Shivering in a cosy sweater, long-john shirt, and a shawl
round my shoulders. Ah, Scotland. 9C.
I can’t imagine what it feels like at 25C. Los Angeles.
We were encouraged at ‘Worship and Waffles’ to dream big, to
imagine big, and that fuels hope. Looking at the state of the world, it is
challenging to imagine peace, to imagine reconciliation, to imagine love.
With God, all things are possible.
I am dreaming BIG. I am imagining PEACE.
(and I am looking forward to the warm sunshine of 25C…)
Awoke to a power cut yesterday morning. The woman who took
my call was courteous and polite, apologetic and helpful. She assured me we
should be back on by 9 am, and we were.
Later in the day, I turned on my laptop, only to discover we
had no internet. Were the two things connected? No idea.
Without any younger person in the house for back-up, Don and
I opened the instruction book Doug wrote before they moved to Australia. He
installed our internet, a bespoke system using 4 or 5G from a mast nearby, as
rural internet speeds are rubbish. So grateful for his talent and foresight, to
leave us with an instruction manual…which worked. We easily found our issue and
how to rectify it (basically unplug something with Mickey ears and wait 30
seconds before re-plugging in – easy if someone tells you So glad that computer
geeks identified the socket with a word conjuring a visual image. Everyone
knows Mickey Mouse). A few minutes later, we were back online.
‘Blessed are those whose strength is in God,’ Psalm 84 says:
‘they go from strength to strength.’
So many issues in the world today are beyond my
understanding. I have no idea. I am so grateful that God has given us an
instruction book, on which we can rely. Not that there is anything so straightforward
as unplugging something with Mickey ears, though sometimes it might be
something as clear as to be kind or compassionate or forgiving. When we look
into the Bible and listen for God’s guiding voice, relying on him, in him we
are strong.
Lord, I pray today for those who have no options but to rely
on you. Help them to do so. Help them to put their trust in you. We cry out for
those in the firing lines all over the world. Lord, have mercy today, and come
to their aid. And for those of us with options today, give us the
self-discipline to rely on you and not on our own understanding, that we might
not be judgmental, unkind and narrow-minded.
I noticed this self-portrait this morning, drawn by one of
my grandchildren on her first day of school.
It looks just like her.
A lovely big smile lights up, not just her face, but the
room. Even her eyes are smiling. Hairstyle is a little wonky, a little messy. Arms
are extended as if awaiting a loving embrace, or waiting to give one. Clothes
are unimportant.
I had a shortened walk this morning in the rain, and out of
my bank of past worship songs, I found myself singing one from my early days as
a newly committed believer: Wind, wind blow on me; wind, wind, set me free;
wind, wind, the Father sent the blessed Holy Spirit. It was a real favourite in
the early 80’s, when people like me were newly aware of the third person of the
Trinity.
One of the stanzas which I remember is: ‘Set us free to love
our brothers; set us free to live for others; that the world, the Son might
see, and Jesus’ Name exalted be.’
We are being bombarded in the media with heart-breaking pictures
of injured and terrified children caught in the strife of the Middle East. My
heart weeps to think what sort of self-portrait one of those poor kiddies would
draw.
In all places of violence and war, Lord, I pray that you
would raise up believers who love – not just other believers – but enemies.
Inspire those in the crucible of hatred and strife, Lord: inspire them with
vision and forgiveness, with courage and faith, confident that You never leave
nor forsake them as they do what they can to calm the storm.
Be exalted, Lord. Speak Peace, Jesus, into the storms raging
in our world today, and restore innocence and joy to the little children.
Three or four hours later, I’d managed to cut the whole
pumpkin, and roast about half of it. As my energy waned, I chucked the other
half in cubes into the freezer to deal with later. That which I’d roasted, I
pureed, and drained half of it through a muslin jelly bag overnight. The other
half is draining now.
This morning I extracted the seeds from the spongey pulp,
boiled them briefly, dried them, coated them in walnut oil and some pepper, and
am now roasting them. (Thank you, Google…) I hope they are good enough for me
to add to the granola I make for breakfast.
There were moments when I questioned my sanity for spending
so much effort in treating a pumpkin to eat and store. I can buy pumpkin in
cans, seeds in bags.
While working, I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving. I’ve
been feeling grateful for the indigenous peoples in America who not only shared
what they had with those hungry first settlers, but who also modelled a way to
live, which we’ve largely rejected, that respected creation. Although they
inhabited a vast land teeming with life and richly resourced, they lived gratefully,
only gathering or killing what they needed. It is shameful that the western
world has developed a culture of wasteful profligacy, where we use and squander,
nibble and discard, wasting many of the gifts God gives us.
