity of doctrine and duty, spiritually-speaking.

The consequence of no yeast, though, no faith in Jesus, is a flat and unappealing mess. Now, more than ever perhaps, the world is famished and desperate for the nourishing Holy Spirit.

May I never embark on my day without a fresh filling of the Holy Spirit.

Autumn Hope

 

Autumn arrived early this year. Overnight the trees have started to change into their fall colours. Beautiful.

There is hope in every season, and the certain assurance that spring will follow the winter, the coming cold will not last forever, and again there will be blossom on the trees, fragrant roses on the bushes.

Whatever the season, we are not alone. God is right there with us. Always so grateful for that assurance.

By his grace in his peace

 

Length of days diminishes as the year journeys on. The sun shines from a sky dappled with white clouds, but its warmth wanes. A gentle breeze teases the branches of the rowan outside the window, heavy-laden with darkening berries.

The little plum tree continues to ripen a harvest of delicious fruit. Apples swell in their last weeks before picking. Three pumpkins, still a deep green, grow in my pumpkin patch – a first time for everything.

After picking and processing strawberries, raspberries, rhubarb, cherries, black and red currants, brambles, and courgettes, I am beginning to flag. The cupboards are filling with jams. The freezer is filling with unprocessed fruit for the winter.

We are rich. I am so aware as I write these words that other places are dry and desiccated, barren and brown. We are blessed, and so I will continue to pick and cook and store up for the winter, whatever I find, whatever I grow.

May I be as diligent in my spiritual life, nurturing a deeper faith by regular watering and feeding on God’s words, opening myself to the Son and yielding myself to the Gardener who trains and prunes. In this season of change, may I rest in the assurance of God’s unchanging love.

May I live without fear of the approaching winter.  

Peace I leave with you, Jesus promised. Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Don’t be afraid. Remain in his peace. By his grace in his peace. Thank you, Lord.

The Passing of an Era

 

Sunday morning: 9/11/2022. The church doors were thrown wide open; screens inside followed the procession from Balmoral, down through Royal Deeside. Refreshments were available as mourners awaited the Royal cortège making its way down through Scotland to Holyrood Palace.

Worship was delayed until the body of Queen Elizabeth II had passed through Banchory.

A helicopter whirring overhead heralded the approach of the procession. Men usually in shorts or jeans stood solemnly in kilts; women were dressed to show their respect. Voices were stilled; a respectful hush fell over the crowd lining the High Street.

Suddenly it arrived. A police escort led the way; the hearse carrying the coffin draped in the Union Jack passed by; flowers were thrown; a quiet applause rippled the still air. Some sniffles could be heard; some tissues wiped away stray tears.

A week ago, the Queen was hosting the Moderator of the Church of Scotland to a convivial lunch in Balmoral. A few days after that, she played her part in the changing of the residents of Number 10. Animated and cheerful.

Now she is gone. A monarch who loved and served God and her country for seventy years. An inspiring life well-lived, incredibly difficult to maintain in the glare of publicity, criticism and condemnation, but which she managed with grace and dignity, trusting always in Jesus Christ.

We give thanks to God for her life of faith, and pray that he will welcome her into his presence with the words, ‘Well-done, good and faithful servant.’

And now may her son, King Charles III, follow her example, relying on Jesus during these days of unrest and uncertainty. God give him wisdom and strength for the role he is called to play.

 

Spiders in the Shower

 

I turned on the shower and then I noticed her. A huge spider reacted to the warm water falling from above, seeking shelter under a small shampoo bottle. I picked up a small bowl and put it over her.

I couldn’t bear the thought of a spider on the loose near my bare feet. So the bowl protected me from that anxiety. But at the same time, the bowl protected her from the thundering drench of the shower water.

Yesterday’s rains here were monsoon-like in their power. We, like the spider, sheltered under big brollies as we dashed from one indoor space to another. The water bounced off the brollies, but soaked our feet as they splashed through small lakes of water.

Life can pound on us like a monsoon. This week is one of grief: national loss with the death of an inspirational servant-Queen, and also, all over the world, many are devastated by personal loss. Jesus expressed a yearning to gather the people in Jerusalem under his wings, like a mother shelters her brood. He echoed Psalm 91, where God promises to cover us with his feathers, giving us refuge under his wings.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.’

