Restore the Joy!

 

Do everything without complaining…so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault. Phil 2:14-15 

Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged. Matthew 7:1-2

From the ends of the earth we hear singing…But I said, ‘I waste away, I waste away! Woe is me! Isaiah 24:16

I bought a book on grief for someone, but thought I should read it first. It has struck home with me so many times, no more so than this morning’s reading, which started with these three verses.

Jennifer Rees Larcombe, the author of ‘Beauty for Ashes’, recently died, so I can’t write to thank her for her wise words. I hope someone thanked her in her lifetime. Writing from her own desperately painful experience of loss, she describes the attitudes revealed by the above verses as being powerful joy-killers.

I recognise the faults in myself. For years, I have had a line of an old chorus often in my head and on my lips: ‘Restore unto me the joy of my salvation.’ I remember those heady days when I first met Jesus and was filled with the Spirit. I want them back, and so am grateful for the light she shines on what can conspire to kill my joy.

Today I repent of grumbling, criticising and feeling sorry for myself. Though these are not constant attitudes in me, they certainly rear their ugly heads with regularity and now that I recognise them as joy-stealers, I want to have nothing more to do with any of them ever.

Lord, rewire my brain, I pray. Transform my thinking and my default reactions so they copy yours, Jesus. May I be a vessel of your love and grace, your mercy and kindness, pouring myself out in confidence that you refill me, pressed down and overflowing. You are more than enough.

I have lived many years, and I have known many griefs, from the agonising heartache of homesickness to the loss of a sister, a dad, a grandson and many friends, and the slow loss of my mother into dementia. I didn’t know how helpful I would find a book on grief, because I didn’t recognise the space it has assumed in my heart. I really recommend this wee book of ‘Readings for times of loss’.

On this beautiful morning, I lift my eyes to the hills, and thank God, who is my help always.

Default to God's goodness

 

I just came across a treasure trove of products displaying Bible verses interwoven with the creator’s artistic designs. I am so drawn to them.

In walking my Mom home, I am witnessing her mental horizons shrink. She has a few phrases which she enthusiastically repeats, sometimes in the right context, sometimes not. ‘We all do the best we can.’ ‘Do what you can, and let it go.’

I love hearing those phrases no matter when they come out, because they are phrases of encouragement. They reflect the essence of who Mom is: a great encourager, someone who was always my champion, no matter what. She is the same loving Mom, despite sometimes being trapped in the throes of dementia.

I am conscious that the years are rolling by and one day my verbal horizons might be equally limited. I would like my default phrases to reflect the love of God, which is so evident in Scripture.

I want to sow seeds of divine love and life deep into my soul, so that even if the outer ‘me’ changes, I will not forget my default setting: God is faithful; he is loving and he is always good.

Not Connected

 

‘Not connected to the internet…’

For some reason, I am frequently getting that message when I turn on my laptop. When I troubleshoot, it detects problems but fails to fix them, yet suddenly I am back online. I limp forward, none the wiser but relieved that for the moment anyway, I am connected.

I am grateful that my connection to God is not so unreliable. Well, it is from my end, but His end is always engaged and ready for me. When my mind is jumping all over the place, I find it hard to sense his presence. I can be too quick to let myself be satisfied with the briefest of connections, then, moving on without allowing the great techie to make the adjustments to me which would enable a quicker and more reliable connection, a connection that doesn’t go off-line when distracted by worldly woes and anxieties.

In this busy world, it takes will power and effort to settle into a contemplative mode and allow myself to listen attentively. I am so easily distracted by thoughts and fears.

Lord, it is Monday morning, and I have my to-do list beside me. Help me to prioritise the time I spend with you over the compilation of this to-do list, knowing that with your guidance and prompting nothing that needs doing will be left undone. Forgive me for ploughing on in my own strength, as if I know better than you. Lord, without you I can do nothing. Thank you for your grace, your mercy and love. Amen.

All Clogged Up

 

Something’s not quite right with my laptop.

