Scanning

 

I’ve been scanning photos of Mom for a Power-point to have running at her 100^th birthday party in August. I don’t have access to many pictures, since she still has them in her apartment in Torrance, but I have quite a few.

What I’ve noticed is that through the years, despite the changing hair colour and the wrinkles, Mom is recognisable by the same warm, gentle smile, and her bright blue eyes.

People look at the outer appearance, God said to Samuel, but ‘I look at the heart’. I see Mom’s heart of generosity and love in that wonderful smile and in those shining eyes. The eyes don’t see much any more, but they still shine with love and light up with recognition of a much-loved voice.

May my eyes focus on the revelations of the heart rather than the physical appearance of everyone I meet. May I never dismiss or judge another person by their looks or even by their actions. God knows their heart. May my eyes be more focused on him, than on anyone else.

Stone of Scone

 

We’re just closing, the guide apologised. Go ahead and have a quick look.

We’d spent hours in the newly-opened Perth Museum, seeing the Stone of Destiny presentation and wandering round the many displays of historic finds in the area. Aware that the guides had their coats on, ready to leave, we sprinted up the aisle of St John’s Kirk, the oldest building in Perth. Constructed in about 1448, it is deserving of a longer look than we could give it.

I was amazed to see QR codes sprinkled round the listed building in various places, but especially this one on the communion table at the front. The oldest building in Perth fully embracing some of the newest technology. Very impressive that they are using the technology, not just to impart information about structures or windows or furnishings, but to go to the heart of the gospel and explain the reason for the building. ‘Why do we need forgiveness?’ What a great question.

May the Lord awaken curiosity in those who wander through this ancient building, leading them to enter through the portal of the QR code and be drawn into faith in Jesus.

Soaking Together

 

Daily deluges have kept the soil in the garden heavy, wet and cloying. The plants might be longing for the heat of a spring sun, but planted in the rich soil of the garden, they are not thirsty.

But in the individual plastic seed trays, the bedding plants I bought from the shop languish. There the earth is dry as dust, despite the tray sitting out under the same grey skies and receiving the same dose of rain.

Worshiping at church, voices joining in love and praise of our Saviour, waters my spirit and restores my soul. It is like resting in a rich garden. As our hearts converge and our minds agree in worship, we are like the plants in the soil, whose roots go deep.

I know I can be a believer whether or not I go to church, but if I stayed home, I think I might grow like those bedding plants, separated and hemmed in by plastic sides and bases, limited and isolated from being able to stretch my faith deeper, refreshing myself in the shared aquifer of love for God.

May the rain of heaven’s love fall gently on us all today, restoring us and enabling us each to blossom with the gifts God has given us.

Manna from Heaven

 

The cock pheasant and his harem visit daily. I noticed one of the hens balancing on the branch next to the peanut feeder. I’m not sure if she had eaten any of the nuts, but she was pretty big to be balanced on such a thin branch for so long.

Then he strutted into view and hopped up onto the pile of grass cuttings from last season. They’ve obviously found plenty of new life in that pile as a few of them have been feasting there the last few days – since the sun reappeared in our overly-grey skies.

The gorgeous male pheasant cast an ‘eagle-eye’ round the surrounding field. Yesterday I watched as he chased off a rival interloper. This morning peace reigned and no challenges appeared.

The hen feasted on peanuts, a rich treat perhaps. But perhaps just as rich, or even tastier, was what the cock found amongst the old grass cuttings.

May I be aware of all the sources of spiritual food which come my way this day, whether from the precious Scriptures or from the daily routines of my life. Through it all, God is speaking life to me.

Could you not sit with me?

 

The warmth of the conservatory drew me in for my morning quiet routine. As I focused on the devotional, I gradually become aware of the gentle purring of the cat, stretched in the sun on the chair opposite me. Indy isn’t a cat who craves petting and cuddles, but she enjoys company, as her contented purrs demonstrated.

Companionship needn’t be noisy chatter. There’s an interactive contentment when sitting with others you love, or respect and appreciate, which needs no verbal exchange. All it needs is time.