In this time of global deluge, I choose to rest in the shelter of our loving Father. I am so grateful for his loving tenderness, and for the certain hope that one day Jesus will return and dry every tear.a

All Change down here

 

No helicopter from Dyce to Balmoral for the resigning Prime Minister this morning. Thunderstorms were forecast. For safety reasons, he was ferried by car to see the Queen and tender his resignation.

No helicopter from Dyce to Balmoral for the newly-elected Prime Minister either. Thunderstorms. She, too, was whipped up to Balmoral through the drenching downpours.

This was the fifteenth Prime Minister Queen Elizabeth II has invited to form a new government. The first time from Balmoral, where she lingers on, experiencing, at 96, some mobility challenges.

The new and the old. God is the same yesterday, today, and forever, but only the triune God doesn’t change, doesn’t age, doesn’t grow weary and worn.

Queen Elizabeth has invited fifteen individuals to lead the nation she presides over. God invites all his children to lead the world back to him.

May I marvel in the honour of this undeserved position, and not live carelessly, casually, or selfishly.

 

A Parable of our Times

 

A parable of our times.

A man sat with his laptop in the train station. People with purpose strode through the concourse, rushing to make a train or get home to dinner and bed. Threading through the people with purpose were the wanderers, those who had fled the war and were desperately seeking safety.

A young woman struggled past, two children in her care. She looked distraught, lost, hopeless. The man spoke to her, gave her his contact details, and she wandered off to the place allocated for refugees.

A couple of months passed. One night the man, back in Scotland, received a phone call from the distraught young woman. She had managed to get into the UK with her husband and two children, but they were housed in a hotel with other refugees, where they had been for two months. The children could not access school without a proper address; there were no possibilities locally. This couple, torn from successful careers by an invading army, were eager to find a place of security where they could resume careers and their children could progress with their education.

Help, please, she said to the man. We are stuck. Help us. Please.

And so they came north, hundreds of miles, hoping for help. The man worked for hours to find a way forward. It was so unclear. With their skills, where should they live? With school starting, time dictated the cadence. And so, down a labyrinth of possibilities that turned into cul-de-sacs, through tunnels of doubts, they sought the way forward. After a few days and many changes of direction, hopefully they have found their best next step.

Meanwhile, those scared young children who arrived so quiet, have found their voices. They have rediscovered the release of squeals of laughter. They have explored the toys set randomly out for visiting grandchildren. It is so poignantly wonderful to hear them racing round the garden in the sunshine, chattering, laughing, jumping and … and, being siblings, arguing.

My Bible study group set ourselves a challenge for tomorrow. That we would each look for the hand of God in our week, to share with each other tomorrow morning. So often we miss what God is doing in our lives, with things big, things small.

I haven’t had far to look.

Toboggan Run

 

I was about 16 years old, and had gone up to Big Bear Mountain for a church youth group retreat. It was one of the first times I had been in snow. We found a slope to sled down.

My friend Carole had a toboggan. She and her family had lived ‘back east’ where they had plenty of hills and snow. She knew how to control a toboggan, as it’s all in the leaning (maybe like a motorcycle?) rather than a steering device. I didn’t know anything.

Carole instructed me to get on the toboggan in front, and she would get on behind me. I clambered on. It was a very steep slope, and Carole couldn’t hold it. I shot off alone, gathering speed down the hill which was peppered with soaring pine trees and ended in a two-foot drop onto a lay-by, and then the main road.

I did what came naturally. I closed my eyes. By the grace of God, I didn’t slam into a tree. I shot off the short drop as if it were a ski-jump and landed, clunk, in the lay-by. By the grace of God, I didn’t slam into a car, or skid into one’s path. I had a jarring thud to my spine, but nothing worse.

Life is often like that scary slide down the mountain. While it is tempting to do what comes naturally, and just close my eyes to world events and climate change, it isn’t an option. I need to keep my eyes open to be able to pray knowledgably and do what I can. Like the boy with the starfish on the shore.

And so yesterday I did some craft with a 7-year-old Ukrainian refugee, who speaks no English. She watched me soberly as I tried to remember how Flick showed me to make a Chinese fan. After one mistake, I managed. Then we tried to make a yarn doll. Years since I did that, and it wasn’t a great success. But at the end of the day, she gathered her treasures, some crafted creatively by herself, and in amongst them, were the things I’d made with her. This morning she made a bracelet for me, delivered in silence, without a smile. It’s on my wrist.