When I first turn it on, I get a message that I’m not connected to WIFI. As I start the troubleshooting process, suddenly I’m connected.

Maybe it just takes longer to connect because I need to declutter it. I think when I finish decluttering the house and garage and greenhouse, I will need to declutter this.

If I can wait that long.

Last night I moved on into a filing cabinet drawer, weeding out tax returns dating back over twenty years, and finding report cards and birth certificates and so on of various of my children. Now they are ready to be handed over next time we see each other.

That drawer now has loose space. Ready to be filled with things which are relevant to my life now.

I was going to equate the declutter moments to my time in the prayer window, but actually, I think God built in as a default the sabbath day’s rest as a time to properly declutter, recalibrate in line with his Word, and be restored and rested, so that when we are challenged by daily situations in the world, we don’t grind away trying to think of WWJD. We just know.

Maybe this is the real meaning of knowing God. And why not? I know my immediate family well enough to be able to, generally, know what their reactions would be to certain things. I don’t always get it right, but often I do.

May I begin to remember the sabbath day and keep it holy. I’m not good at it. Which is why I may be clogged up spiritually, as my laptop is clogged up.

Help me, Lord.

 

Heralds of Spring

 

The daffodils lift up their trumpets to herald the entry of spring. This morning it feels like it is responding, as the sun is out, there is no wind, and the birds are joyfully trilling their songs.

Our Ukrainian guest came in for a coffee. ‘Daffodil’: I taught her the word for these flowers which bob in the breeze all down the drive.

‘Like crocodile,’ she laughed.

I wrote the words out. Not really, I showed her, except for the ending. Then she explained, through words and gestures, that to her the trumpet of the daff looked like the mouth of a croc.

A thing of joy turned into a thing of terror.

How often do I confuse opportunities which God offers me, thinking of them fearfully, feeling unequal to the challenges, drawing back?

Oh, to see things as they really are, without the filters of fear and broken dreams, bad experiences, warped expectations!

Today, Lord, may I sit in the heavenlies at your side. Refresh my vision so that I gain your perspective and embrace everything you allow to come my way. May I operate from the position of faith and not fear, in everything, trusting that underneath are the everlasting arms. Thank you, Lord.

Families

 

Perspective.

Two small cardboard boxes, and two crammed A3 notebooks. I’ve a few more photos to locate and insert, and then I will take a breather from looking back at the past several generations.

Or will I?

Having spent a good three or four months compiling this record, I feel I know some of the family members from long ago. I feel surrounded by them, encouraged to know at least some of them loved Jesus and followed him. Maybe my faith is alive today because of the prayers in the past. I am sure of that.

There is a connectedness for us all, whether or not we can trace family roots very far back. I’ve seen what a relay race it is, passing the baton on to future generations. Having recorded that two hundred and fifty years ago, one set of multiple-great-grandparents were loyalists (supporting the Crown) in the Revolutionary War and were charged with treason, while two other sets of multiple-great-grandparents were fighting on the side of the Patriots (Americans), I better appreciate that choices that we make grow out of the matrix of the culture and times in which we live. Now we see through the glass darkly.

I don’t think it’s fair to judge those who went before and made decisions we criticise or disagree with. Our thinking is so conditioned by cultural circumstances and understandings of the times and places in which we live.

Our only hope is to continually ask God to transform our thinking by the renewing of our minds, to save us from making calls which condemn others to injustices and to save us from judging others – both those who lived out of the culture of another time or place, and also those who live alongside us but whose experiences and lives have been shaped by circumstances and situations we don’t know of and wouldn’t be able to fully understand.

We are all works in progress, called to be kind and loving in this increasingly hard-hearted world. God give me your grace today to walk close to you, and when I falter, to rest between your shoulders, as I walk alongside relatives and friends, all of us just walking each other home in the best way we can.

Help me to leave the judgments to you.

Give me your perspective, Lord. Have mercy on this wounded world. Maranatha.