I’m aware that lately, I’ve curtailed that sort of loving lingering with the Lord. There seems to be so much to do all the time, and for some reason it takes me longer to do it all than it used to. But when Don remarked the other day how much he enjoyed my company, even when we aren’t speaking, I recognised how much I’m missing time spent just sitting with the Lord, too. Prayer is an attitude of the heart as well as an outpouring of the lips.

This morning, as the world convulses in violence and pain, I am thinking of Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking his friends to sit with him for an hour. To stay awake, and just keep him company.

I don’t know how to pray for this tortured world, but I can sit with the Lord of all as he prays.

So this morning, I surrender again to Jesus, knowing that I need his help to make some adjustments to my schedule, so that I have the right alignment of my priorities.

I don’t want to continue as Martha. I’d rather be Mary.

 

The Not Yet

 

Dawn came, still and soft, revealing a bright sun in a clear sky. Ah. Spring.

As the morning has unfolded, a breeze started lightly, teasing the daffodils into delightful dances. I see the movement but I don’t see the cause of it.

We’re in Holy Spirit season. Forty-five years ago the wind of the Spirit blew into my life, clearing my cache of sin and reviving me with a deep infilling of joy, love, faith and assurance of my identity in Christ. I hope and pray that others can see I am dancing with God.

He changed my life. On this day which marks my physical entry into the world, I am also remembering with gratitude and joy my spiritual entry into the fullness of the kingdom of God, both the now and the not-yet.

Enjoy this glorious day!

In with a Mouse

 

A gorgeous spring afternoon drew me out to do some weeding. Cows plodded round the field nearby, when one started making a noise I’d not heard them make before. Sort of a growl. I imagine the farmer could interpret that sound.

Inside again, I left the back door open as I sewed doll clothes for two grandchildren’s birthdays. Suddenly I heard the cat make a noise. Though our elderly cat is usually inside sleeping, I knew instantly what that meow meant. Yes, there she was, proudly showing me the mouse she had just killed and brought inside. Yuk.

It made me think once again of the way our heavenly Father hears all of our cries and groans, and understands each one perfectly. Scripture says that when we don’t know what to pray, the Spirit intercedes for us in groans we don’t understand: but the Father does.

Many times, I don’t know what to pray. How grateful I am that the Spirit is ready to move in and pray what’s so deeply embedded in my heart and soul.

My prayers are powerful and effective. Maybe especially when I am groaning in the Spirit.

 

Harmonies

 

Familiarity breeds contempt. This old adage apparently springs from St Augustine, 5^th century. I’d just like to dispute its assertion.

At least in relation to music. Playing cello in yesterday’s music group at church, I was delighted that two of the three worship songs were very familiar to me. Modern music comes without a written bass line, leaving the lower register instruments to ad lib. Having grown up playing in orchestras and quartets, where one was always playing harmonies and counterpoints written by talented composers, I find it extremely challenging to ‘go off-piste’ and make anything up.

Yesterday, though, with two of those songs, I felt free enough to ‘hear’ my inner harmonies a few times and do something slightly different from playing the written melody. Familiarity set me free.

The preacher encouraged us to really open our inner spiritual ears to hear the voice of Jesus. I suppose it is straightforward enough to know the ten commandments and endeavour to live by them, but in the vagaries and nuances of life, the whispers of Jesus guiding us in all we say and do can so enrich our lives and the lives of others. We are loved by the God of creation, who delights in diversity which is always harmonious in its beauty and richness.

May my spiritual ears be attentive today, and my will be willing to obey whatever I hear the Master whisper. It’s as we live the harmonies God gives us that we make the most beautiful music to bring joy to the throne of heaven and the ear of our Lord.

The Empty Cross says it all

 

The empty cross tells the truth. Love conquers all.

Today, we have the privilege of celebrating young love with newly-weds. One of the most beautiful things in the world and a joy to be included. May this young couple, and all the others uniting in marriage today, be blessed by our Lord Jesus with patience and kindness, wisdom and understanding, joy and compassion and love. And when the going is tough, may they know the Source of unlimited, unconditional, everlasting love, a love that doesn’t give up, doesn’t let go, never dies.

In a world of violence and strife, I celebrate the power of love, declaring that love has the last word.