God has given us stewardship of the world. We have let him
down badly.
So, the tedious nature of cutting and cleaning, roasting and
pureeing and drying, and then cleaning and roasting the seeds, drew my thoughts
to how I can be more respectful of the world I inhabit. There was a richness
almost spiritual in the manual labour of dealing with That Pumpkin.
I sense there might be some divine delight in this most basic
discovery.
I am still wrestling with apples from our trees, some only about
the size of golf balls. As I peeled my way through a bowl of them on Saturday,
I slipped and peeled the nail of my middle finger, quite far into the quick.
Ouch!
Now our green-fingered neighbour Shirley has brought us a
perfect pumpkin from her patch. Pies and cakes and soup here we come…if I can
penetrate the tough outer skin without peeling a fingernail or stabbing myself
with the knife. (I’ve accepted the offer of help from Don, whose track record
with sharp implements and fingers is not impeccable…)
Sometimes – or maybe always? – a tough exterior conceals a
tender richness of heart. May the love of God so soften my heart that I
persevere in relationships which might otherwise repel me. ‘People judge by the
outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’ May I be given the
discerning eyes of the Lord today and every day, and never cancel or diminish
anyone because of a tough outward attitude which may have been formed from
pain, in self-protection.
May I leave all judgment to the Lord.
The calm after the storm. This afternoon, I spent some time
raking and sweeping leaves.
Such diversity of shape and colour, life and decay. Scooping
them into bags, I don’t even notice most of them. I just gather them up, eager
to finish the job.
We heard the parable of the lost coin this morning. The
thoughts the preacher shared drew my thoughts to Jesus, who must see the
diversity of people in his world much as I describe the leaves: a motley
collection of colours, shapes, and ages. But unlike my carelessness in stuffing
the leaves into bin bags, Jesus treasures every single one of us, and is eager
to gather each one in, not losing even one.
He created every individual on whatever side of a conflict.
He knows each one intimately. He loves every one and longs to bring them home.
How he must be weeping over his world.
Prince of Peace, have mercy. May we beat our weapons into farm
machinery, and by grace learn to live together in peace, respect and love.
A person plans her steps but the Lord directs her way…
Once again, we are reminded of our impotence in the great
scheme of things. Storm Babet continues to make herself known in the northeast.
We count our blessings, that we rest on a hillock, above threat of flooding,
and this time, we did not lose our power. Blessings indeed.
Flexibility is a virtue when plans change. A walk with a
dear friend on Thursday – already postponed twice – postponed yet again because
of this storm. We thought we’d meet anyway for a bowl of soup, but red alerts
put paid to that. So, the pink roses that were bought for her, grace our dining
table instead.
Friends of friends were coming from the US, via Ireland,
then Edinburgh and up to us for the weekend. Everything is cleaned, beds made, food
purchased and prepped: the red warning continues, though, and the A90 remains
closed between Dundee and Aberdeen. We won’t be meeting these people this time.
So I’ve lit the fire in the good room, put on some Georges
Moustaki records from fifty years ago, and am feeling very blessed.
Nothing is as we thought it would be. Our disruption is so
inconsequential; our inconveniences so minor and so easily redirected. I am
acutely aware of those everywhere whose disruptions have necessitated fleeing
for their lives; for those who have received bad news of health challenges
which will change life itself: Lord, have mercy.
May those reeling from their disruptions be encouraged
today; may they cling to you with the assurance that your right hand upholds
them and that underneath are the everlasting arms.
The potted fruit trees went down, their autumnal leaves
scattering as the branches hit the ground. A rainbow of alerts has been issued
by the Met Office, ranging from red to amber to yellow; trains from Aberdeen
have been cancelled in anticipation of what is to come. Plans are being
changed; bread is in the bread-maker lest we lose power and can’t make a
sandwich; all eyes are turned on the skies.
And that’s just the weather in northeastern Scotland. What
about the agonies in the world today? Can anyone bear to hear the news these
days? Truly the storm winds are raging round the world, and many are toppling
in the violence aimed in their direction. Anxiety levels compound as prices
rise, employment is threatened, and with heightened anxiety comes a plethora of
ill health.
Jesus recommended we batten down the hatches, that we remain
on high alert while still living in his peace. Alert and aware of all that’s
going on, yet at peace in the core of our beings.
How? By hanging on to the promises of Scripture.
