Gaping pot holes

 

Gaping pot holes are appearing everywhere, yawning deep and wide and capable of breaking tires and axles and exhausts. It’s not only on our small road here, which has borne the weight of logging trucks ever since Storm Arwen. Hopefully those towering stacks of logs will soon be gone to the chipper, and someone will come fix the road (hope springs eternal).

A lot of roads are closed for repair in Banchory and Aberdeen just now, presumably fixing some of these gulches. Detours abound: we were nearly late for a funeral yesterday, having to retrace our route when we came upon a Road Closed sign.

I’m trying to plough through this genealogy. There are plenty of detours and potholes as I push forward on the genealogy website. Today I found a possible match with a slave-owner (only one slave, but still horrific) and his beautifully-named wife, Mahala. Turns out that name is of Hebrew origin, meaning ‘tender’, which became very popular in the native American community during the mid-nineteenth century.

I think that possible match is probably wrong, which is a relief in respect to the slave-owner. But I quite like the name Mahala, and the possibility of an ethnic blending back in the day.

Life is a journey. If I take it at top-speed, I’m likely to come a cropper in many potholes. But if I can breathe deeply, spend time gazing at the horizon or the moon, and slow the pace, a steadier rhythm will help me avoid the worst crashes. Jesus invites us  to walk in the unforced rhythms of grace, with him as our companion.

It’s a great invitation.