 

On the Journey

 

Shimmering lights flash on the periphery of my vision as I park the car at Tesco. Such visual disturbances have been part of life since I tumbled down steps at 17 years old, whamming the concrete near the left temple of my forehead and sustaining a severe concussion. (Ever since then, I always hold the rail when descending stairs.) The debilitating headaches which used to accompany such light-shows have largely gone. Whew. I am very grateful for that mercy.

When the lights shimmer, I am very aware of the distortions I see as the margins of my perception flicker and flash. If I am trying to read, I have to focus on one word at a time as the rest disappears in a light-show dance.

How easy it is to become mesmerised or distracted by our own viewpoints, determined by our own experiences and perceptions, and fail to appreciate the different and individual experiences through which others are going or have gone. How tragic when misperceptions break relationships.

Lord, today and every day may I be blessed with Holy Spirit specs, so that I see only that which is true. May I never believe what is distorted by mine or others’ limited understanding. As I heard a speaker say years ago, I pray now: may I have a heart that is never affronted by someone else’s action or inaction. Instead, fill my heart, spirit and mind with your generous grace. May I have expectations only in you, my perfect Lord Jesus. You who prayed as the nails tore your flesh and shattered your bones: Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.

None of us really knows what we are doing. We are all just doing our best, walking each other home.

(Those who know me will recognise in this reflection the aphorisms I’ve gleaned from my dear Mom, my dear daughter, a dear friend, and a speaker I heard only once. I’m grateful to them all for their wisdom. You never know when a sentence you utter might take root and grow to influence someone else’s life. Let those sentences be full of grace, love and mercy.)

God bless us all on the journey.

Hope Springs

 

Beyond the bevy of birds busily pecking at the seeds and nuts and fat balls, a cow stands still and silent in the dripping rain. The nursery of calves lounge on the wet grass. Outside the kitchen window, blue tits and great tits jostle for nesting spots in the multi-story birdhouse. It is badly in need of a refurb, but they don’t seem to notice the leaky roof or the broken perches. Too late now for me to get out there and spruce it up. I’ll leave them in peace to lay eggs and raise chicks.

Spring. Hope and promise.

Easter. Hope and promise assured. Aren’t the seasons fabulous?

Have a great day, knowing that in Jesus all will be well, all manner of things will be well. We have a hope that won’t disappoint.

Behind the Cross

 

We trudge in silence through the muddy, dewy grass of the park. For this stretch of the walk, a wee boy enthusiastically joins his mum and another woman as they hoist the heavy wooden beam of the cross onto their shoulders and lead the way.

I notice that in his most exuberant moments, the boy’s ‘help’ sometimes drags the beam downwards, sometimes steers it slightly off-course. It doesn’t matter; the cross arrives at the next appointed pause point, the wise mum and her fellow-cross-bearer gently recalibrating whenever necessary without dampening the lad’s eagerness.

I can be that wee boy. Maybe I always am, but Jesus gently guides me back on track. Lovingly. Like the young mum moving steadily along the path, he may not look back at me in reproach. Unless I persist in my waywardness, he won’t even whisper a reprimand. Instead, he will steadily, mercifully continue to move forward, aware that my heart is still with him, even if my mind or actions have faltered.

We pause to hear a reading, and workmen refurbishing the church hall continue with their electric saws. A young man in white overalls stares at this small group of believers. The youngest rides in a pram; the eldest leans on a cane. Onward goes the pilgrim band.

We cross a street, beginning to hum with the traffic of a busy Friday morning. The coo of a pigeon; the trill of a song-bird; the jarring beat of hip-hop blaring from a passing car: the modern world moves into a holiday weekend unaware of the reason why it is a holiday. The natural world continues to adhere to the laws of physics set in place by the one whose death is remembered by the carrying of the cross. Life goes on.

Life goes on, as it would have on that first Friday, when these events were all too real for Jesus. What did he think of as he trudged beneath the weight of his cross, through the narrow streets of Jerusalem as they awoke to the trade and commerce of a normal working day? Did he even notice as humanity swirled around him, people glancing with irritation or indifference at his bloodied figure as he headed to Golgotha?