This poor traumatised wee girl. I didn’t do much, but I hope that she has felt safe, and sensed the love and kindness of God through my clumsy attempts to connect.

I pray this terrible war will finish, by the grace and mercy of God. And that by his grace and mercy, he will protect the young and vulnerable ones from slamming into a tree.

 

Brambles in the Ditch

 

Some of the juiciest, sweetest brambles grow in the ditches. Don and I went on a reccy to see if the bramble bushes which lined the dirt road to what we call the ‘forest of Endor’ had survived the loggers.

I approached with caution, having disturbed the beautiful badger there a few weeks ago. (The beautiful badger which Flick and Greg and I buried a few days later, as it had been struck down on the road.) I didn’t want to disturb badger refugees who may have relocated in that ditch.

No sign of any badgers, and the brambles are there in profusion, many still red and ripening, many plump and black and sweet. We picked two boxes, and I’ll be back there soon.

A few jars of jam later, I can attest to their rich flavour.

With sorrow, I heard this morning that Don’s god-daughter, not yet 50, has been moved to a hospice. She is a sweet-natured, spiritual young woman, and my prayer today is that in the cancer ditch, she and her loving family might be blessed with divine sweetness and consolation.

And that anyone else in a worldly ditch of despair might today encounter the loving Saviour.

Glum

 

What’s the day like, Don asked as I opened the curtains.

Glum.

The grey mist hangs heavy, swirling round the tops of the trees which weren’t felled. Generous drops plop into swelling puddles on the driveway outside the prayer window. Cows graze ‘our’ field, content to hunker down, some of them lying in the grass chewing their cuds while the rain falls.

I was surprised to encounter my own writing this morning. I’d forgotten that I’d contributed a reflection on my favourite psalm in a selection by other writers in BRF’s Day by Day with God. My favourite psalm is 63; it was my spiritual crutch in the grieving months after my sister died.

I opened my Bible and re-read the familiar psalm. Then I looked at the words I’d written. Quoting from the psalm, it is printed there ‘in a dry and parched land where there is no water.’ Parched, not weary. Both my NIV translations say weary. Weary is such a rich word, redolent with layers of feeling. Much richer than parched, which only conveys a physical lack: thirst. In those grieving months it was a weariness I felt, not a thirst.

I don’t know where the word got changed, or by who, but at the risk of being labelled as pedantic, I prefer ‘weary’. I know when I first clung to that Psalm, my condition was one of weariness, weariness with the sorrowful condition of this fallen world, and not thirst.

So as the raindrops cascade all around this morning, I think of my description of the day. Glum. It’s possible to be weary even in the rain, even when not parched. Go with me on this. I think that it is possible to be standing in the midst of a spiritual shower of blessing, and still be glum, still be weary. And I concede there is a sense of thirst in that, in that if only one turns her face towards the heavens and opens her mouth, her thirst will be quenched. The water Jesus gives satisfies right down to our deepest need, but it’s possible to stand wearily in the divine rain, head hung and gaze turned inward, and still feel parched.

I don’t actually feel weary or glum or parched today, but I know that this Psalm has the thirst-quenching solution for the next time I do. Look up, turn your face to the Lord, open your mouth and praise him. As the praise flows out, so the water of life flows in, refreshing, restoring, and satisfying the deepest need.

Because Your love is better than life, my lips will praise you.

Help!

 

I sank onto the couch the other night, looking forward to losing myself in a book while YouTube played worship music.

Suddenly it stopped. I was surprised to see an error message – something about running short on memory. I tried to track that one down, and as I attempted to delete cookies I somehow signed out of Google altogether. Aargh.

When my feeble attempts to tackle a computer problem only compound the problem, I send out a HELP message to Doug. He is always kind, makes himself available, and yesterday corrected the situation in about ten minutes.

‘Come to me,’ Jesus encourages us. Come to Me when things don’t work out, when you are lost and confused, when you’ve done what you could and the problem is just getting worse.

I am so aware of my limitations with computers. Why, then, can I be so presumptuous and arrogant when it comes to other things in life? Why do I push on in my own strength, thinking I know how to solve things, rather than throwing my hands in the air and the problem to God?

I don’t like to admit failure. But as I look at the global situation this morning, I continue to reduce and recycle but I also fall on my knees (metaphorically speaking – not sure how these old knees would react to a sudden lurch onto the tiles) and cry out to God. Help!