Any Path will Do

 

Awoke to Birthday Pancakes made by Mhairi and a pile of cards and birthday wishes. Then we headed south for a seaside walk at St Cyrus, lunch in Montrose (shout out to the Pavilion Café, which found us a table even though Don had made reservations at a different Pavilion restaurant in the same town…). Finished with a further exploration of the coast to find the Elephant Rock, which we did. I’m partial to elephants.

And a stop for Italian ice cream in Stonehaven on the way home. Perfect.

Thank you to everyone for the love and wishes. For the cards and gifts. For walking with me through this amazing world the Lord has made for us.

This is the day the Lord has made. How can I not rejoice and be glad in it?

And yet, I have heard today of the death of a much-loved wife, mother, and grandmother, and I know that many hearts are heavy with grief of all kinds.

I am grateful for the life I have, grateful for friends and family, and even more grateful for the Lord who walks with each of us through the sorrows and the joys. Along St Cyrus’ trail, the path often diverged in more than one direction. Turned out whichever way one chose was the right way. They all led to the sea.

Much like life. There are many paths we might choose as we chart our way through life. With Jesus at our side, any path will do.

 

A great cloud of witnesses

 

We gathered on the south bank of the River Dee, near a spot where St Ternan gathered with believers 1500 years ago. A guitarist, a few vocalists, and a handful of worshipers, all raising our voices with the bubbling lilt of the river, the warbling trills of the birds, and the occasional percussion of an errant dog.

The sky was overcast, a steely ceiling sealing us in. But we have seen worse, sometimes gathering there on Easter mornings in the snow, the rain, or the howling gales.

Not many were there. Maybe people weren’t well, were away, forgot, or the seasons are changing and celebrations will be marked in new ways.

My inner vision is crowded at the moment with the images of ancestors, whose pictures I am now arranging in a notebook to accompany the genealogy. As I stood on the riverbank, I thought of some of those faces, and some of my predecessors’ names, aware that in amongst them are several ministers, and a high proportion of Christian believers.

Hebrews 12:1 reminds us  that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and on Easter morning I could certainly imagine those I love who have gone before, as well as many of these faces of far-off relations.

To the naked eye, we may have looked like a small number. But in the eyes of heaven, voices blended from throughout the centuries, hosannas ringing out to our risen Saviour.

We are not alone. We are part of that group beyond time, gathered in gratitude and love of our Lord.

 

Stone-cold bright

 

Maundy Thursday was grey and grisly until evening, when the sun drove out the heavy clouds. Good Friday dawned clear and stone-cold bright.

We gathered early at the appointed spot, a small band of believers braving the early-morning chill to follow the Cross in silence through the streets of Banchory. Sharp shadows etched themselves on the raised gardens we passed: the crisp outline of the cross, borne by two pilgrims, the bobbled caps and bent heads of those following, quiet and reflective.

Pigeons cooed; songbirds sang their spring melodies; later in the walk, crows cawed out their mocking noises. An engine idled loudly, an empty car warming up but at that moment going nowhere. Other vehicles passed, paused, accelerated, drivers ignoring us or staring, perplexed or pitying. Or indifferent.

On we went, stopping at appointed places to take it in turn reading out the dreadful story of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, ‘trial’, condemnation and execution. Solemnly we trudged on, now through the muddy grass of the park, dog-walkers moving away from us. When we stopped for that reading, one person, finding nowhere to rest the wooden cross, wrapped his arms round it and leaned in, holding it upright as it held him.

Moving again, I noticed the grey and balding heads in front of me. A band of friends, many with whom we have journeyed for decades, encouraging, consoling, comforting, and rejoicing with. We have walked on the high roads and the muddy plains with many of these dear friends. In Jesus we have wrapped our arms round each other and leaned in, holding each other upright when strength ebbed.

So blessed are we.

I noticed a couple of fingerprints of wispy cloud smudged on the blue skies above, underlined by the exclamation point of the vapour trail of an unseen aircraft.