He always knew it would end like this. He never allowed his disciples to recalibrate him, to adjust his destination. ‘No!’ Peter had objected when he’d told them about his coming crucifixion. ‘Never!’ ‘Get behind me, Satan,’ Jesus had retorted. He knew where he was going, and why. It was his destiny.

A destiny born of love. A love that thought of his mother and friends in the midst of his agony. A love that pressed on through pain to ask forgiveness for the executioners, to promise everlasting life to his fellow victim of Roman justice. Of religious zeal.

A love that will not let me go.

So grateful.

Because of Him

 

I watch him work his way up the trunk. Black and white markings on his back, bright red patch on his underbelly. The woodpecker has left the little songbirds clinging to the birdfeeder while he slams his beak into the rowan tree, hopeful to pull some hapless insect from just beneath the bark and into his mouth.

What I see as beauty in nature is a source of deadly fear and death to the woodpecker’s prey.

On a different scale, in a different way, I look at Jesus, walking with assurance and love towards the cross. Different, but similar in presenting a picture containing both beauty and horror. I watch Jesus in awe as I struggle to keep up with him, his perfect love cancelling his human urges to be affronted at the coming betrayals; his perfect love suppressing any cry of anger or anguish in a voice pleading with the Father to forgive the ones hammering in the nails. His perfect love investing all his hope in his perfect Father.

I struggle to emulate him, and fail yet again. Taking umbrage. Investing in people rather than in God, who provides for all my needs and more.

Hugely grateful to Jesus for his love for me, I put all my hope in him. Hope in God is the expectation that because of Jesus, something good, something excellent, something perfect is coming.

Things may look dark, but Easter is coming.

Hallelujah.

 

Royal Robes

 

The beautiful cock pheasant stands proud, silhouetted against a greening field. He’s just been gleaning under the bird table, where the smaller songbirds very helpfully gobble so sloppily that half of it lands on the ground beneath.

He’s there every morning, the rich colours  of his glorious plumage shining in the morning sunshine. With a regal, noble gait, he paces off across the field and out of sight.

The amazing sacrifice of Jesus on the cross means that we can exchange our filthy rags for royal robes we don’t deserve. May we wear them with integrity and love.

Enough

 

He is always enough.

A situation arose last night with Mom. On my last visit in November, staff and I had agreed a protocol in the event this situation arose again. They were to call me before calling paramedics. In the event, however, they were moving towards calling paramedics first. But Mhairi was visiting, and she knew the protocol, so she called, and the situation was de-escalated. Mom was re-hydrated, rested, and restored. I just talked to her and she is cheerful, fully recovered, and doesn’t remember a thing about it.

I often have felt that there are few people I can call on to help me do things for Mom. I am so far away. I am totally dependent on God, which is the best way to be. He always provides. There is always someone who can drive Mom to an appointment, buy the supplies, make a decision.

Last night, he provided Mhairi.

As Tony reminded us this morning, the dead body of Jesus needed a new tomb on the day he died. Joseph of Arimathea was there, at the exact right moment, and he provided it. He just happened to be there. Or did he?

It seems almost reckless. Negligent. Unprepared. It’s not the way I operate. I like to be well-organised; to plan for all eventualities and be ready with solutions.

But in Kingdom Economy, trusting God with the details is what he wants. When we are looking to him for the answer, he makes it clear.

It is a challenge to move in peace through situations we encounter. It is easy to be anxious that we haven’t provided for every possibility. Of course we haven’t, but when we fully invest our trust in Jesus, he never lets us down. He knows the end from the beginning. He is the alpha and the omega. He loves us, and he provides.

I don’t like spiders, but this morning as I thought about this, I had a mind picture of a spider, spinning a thread of silk, apparently fragile, actually incredibly strong. That fragile thread doesn’t look like it’s enough, but it is.

God’s provision sometimes may appear as gossamer as a spider’s silk, but it is always enough.

Beauty in Diversity

 

They are so tiny. Every colour is delicately drawn, identifying one family of bird from another. Each one is absolutely perfect. A smear of red on one breast; a stripe of blue or yellow, black or white, on tail and wing and breast. Even the greys of the pigeons reveal the skill and joy of the Designer. Details. No bird haphazardly formed. Every one made with love according to the plan of the Maker.