Our arrogance and presumption, our pride and greed, have shaped this world, Lord. Forgive us, and please, come fix it. Amen.

 

A tumble and tangle of vines

 

A tumble and tangle of vines creep round the conservatory window ledge, sprouting from numerous pots. Most hold cantaloupe, and I am delighted to see a few of these tiny, perfect melons forming. One pot holds three cucumber plants.

We’ve enjoyed two cucumbers so far, but yesterday, as I took a paintbrush to the flowers in case they needed help with pollination, I was concluding that it was a disappointing harvest. Then, as I stood and stared, I suddenly spied there, partially concealed by a geranium, a fully formed cucumber.

What delight! I got Flick and Greg in to try to see it, and they spotted it much quicker than I had.

The fruit of the Spirit – love, joy, patience, peace, kindness, virtue, faith, gentleness and strength of spirit – grows like that, I think. Our lives – at least mine – can be a tangled mess, and it can be discouraging when a harsh word leaps from my lips or faith falters, but the promise of God is that he is the gardener, working in each of us like a bespoke designer, nurturing these fruits of the Spirit to feed an increasingly hungry world.

One of the challenges of church should be to encourage one another as we see those fruits growing. It can be hard to see growth in ourselves.

May I be quick to encourage and slow to be disappointed. And despite the outward mess of life, may I trust in the divine gardener who knows exactly what he is doing.

Unlike me.

Drought

 

A drought is declared in England. It hasn’t been so dry since 1976.

Scotland is not yet in drought, but the ground is dry as dust, the grass is parched and yellowing, the fields are stagnant and the cattle are being fed hay which should be kept until later in the year. There is little nutrition in the grass in the field which they are grazing, because there has been no rain.

I had an ice cream tub in the shower to collect some of the water, which I poured this morning onto a thirsty apple tree. The dry earth sucked in the moisture instantly.

A spiritual drought prevails in this world created so lovingly by the God who died for us. Even the church is dry and thirsty, thirsty for the gentle rain of the Spirit, thirsty for his presence to fall gently and steadily on us.

Jesus invites us to come to him, the water of life, promising that whoever drinks of him will never thirst again. Lord, may I drink deeply of you today. Pour out your Spirit on me, refreshing the parts that nothing else can reach, satisfying the thirst that is so, so deep.

Pour out your Spirit on your church universal today, your church which looks to you with increasing intensity and desperation. Lord, without you, we are just dry and desiccated, and can offer nothing to the world which is lost and parched. May the everlasting water flood us to the depths so that when we are squeezed, we overflow with the love and patience, the wisdom and kindness and grace of the Lord. Forgive us when we presume to run on empty, operating from a place of drought rather than resting in the refreshing rain of the Holy Spirit.

Renew us – renew me – this day, Lord Jesus. Renew your church, that you might bring blessing to all through us. In Jesus’ name.

Badgers!

 

The end of a rare summer’s day treat here (84F!), and I went roaming in the gloaming through the devastated wood beside us. As I strolled down the lane cleared for logging lorries, there was a sudden kerfuffle in the bushes at the side of the track. I paused, expecting to see a deer emerge and lope away into the field.

To my surprise, out waddled, with effort and at speed for such an ungainly creature, a large badger. He didn’t glance my way but hustled towards what our family call the ‘Forest of Endor’, which is still standing despite Storm Arwen. I watched with delight as this heavy, cumbersome animal swished its bushy tail, which appeared more golden than black or white, its short legs rushing along.

Before the loggers came in to remove the trees felled by the storm, as well as the rest of that surrounding wood, there had been a badger sett in one corner. Perhaps this was a refugee badger from the devastation, seeking shelter and a new home.

Our world is one of millions of displaced people suffering terrible deprivations and trying to recover from the trauma they have witnessed and survived. Seeing the badger reminded me of the millions of animals under threat from our encroaching ‘civilisations’.

Jesus said that not even a bird falls from the sky without his knowing about it. He loves us, remarkably considering the evil we do, and he loves his creation and the many and varied creatures.

May I be willing to modify my demands and my lifestyle so that I don’t encroach on the fragile habitats of his kingdom. May I respect all that he has made today, even the buzzing and biting flies, the swift spiders, and the long-tailed rodents.

And the badgers.