Judas historically bears the blame for dobbing Jesus in, but it was my silence, my selfishness, my loveless indifference that Jesus forgave as the nails were hammered into his wrists and his ankles. ‘Father, forgive them: they don’t know what they are doing.’

Lord, I still don’t know what I’m doing. But my heart swells with gratitude as I reflect on the certain hope I have, that you who began a good work in me will not let that lapse. I wrap my arms round that cross today and lean in, desperately sorry for my own treachery.

Without your love, Lord, we are lost. It’s a mystery why you love us so much, but a mystery I am content to accept without fully understanding. So grateful. So grateful.

Revelation

 

Gulping a gallon of water before going for a scan. Sometimes when we are overstretched, things are revealed which otherwise were hidden.

It’s not comfortable to be overstretched. But it’s good to bring things that were hidden into the open and deal with them.

Jesus said that whatever is hidden will be revealed. I am so grateful for his grace and mercy, that whatever indeed is lurking low has already been lovingly dealt with by our amazing Saviour on the cross of Calvary.

May I never take his sacrifice for granted.

Squabbling birds

 

Busy in the kitchen baking a birthday cake, I suddenly found my thoughts interrupted by a cacophony of argumentative birds.

Outside the kitchen window, three or four birds were discussing the merits of the different nesting boxes open to them. Watching their antics was mesmerising, as they checked out one and then the other. I am not sure if there was more than one couple who wanted the same hide-away, or if it was a pair of birds disagreeing over which suited them better.

One has a perch, and easier access to the climbing rose. One has a view of the sunsets. The interior design is identical.

Disputes arise among people over so many minute things that in the end don’t matter. May I be wise enough, with your guidance, Lord, to raise my eyes to higher perspectives when my attention is distracted by noisy nonsense. Forgive us when we engage in tedious and ultimately unimportant conflicts rather than focusing on the things that unite us.

May we be one, Lord, as you and the Father and the Spirit are one. Sigh. Change our hearts. Transform our minds by the renewing of your Holy Spirit.

Prince of Peace, reign in me today.

Just a paper clip

 

It’s just a paper clip, so old it’s kind of corroded with a texture of rust. I’m working on collating the information gathered by my mother and other relatives on our genealogy. It’s a massive task, as three lines stretch back over twelve generations, and there are stacks of newspaper obituaries, letters, diaries, certificates …

This paper clip came off one of many envelopes, holding together a couple of notes Mom made on who was a cousin of who? Or should that be whom? … To me, there is a poignancy about removing that paper clip which Mom used, and, after re-entering the information in my comprehensive album, discarding the envelopes, with her familiar, graceful handwriting.

Last night I read an essay – or maybe it was a debating speech – written by my great-grandmother in 1890, just before she graduated from high school. I have to say I was pretty shocked at her views on immigration … and wonder how she felt a couple of decades later when one of her daughters married a German immigrant. Maybe we can talk about that in eternity.

But I digress. She literally pinned the pages of her writing together with a straight pin. Other pieces of creative writing and her diaries are also pinned together. She used what she had.

It was strangely moving to think that possibly that pin has never been removed since the day she pinned the pages together, over 130 years ago. Maw, as they called her, died before I was born, so I never knew her. I wish I had.

Connections. Paper clips and pins hold things together; Jesus holds me together. Two devotionals this morning have drawn my thoughts to our Saviour. The importance of the word ‘with’ in the gospels: Jesus was, is, and always will be with us. In our sad times and in the joys. And the way that, even when hanging on the cross in agony, he responded to the repentant thief with love, offering hope for his future. Today you will be with me in paradise. The comment was made that when we are in extremis, we expose our true selves, and Jesus, who could have been full of anger or vitriol instead overflowed with mercy and love, offering hope to the thief beside him.

I am encouraged to rejoice again that Jesus can be trusted to be with me in every situation in my life, and I am so grateful that the essence of our God is pure love, merciful, sacrificial love.

Hosanna and Hallelujah.