I watch them darting round the peanuts, clinging on and pecking out a few beakfulls before surrendering their perch to the next hungry bird. Others dart below, along the ground, gathering the seed spilling out of that feeder.

Every one different, yet every one related. They all have feathers, bills or beaks, wings and tails and heads and feet. They all have songs to sing, each according to its own kind.

Each is tiny. When one mistakenly flew into the house last summer, she was easily caught in my cupped hands and carried back out to freedom. Tiny, and yet the great Almighty God is aware of every feather that falls from one of these precious creatures.

How much more he cares for us, in all our diversity. Our different abilities, our different gifts, our different backgrounds and ethnicities and languages and cultures. If only we could care for one another with the same loving attentiveness, kindness and understanding.

Help us, Lord, to be more like you today.

Here comes the sun!

 

‘Here comes the sun.’ When the Beatles’ voices harmonised that out of my little transistor radio more than half a century ago (!!), I sang along happily in sunny California. In the land of blue skies, I missed the joy communicated through those words. Of course, it does rain in California, but generally the sun shines bright and warm.

This morning, after eight grey days where cloud enveloped us in a cold, damp embrace, the sun is breaking through, and my heart is singing with a new resonance, ‘here comes the sun’.

Before I knew Jesus as my Saviour, and began to work out my relationship with him, I lived under cloudy skies. When I gave my life to Jesus, the grey skies cleared and, although clouds do swirl through in griefs and trials and challenges, the Son is always there.

I am so grateful, in this uncertain world, to be able to hum, ‘Here comes the Son’.  

Precious Faces

 

Praying for my precious grandchildren this morning, I realised I’ve got a great spot there in the prayer window to plant a Garden of Gorgeous Grandchildren. So I’m hanging each of their pictures there so that as I pray, I see those beautiful smiling faces. I am so blessed, and so grateful.

One of those beautiful faces, though, I can’t see, because he was born straight into the arms of Jesus, on whose face he looks now. I remember him, too, though, and anticipate that day when I meet him. I don’t need his picture: I carry him in my heart.

We don’t really need reminders of those we love, but it is such a blessing to live in an age when we can gaze on their beautiful faces whenever we want to.

If I can feel such overflowing love for my children, daughters-in-law and grandchildren, imagine how much love the Father feels for us, despite all our messy mistakes and poor choices.

We don’t need to imagine it. We only need look at the cross. Easter is coming! Joy to the world!

All the Glory

 

For two days following my uplifting, faith-filled call with Mom last week, I was denied access: each time I skyped her phone, I got a message that my number had been reported as spam. Hmm. AI? A coincidence/fluke? An irritating attack?

I began to research how to correct this, feeling my heart sink at the thought of the time I would need to invest. I prayed against an attack, declaring God’s almighty power and love, and Jesus’ victory on the cross.

Last night I tried once more, expecting to get the message. Instead, I reached Mom.

Praise the Lord. I’m giving him the glory.

Best Mom Ever

 

With Mothering Sunday coming in a couple of days here in the UK, I just want to sing the praises of my dear Mom, who will be 100 years old in August. I had the most inspiring and wonderful conversation with her tonight. Despite her macular-degeneration-blindness and dementia-challenged brain, she was inspired to hear about the evening of worship and preaching that I attended in Aberdeen last night (which was awesome). We went on to share faith with each other and she talked of the privilege of being able to offer hope and faith to those with whom she lives in a residential home. She can’t remember any of them so it is like meeting strangers every day, who she can’t even see, and yet she understands that she is still, somehow, part of God’s plan and she can still, somehow, point others to Christ.

She is an amazing role-model to me, having persevered in faith through significant challenges and terrible tragedies in her lifetime. The loss of her father to cancer on the eve of her high school graduation, a month before her youngest brother was born. Tragically losing her mother not even a decade later. Holding my sister Judy’s hand as she stepped from her cancer-ravaged body into eternity at the age of 37. Having her only living child and all four of her grandchildren living thousands of miles away in a different country. Quietly and steadfastly nursing my dad during his last days, when she was 86. None of it stole her faith, only enlarged it. Tonight, she spoke warmly of her gratitude to her own parents for their faith and the way they lived it out during the depression years.