 

Disappointment to Opportunity

 

As our convoy of cars drew up to park at the beach, the heavens opened and a heavy shower pounded down onto the earth. That beach was a mile’s walk from the road, a long walk for little 3-year-old legs, so we all piled back into cars and drove on to another beach some had discovered. There, coffee could be purchased, and the stony beach offered opportunities for curious kids to encounter weird and wonderful creatures in the many rock pools.

What seemed a disappointment opened up into an opportunity.

The second beach was littered with clam shells, many lying open and empty, still hinged. In the fringe of shore-line, some discovered that many shells were not only firmly shut, but still filled with clams. Having some trained chefs in the family is such a blessing, as Jamie was able to pull together some clam chowder later on as part of our dinner.

My heart is overflowing with gratitude to God for the week just passed, when all 17 of us were able to step out of our usual hectic lives and congregate in a big house on the west coast which afforded activities for all ages, from the well-used hot tub and sauna to the much-used trampoline and table football and snooker.

The weather did not impact our laughter and silliness, our discussions and reconnections, our cocktails and cake, and the opportunities to build relationships with young grandkids/nieces and nephews.

The occasion was a belated Big Birthday for me, postponed by a year due to Covid. The collective embrace of love from my family as they donned the sombreros they randomly found in a cupboard, hung balloons and lit candles was the biggest gift of all.

Thank you seems lame when my heart is this full. God is good, and his blessings never fail.

 

Still Smiling

 

We got there early and sat in the front row, surrounded by cellists eager to enjoy a feast served up by maestros of the instrument. In the humble surroundings of the arts centre known as The Barn, three miles down the road from us, a cello trio of consummate professionals were performing as part of the Aboyne Cello Festival.

The technical expertise was dazzling. The musicality mesmerising. The joy palpable. I smiled throughout the evening, especially as one of the cellists rose rhythmically from her bench as she became fully immersed and engaged in the piece they were playing. Vivaldi, Beethoven, Faure … incredible virtuosity finishing with a playful romp through the title song of Oklahoma. They made it look so easy…

How refreshing it is to be in the presence of creative genius! The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. How gracious is our Lord to inspire creativity and skill in us, his humble creatures. It is so easy to focus on the wickedness abroad in the world rather than celebrating that which is beautiful and good.

Jesus told those who were seeking to trap him, to give the coin which bore Caesar’s image to Caesar, and to give God what bore his image: their lives and love and loyalty. May my eyes focus on the joy and beauty of God as revealed through us his creatures today, and not on the misery and evil inspired by the enemy.

I’m still smiling.

 

Everything is gonna be fine

 

Don’t worry about a thing, Bob Marley sings, and I’m bopping gently in my chair. Every little thing is gonna be all right. The jaunty rhythm exudes joy and confidence.

This is my message to you, he sings. Every little thing’s gonna be all right.

Jesus told his disciples, ‘Never let anxiety enter your hearts. Never worry about any of your needs, such as food or clothing…Be carefree in the care of God!’

I need a watchman on the door of my heart. A bouncer to reject those irritations that try to insinuate their way into my heart and mind and spirit.

Don’t worry about a thing. Be carefree in the care of God.

 

Whatever the Season

 

Banks of grey clouds are swept our way, breaking in tidal waves one on another. Soft tidal waves: the breeze is definite but it’s not unpleasant. The heat has broken (darn), and though I am in a skirt and sleeveless shirt, that will soon be changed as it’s a bit too cool for my liking.

A lovely time with in-laws this morning to share breakfast and catch up on each others’ lives. The thought we all expressed was, how did we get to this age so suddenly, so fast? Where did those years go?

Carpe diem. (Grateful for spell-check…)

Seasons come; seasons go. Only God remains the same. The eternal God never changes, never sleeps, never stops loving, never leaves us.

Whatever the season is, I am grateful for these moments today.

 

Bonfire!

 

We stood side by side, hand-in-hand, my nearly-five-year-old grandson Eliott and me. The heat and noise of the bonfire as it devoured dry branches and leaves caused us to take one or two steps back.

‘I’m afraid of fire,’ I confessed to Eliott.

‘Me too,’ he replied.

‘So I guess you don’t want to be a fireman then when you grow up?’

‘No.’

‘What do you want to be?’

‘A police officer.’

Pause.

‘What do you want to be, Gramma?’

I chuckled inside, nonplussed and amused and unsure how to answer.

‘I’m kind of at the other end of that question,’ I replied. ‘I’ve already been. I’ve been a writer, and a homemaker for my family … ‘

Silence.