They are not just words, the words of the living God. They
are living words which impart power, light and life. ‘The Lord is near,’ Paul
wrote the Philippians. ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by
prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the
peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and
minds in Christ Jesus.’
The peace which is beyond understanding. May it be yours
today, despite whatever storms may stir in your neighbourhood.
‘I cling to You. Your right hand upholds me.’
I am so grateful to be anchored on the Rock.
A glorious autumn morning: blue skies, a kaleidoscope of
leaves, a sharp crispness in the air.
Time to draw breath, to inhale that clean air deep into my
lungs, turn my face to the warmish sun and … just stand.
There is a time for everything. Chaotic play, laughter and
fun need to segue into these times of quiet meditation.
Young life is exuberant, intense, and immediate. Full of joy
and laughter, and sometimes tears. These autumn years afford – even demand –
time to reflect on that exuberance, intensity, and immediacy. How precious it
is to mingle the generations. We all have much to share.
Vinyl records were a new phenomenon to a couple of my
grandkids this weekend. I explained the concept; showed them the fragility and
need for care when putting them on. They sat colouring, listening to the same
LPs we played our children forty years ago. I’m still smiling, remembering how we
all giggled when the laughing policeman laughed. Contagious laughter.
When they got home, I told them, they could instruct Alexa
to play the laughing policeman.
The delivery will be different, but the joy will be the
same. Memory made.
God bless the children, growing up in these days. Give them
wisdom and courage, faith and hope, and time and space to giggle and guffaw.
At 6.45pm I opened Zoom and connected with others living
five or six miles away. We prayed for peace in the world, for peace in the
church, for peace in each other. We prayed for healing and wholeness for
friends and family. We praised the Prince of Peace for his love and care and
faithfulness.
Half an hour later, I checked out of Zoom and answered a
video link on WhatsApp, joining nursing staff, Mom and Jamie about six thousand
miles away. We spoke of practical things, of care options, of next steps. Our hearts
were warmed to see the two Birthday Buddies reunited, hugging, heads leaning
towards each other, faces beaming.
A few hours later, I received an e-mail from my cousin’s
wife, containing a picture of Mom and Jamie relaxing at my cousin’s house over
lunch.
I give thanks today for the blessing of technology. I pray that
we would exploit its possibilities to reunite people, to build relationships,
to enhance effective communication. And may we stand against its possibilities
to exploit people, distort relationships and twist meanings through deep fakes
and fake news.
Prince of Peace, we need you. Maranatha.
Yellow weather warnings prevailed in Scotland over the
weekend, with buckets of rain pouring down and flooding rivers and lochs,
closing roads and pleasing ducks and frogs.
Down south, I’m told, a yellow sun shone out of a clear sky
and raised temperatures to summer levels.
World events of every type escalate daily to yellow warning
levels, and it is so easy and natural to focus on the next startling disaster
and be swamped by the tsunami of dire news. It’s so easy to be drawn into
pessimistic assessments of where it’s all heading.
May I live south of the border mentally, emotionally, and
spiritually, Lord, focused on the trustworthiness of the Son. May I be given
the words of encouragement needed when fears are voiced, words of strength and
truth which draw attention away from events and up to You. Be my centre; be my
focus; be the light and life inspiring my days and weeks.
The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. I put my trust
in you this day, and it is well with my soul.
A short walk to the neighbour’s to give her some apple cake.
She’s been feeding the cat while we were in Glasgow helping Mhairi get settled.
I phoned ahead, hoping they would corral their exuberant
German shepherd Abby, who, if she doesn’t whap you onto the ground in sheer
delight, is likely to lick you to death.
My hopes were in vain.
‘You don’t mind Abby, do you?’ he asked.
The thing is, I am a doggy person. I don’t mind Abby; I even
like Abby, but I don’t like her wet tongue lashings and her sharp claws, which
are likely to tear skin or trousers.
My parents were US Marines in WW2. They ran a ‘tight ship’,
we were often reminded, where we had to ‘shape up or ship out’. There was lots
of laughter and banter, but my sister and I knew they weren’t joking about the
self-control. We had to behave, mind our manners, respect others and respect
property.
One of the fruits of the Spirit is self-control. Obviously Abby
needs work on that one … Probably a lot of us could use a good dollop of
self-discipline.
Funny, that I often ask God to help me to respond with kindness
and gentleness, to be understanding and patient, to fill me with his joy and
peace. Not so sure I ask for him to swell my store of self-control.
I’m not likely to lick anyone to death. But I’m sure there
are many things I do which are pure self-indulgence.