We agreed that Christ is the hope of the world, and that as the light flickers during these dark days His light in us is needed more than ever. From the kitchen, where he was preparing the salad for supper, Don overheard our conversation on Skype, and came and spoke to her warmly, emotionally, of his admiration for her amazing fortitude and faith.

It won’t be Mother’s Day in the States for another two months, but I want to celebrate my special mother here and now, while she is still alive, still giving selflessly, still offering words of wisdom and advice. I thank God for my dear Mom, and for the privilege it is to care for her, even from such a distance. She won’t read this, but I trust that she senses my hug and feels my love. I love you, Mom, and owe you such a depth of gratitude.

(Apologies for the cheesy emotions – very un-British I know. Just had to do it while I can. And I am, after all, still American, even after all these years.)

Divine Recipes

 

About to make roasted cauliflower and cashew soup. I love these rich and wonderful kinds of warming soups, and always wonder how anyone develops recipes which take everyday ingredients and blend them into something truly delicious and nutritious.

Life offers such a wide variety of ingredients. I am rich beyond belief in the choices that I have before me. I recognise the poverty of much of the world, where war and deprivation and lack of opportunity deprive so many of any choice at all.

May I truly listen to the voice of the Lord today as he nudges me one way or another, encourages me to pick up one ‘ingredient’ or another in order to make this a day which is truly delicious and nutritious, not just for myself but also for others.

‘This is the way, walk in it,’ God says in the Bible. May we all hear that still, small voice, and obey.

 

Right conditions

 

The two blueberry bushes always look lovely and healthy. But the scanty harvest of small, juiceless berries disappoints.

One languished in the shade of a bigger bush, so we have just transplanted it into a more open border, into ericaceous soil, plenty of water, plenty of sun when it’s out. Here’s hoping…

Spring is a season of hope. But in our garden, it seems to be ‘plant in hope, reap in disappointment’ as we rarely pull in a good crop of anything apart from apples. Maybe blueberries this year.

We all need the right conditions to flower and fruit. Enough water and nourishment, physical and spiritual. Enough light. It’s not always easy to get the balance right. It’s not easy to test the pH of the soil in which we are planted.

I’m continuing to work on weeding out the negativity during Lent. That alone should be a boost to growth…

 

I am the head, not the tail

 

It is only 10 am and already I’ve been told twice that I ‘am the head, not the tail’. (Deut 28:13). As I continue through Lent pursuing a negativity fast, and a positivity (in the Lord) feast, I am encouraged through this verse to really claim that the Lord is in control in our world and our lives today, and that as I remain in Him, I am the head, not the tail. The tail is not wagging the dog, despite all that appears to the contrary.

So in confidence and faith I step out into this new day, eyes on Christ, who has already won the victory. This is his world, which he has redeemed by his blood. We are his people, whom he has redeemed by his blood.

Jesus is Lord. Creation’s voice proclaims it. Hallelujah!

A Knock at the Door?

 

The bread-maker stopped churning. The lights flickered and died.

Another power cut.

A minute later, the lights flashed on again, and the doorbell rang a few times. Insistently, as if an impatient visitor waited outside. What a contrast to the way Jesus comes to a person’s heart.

‘Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.’

Yesterday, at the end of a quiet day of prayer and fasting with a group of fellow believers, we shared communion. It happened that the small table holding the elements was right in front of me, reminding me of a memorable talk at a Cherish conference a few years ago. It was a talk on the 23 Psalm, and the speaker acted out the verses: ‘you set a table before me in the presence of my enemies’. The speaker imagined Jesus sitting with him, on the other side of the table, and spoke of how one’s attention would be focused on him, rather than the enemies circling round about.

Yesterday, after many contemplative hours, I was focused. The distractions which so often whisper and rage were ignored.

I came away filled, refreshed. Thank you, Jesus.

 

Nourishing Food

 

The heavy woodpecker clung to the netting holding the fat balls, pecking hungrily. The netting swayed, pulled down by his weight. Usually, the smaller song birds sweep in, grab on, peck a couple of times and move along, but the woodpecker was obviously enjoying his breakfast, reluctant to let go and share.