‘But what do you want to be, Gramma?’ he asked again.

I smiled.

‘I think I’d like to be a police officer, too.’

I’ve never considered being a police officer, at any point on the spectrum of my life, but somehow it seemed a good reply for Eliott.

I want to be with you, I hope he heard.

Jesus never considered being in many of the places in which I find myself. He never hankered after some of the negative and poor choices I make. But he says again and again, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’

‘I am with you always, even until the end of the world.’ It’s a  promise from the one who is faithful.

Wherever we are, Jesus is there with us, sharing our joy, shouldering our suffering. What a God we have.

 

Symphonic

 

My memories of playing cello in good, big orchestras are wonderful. There is something so awesome about playing away at your own particular part, coming together with others who have practiced their parts, and all looking to the same conductor to get timings right, crescendos and diminuendos, etc.

We were asked in church what word could headline the week we each just lived. Chuckling, I thought chaos (happy chaos with visiting family). But upon reflection, the word is symphonic.

There was a distressing video call with the carers at Mom’s residence. I enlisted family and friends to begin praying. There had been talk of hospice care: I emailed two cousins, one of whom spent her career in geriatric care. There had been notification of Mom’s new – and only – pair of glasses being lost: I emailed another cousin and his wife once I knew they were going in to visit yesterday. I contacted Mom’s doctor through the portal, and called her insurance company.

Late Friday night, I called the residence, as I’d had no updates on Mom’s condition for four hours. Spoke to a different carer, who knew all about these episodes and comforted me that it is normal with dementia, and informed me, to my amazement, that Mom at that moment was outside enjoying the garden with other residents! I had thought the end was nigh.

Responses from the first two cousins, one in Wisconsin and one in Oregon, came in quickly. Great words of comfort and encouragement as well as professional insights into the whole management of hospice care and so on. A response from the ones near Mom, who went in, and located the lost glasses under the bedside cabinet. A reply from her doctor, agreeing that hospice agency care would be helpful. A response from the insurers that it is covered on her policy.

We’re still in the practice room, but the music is beginning to come together.

God has been the maestro in the symphony of my life these last few days. With the soft rhythm and harmony of prayer constantly undergirding everything, he has orchestrated the answers to the situation, bringing in the appropriate ‘musicians’ at just the right moment.

It’s clear that the tempo has changed in Mom’s condition, and that some new melodies have been added.

Whatever is going on, knowing that the Lord is the consummate maestro is such relief, such joy. I may not have chosen this particular piece of music, but He is working through it to bring about a masterpiece. Praise Him.

Midgies and Misery

 

I just want to swat all these flies that are buzzing round the house. In fact, I did swat a couple (but missed) while I was doing my Bible reading, and felt kinda bad about that…

After the bonfire we had the other night, I felt a familiar soreness which has happened enough that I can readily identify it: a tick had crunched its jaws into my ankle. The most precious thing we have in this house is the little tick remover which looks like a credit card and effectively wheeks ticks out of flesh.

I’ve just ordered a couple of spray bottles of Skin so Soft, as an upcoming week on the west coast carries the ‘promise’ of clouds of midgies, which swarm and bite and cause misery.

This is a beautiful world the Lord has blessed us with … but why, oh why, is it full of such creatures?

Life mirrors nature: taxes, MOT tests, parking fines: irritants abound which can steal our joy.

Where is God in all these minor miseries? Walking us through them, guiding our steps, willing to influence our moods if we only would depend on him more.

Hmmm. The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. Not so sure he created taxes and parking fines, but he certainly made the flies and ticks and midgies.

May I trust in him today, even when I don’t see the point of some things…

 

Ping!

 

Ping, went the phone.

My former neighbour Ann, who moved to the south coast over twenty years ago, and I have connected through WhatsApp over Wordle. Every day we compare our results.

A simple connection which leads to brief exchanges about gardens, family, tennis … Ann is struggling in the isolation that comes when one is widowed. I am enjoying our renewed friendship. She was a great help to me when our family was young.

Yesterday’s theme at church was the familiar story of the good Samaritan. May I apply the message in every opportunity the Lord gives me today, whether it be interactions with neighbours or strangers, challenges through media outlets, or nudges to call or write or support someone else.

Lord Jesus, so fill me with your Spirit today that your light shines through all I am, all I do, and all I say. Amen.