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…