In this digital age, we can graze on such a variety of things that feed – or starve or even poison – our minds and our spirits. We can sweep into Facebook or another platform and read a few things the algorithm thinks we’ll enjoy, then sweep out again. More like the woodpecker, though, yesterday I hung on to God’s word for a few hours as I worked on some Bible reading notes, and went to bed well-fed and watered. I slept more than usual, and woke praising the Lord.

Shrove Tuesday today, so I wondered what I should do for Lent this year and in a flash I knew. A negativity fast. With all that’s going on in our world these days, this is going to be a challenge for sure! But I’m excited to see how God can lead me through. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, but I am setting off with a positive attitude that it could be the last time, with God’s help. I pray that he will recalibrate me to the default settings of Jesus, who also lived in testing times!

Enjoy a pancake today!

Cautious or Bold?

 

Look down, and you see the sheen of slippery road surface. Look up, and you see the winter’s sun beaming out of the blue, warming that slick road, slowly, slowly.

So many things in this world are slippery traps. I can walk through the world carefully, the warmth of the Saviour in me bringing a gradual thaw, a welcome healing, a revelation to one walking in darkness and fear. Or I can step boldly and with purpose, trusting the Saviour to keep my steps sure and my path straight.

Either way, he is with me today. And with you. May I be guided into the way which is right for me, today.

Hope does not disappoint

 

The sky is a grey covering, fitting snugly like plastic wrap on a plate. A light wind sometimes gusts into life, then dies back, brushing the bare branches and rustling feathers on the birds which jostle for position at the bird feeders. A light rain drizzles down, sometimes freezing into flurries of sleet, and the ground is slick, demanding a cautious footstep.

February.

Looking at Ezekiel’s vision (47:7-9, 12) this morning and I’m very grateful that the Lord’s promise is that he will renew and restore his creation. The water flows from the sanctuary, bringing life and healing and nutrition. I do my best to reduce my impact on nature, and then I trust the Lord to make all things new.

Responsibility and hope. I carry these into my day and feel encouraged. Whatever the world looks like, God sees the big picture; he is not surprised; he is love and he is able to restore the years the locust has eaten.

Full of praise and gratitude.

Stretching Shadows

 

The early-morning winter sun sits low on the horizon, its beams highlighting the frosty bushes and frozen earth with twinkling sparkles. It casts long shadows and as I walk, I become increasingly aware of my own shadow stretching forward, three times my height.

I stepped outside to walk, carrying with me the January blues: annual American tax admin to attend to for Mom and me, other financial admin that needs attention. God spoke to me from that shadow that loomed in front of me. The actual things which need attention are a fraction of the size I let them assume. When I just get down to it and do what I need to do, I discover it isn’t as onerous as I built it up to be.

How many of our anxieties and concerns loom larger than they are! The size and importance we allow them to assume can intimidate and stall us,  throwing us into the January blues.

So whatever shadow has swelled bigger than its reality, it’s just a misperception. I determine today to keep my concerns the size they really are, dwarfed by the love of God and the truth that he walks this frozen earth with me, loving, guiding and directing my steps. May I be more aware of His shadow accompanying me than I am of any shadow cast by the world’s demands or expectations.

Green

 

‘Isn’t it quiet?’ Mary remarked as we walked along the road. We stopped. Silence.

‘It won’t be like this if the windfarm gets approval,’ I replied, gesturing towards the Hill of Fare, a mile away. A supporter of the desperate need to move forward with green energy production, I oppose this particular wind farm on so many fronts: the hill contains radioactive elements which could damage health if disturbed; there is no infrastructure in place to take the generated power south, where the developer would eventually sell it on to consumers in England and the continent, so the energy will be generated without an outlet; outstanding natural wildlife habitat and recreational areas will be ruined; local roads will require strengthening and widening to carry the giant turbines during construction, and so on. Noise and flash irritation are real, but not the main reasons for my objecting. (www.naefare.com/object-now for more information)

We walked on, pausing again to listen to a birdsong we couldn’t identify and didn’t think we had heard before. It was beautiful. Will we hear it again?

We passed the logged wood, harvested after Storm Arwen devastated it. A visitor once took me on a walk round those woods, many years ago, and identified the songs of 35 species of bird. Thirty-five. Now there is only silence. Their habitat has gone.

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. I am lamenting this morning as I think of the selfish way we live, not husbanding this beautiful planet but just destroying it for our own pleasure, our own gain.

Lord, give us wisdom and grace that we might find ways to live in harmony with the natural world.

Every Cry

 

On the long drive back from Glasgow last night, I was serenaded by humpback whales.

It seems these amazing creatures love to sing. They sing more at night than they do during daylight hours, and they move closer into shore at night. Why? Research suggests that during the hours of darkness, other, smaller creatures which inhabit the deep also like to sing, and there is such a cacophony that the whales, preferring not to compete, move closer to the quieter shore.

Who knew?

In the spiritual realm, there must be a deafening cacophony of prayers rising to our loving Father, and it is so encouraging to know that we don’t have to find a quiet space or time in order for him to hear us. However loud the competition, Jesus hears every joyful whisper of gratitude and every agonised cry for help.

Better Choices

 

Wild, tempestuous winds swept across Scotland last night, bringing down power lines, roofing tiles and trees. This morning, the sky is clear and blue, a light breeze blusters the bare branches, but the gales overnight have calmed here in the northeast.

Life over the last month has been wonderfully wild as we made the most of Doug and Joey’s visit. It swept by so fast, and now we are gathering up the loose ends of the things we dropped.

Life is all about priorities. It’s hard to get them right, but when it comes to hanging with family v anything else, I know where my priority always is.

‘Mary has made the better choice,’ Jesus told Martha, as she bustled round doing all the chores. I’m often like Martha, but I know who I’d like to emulate.

Lord, help me to make the better choice today, choosing to hang with you and let some of the chores go. They’ll still be there tomorrow.

Untamed God

 

The empty bird feeders hang desolate, and the tree is devoid of the avian life that usually brings quiet joy to me as I watch. We’ve run out of wild bird peanuts, and not had time to refill the wild bird seed.

I don’t even see any birds coming to check the feeders. They seem to have given up and moved on.

Sometimes, I act as if the bountiful word of God has run out. I neglect my Bible. I scan a few verses reprinted in a devotional, without savouring them. I move on and go hungry, spiritually hungry.

This morning I lingered, asking God for a word to feed on through the day. Philippians 4:4-7. So familiar, but so rich in nourishment. 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 your minds in Christ Jesus.

Trust. I thank you, Lord, for the bounty of your provision for me, provision in every way, on every level. I thank you for all those I love most dearly, and ask that you would meet each of them at their point of need today, filling them with your Spirit and stilling their anxious thoughts and feelings. I praise you for the Prince of Peace, who keeps hearts and minds safely tucked into himself.

Thank you that your food never runs out, never exceeds a best before date. I am reminded today that you are a wild, untamed God, and that your food may nourish me at an unexpected level. May I savour all you give me today.

Morning Broke White

 

Morning broke, white with frost, twigs and branches stiffly outlined with feathery ice. Shades of grey gave way to roses and pinks as the wintry sun poked above the eastern horizon.

I went out to empty the garbage into the compost bin, and was drawn further out into a short walk, in awe of the beauty of this world, of our Lord’s infinite creativity and delicate details.

I am a warm weather woman, but winter days like today carry a mantle of magic, sweeping me into a level of quiet contemplation and deep gratitude.

I’ve not been posting about life, because I’ve been living it in the fast lane, delighted to gather the 17 of us in our immediate family together for some amazing times of joy and laughter, good food and walks together.

It’s slightly quieter now, but we are still loving the visit from our Australian contingent. Living in the blessed moments while we have them here.

God is so good. My ‘word’ for the year is Trust. In every circumstance, I intend to remind myself that God is faithful. Whatever the challenges the year may hold, I can trust God to keep me safe in his loving embrace.

I know that it’s a work in progress, and I’m excited to see what his plans are for me this year.

May we all grow in faith and trust in 2024, keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus.