Emergency connections

 

Emergency radios. For some reason, my news feed highlighted a recommendation for the five best such radios. That alone was enough to startle me into wondering how prepared we are (not) for some cataclysmic event.

One could become paranoid thinking too much about the ‘what ifs’.

I’m so grateful to have a spiritual emergency radio which doesn’t require batteries or money, but is always charged, giving light and power whenever I turn to God in prayer.

Kefir for the Soul

 

I pour the thick white liquid into a glass, wince just a little and drink. Hmm … not too bad.

Kefir. I’ve heard about it for awhile, about its beneficial properties for repopulating the gut with good bacteria. As more research reveals the connection between the gut bacteria and the functioning of the brain, I’ve toyed with the idea of trying it. As long as my body is still alive, I want my brain to be optimal.

While visiting friends who drink it regularly, I’d had a wee taste. When another friend said she is drinking it regularly, I thought more about it. Then when I read a column written by a woman who tried it for a month and found a boost to her energy levels, I was sold.

So, I’m onto my second bottle of it, second week in. Watch this space.

Of course, you know what’s coming. What constitutes spiritual kefir? What can I ingest daily to maintain healthy functioning of my spiritual heart and mind? Yes, daily reading of the Bible but also following the advice of a psalm I read this morning (46): ‘Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations.’

It’s a promise to cling to and a hope to marinate in when the news of the day is dire. It is in the stillness that my spiritual good bacteria is revived and flourishes. And I don’t have to wince at all to swallow it.

Connected?

 

I lift the receiver of the land line to my ear and am assaulted by crackling, loud and insistent. Two weeks now.

We had been able to make and receive calls, albeit having to shout through the static. But now, after the efforts of three engineers over ten days, we have nothing but the static. No connection. The line has been broken and all communication stopped.

We’ve been advised the job should be completed by Thursday. There are two faults in the underground cable.

Going back a couple of decades, our children used to sing a (rather tedious) song: Prayer is like a telephone. I didn’t like the song much, but the analogy holds up.

Just like the cable establishing our phone connection, lying under dirt and weeds and subject to the vagaries of weather, my connection to God lies buried beneath the ordinary things of life, where it can become buried under activities and responsibilities and subject to the news of the day. I know that persistent soaking in the news of the day can undermine the integrity of my connection to God.

There are times when my connection to Him seems crackly. I struggle to hear His voice. I don’t need to call out an engineer though; the Engineer is waiting, alert to my cry. Instead, I need to wait on Him, trusting that He has not left me and He is listening. Even when the divine line has been degraded by the world, I know that the Lord hears my every cry because He knows my words before I utter them, my thoughts before I identify them.

I am so grateful for the gift of prayer, an unbreakable connection with the Creator of the universe. May my life today be lived as a prayer to my maker, even as I write, shop, and strip wallpaper (ugh…).

Backwards move

We said goodbye to British summer time Sunday morning. And it felt coherent with the autumn winds, which blew wild and brisk, driving clouds of cold rain through our overcast skies. Autumn – maybe even winter – has come.

There ensued the tedious task of moving the clocks back an hour, though technology does its magic on the digital devices. The good thing about setting time back an hour is the extra hour in bed; the bad thing is for the analogue clocks, one has to scroll through 23 hours in order to re-set them.

Perhaps I could just push against the forward march of the tick-tocking mechanism and wind it backwards. Somehow that just doesn’t seem right though. I feel like something could break.

Neither does it seem right for some of the world’s leaders to be choosing retrograde options for development. Justice issues and human rights successes of the past century being undermined as history is rewritten and power is contained by a privileged and prejudiced few.  Environmental protections erased as power grabs for the quick buck. I feel like something could break.

I kneel at the foot of the cross, worshipping the one whose victory over death was won through perfect love. I trust in the one who knows the end from the beginning. The one who loves his creation and his creatures. Who died for his world.

His brokenness on the cross has opened the way for us to enter and live in the kingdom now and forever.

Lord, be exalted in your earth today, in the halls of justice and the offices where power is exercised. When we walk through dark valleys, may we have no fear, knowing that you, our good shepherd, Jesus, are with us always. 

The Grey Bird

 

The Grey Bird Sings, by Dr Karen Price, tells the true story of the inspirational life of a remarkable Chinese Christian woman, Betty Kwan Chinn, who survived unbelievable brutality and tortures at the hands of the Revolutionary Guards during China’s Cultural Revolution. Eventually, still a child, she escaped and has lived a life of selfless service to the marginalised in a city on the California / Oregon border, Eureka.

I am haunted by this woman’s courage and selfless motivation, and her humble service to the poor and outcasts in her city. The terrible suffering she endured has given her empathy and a deep love for others who suffer mental and physical disabilities, who often lack shelter, food and hope. In one moving passage in the book, as she gently washes the filth from the legs of a disabled man, she looks up into his face and sees the face of Jesus. Though she has received many awards and honours, they were never her motivation.

In this world of pride and pain, Jesus’ compassion and love extend through the arms of those who serve him.

May I be alert today to the needs of those in my area, quick to serve and never counting the cost to myself. Make me a channel of your peace, Lord Jesus.

Spirit Decay

 

So, I settled into the prayer window this morning, aware of the fresh taste of clean in my mouth. Having just brushed my teeth, I could feel that nothing that might rot or decay the enamel of these rather elderly teeth remained.

How important it is to keep my inner life scrubbed and clean, free from gripes and grudges that can fester and decay. We all have our preferences and can apply them to our expectations of others. When others fail to fulfil those expectations, it is so easy to allow thoughts to focus on the disappointment, decaying a bit of our own inner life. A cavity develops in our spirit and, if not brought to the Divine Dentist, can deepen and widen, causing more pain and more damage to the person God created us to be.

Lord, may I nurse no disappointments in others today: may all my expectations centre on you and your grace and mercy.

Golden Grace

 

Golden glow.

Yes, the leaves on the trees are in the middle of their seasonal transformation. Oh, how glorious! Greens are fading fast; yellows, russets and golden tones light up the branches as they strain towards the sky, turning trees to vibrant torches.

Across the browning grass, a carpet of these beautiful leaves thickens day by day.

As I walked through the house this morning, I noticed more than just the fall array on the trees and bushes outside: there was a golden glow in the air itself. Somehow the season’s colourful array is reflected in the atmosphere. There was a softness, a splendour, a majestic matte of golden light.

There’s a lot of talk right now about kings and kingship. Images of golden crowns. Misplaced – tragically misplaced.

‘The One enthroned in heaven laughs … then he rebukes them in his anger…Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth.’

The earth is the Lord’s. The heavens declare the glory of the Lord. Even the atmosphere glows with the golden grace and reflects the loving power of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Worship him, and him only.

Bucolic Bliss

 

A picture of bucolic bliss extends into the field surrounding our house this morning. A few brown and white cows stand, necks bent as they graze the grass in the field they entered yesterday. Most of the herd are lying down, contentedly chewing the cud.

There is a rhythm to their ingesting and digesting. A wisdom to it. A peace about it.

It can be tempting to consume news and information constantly, scrolling our news feeds and social media until we have information indigestion.

I have a picture in my mind, a beautiful memory of my dad, sitting in his chair in an evening, having watched some news, read a paper, and then just sitting quietly, ruminating.

I am guilty of checking my To-Do list too often, of being driven to endless activity. I know I’ve posted about this before. Martha, not Mary.

Perhaps I need to add another bullet-point to that endless list. Ruminate.

Lord, may I be attentive to your still, small voice today, taking time to listen, reflect, hear, possibly understand – but at least, trust that whatever mess I and the world are in, you are in it with us. In that understanding, I find peace. Bucolic bliss.

Mayhem and Silence

 

Be still and know.

For a few days, the air bubbled with the joyful voices of children playing, laughing and whooping with delight. The sun shone; the leaves in their glorious array of autumnal beauty hung still. From the garage echoed the pounding of hammer on nail as one grandchild worked diligently to connect two sticks of wood together, for no other purpose except the joy of creating. In the green lane between buildings, other grandchildren rushed to gather slates and rocks and twigs and branches, to lay out a shop and find products to sell us. In the ‘orchard’, one granddaughter climbed the apple tree to pick remaining apples. Down the long drive, one grandchild pedalled the go-kart while another dad ran alongside a six-year-old, showing him how to ride a skateboard. Two others giggled and laughed and twisted and fell while trying to learn to roller skate. In the house, the baby granddaughter giggled and watched, alert to the busyness all around.

Today, six loads of washed sheets and towels later, (and very grateful for the gift of on-going dry and sunny days), I sit in the silence of my prayer window – after moving the binoculars from the seat, abandoned there by the grandson who so enjoys peering through them at the birds and trees.

I reflect on the goodness of God.

The fleeting visit of dear friends from Seattle, friends who shared life with us and raised our children together many years ago when they lived here – was the magnet drawing all our family living round Scotland back to the ‘hillock.

Happy reunions. Shared memories, poignant and joyful. Deep reflections on faith and justice and love. Somehow finding enough beds for 15 one night, 13 other nights.

Beside me, Don, revelling in the joy and sharing in the work. Actually, all the adults beside me over the days, cooking, clearing, cleaning, playing. Happy chatter. Memories.

And always in the mad melee, the shadow of absence, the vacant spaces where some are missing, some who live afar now, in America, in Australia. Some who have already moved into eternity.

The reminder, by their absence, of the wisdom of ‘Carpe Deum’ – seize the day. In this world, in these uncertain times, the future is not clear. We have this moment.

So, I try to live like Jesus, who, because of the joy awaiting him beyond the cross, was able to face the pain and loss of the cross with grace and peace and love.

Lord, help me to live light today, anticipating the eternal joy while embracing today’s joys and sorrows. Help me to focus my eyes on Jesus, so I can live life to the full, with all its inherent joys and sadnesses.

May my every inclination be ones of gratitude, thankful for your everlasting love, grace, mercy…and peace.

Eye of the Storm

 

A good friend had a prayer picture during a time of prayer in Bible study. She was shown a tornado, swirling and wild, throwing all sorts of precious people and things round and round chaotically. The tornado was not hovering across the land but rather was ploughing through layers of ground: first through a man-made layer of concrete/tarmac, then reaching another level which was arid and lifeless, like a desert, and finally it went deep enough to reach fertile soil. The tornado was not stationary; it was moving forward in a definite direction.

Chaos and speed characterise our world these days, and many of our lives. I am so encouraged to be assured by the Lord that although things feel out of control – that relationships might be tense, finances tough, the future uncertain – God is limiting the size of the tornado and it is moving according to his guidance. He has purpose in drilling through the man-made traditions and customs which harden our hearts and stifle our souls. He has compassion in cutting through the layer of disappointment and grief which can leave us feeling empty and despairing.

I am also reminded that in every tornado there is an eye, a still, calm space of peace. In the eye of the storm, we can rest and be renewed and refreshed and reassured: as we remain and abide in Jesus, we can rest in that eye of the storm and even if we don’t feel we’ve gained much perspective, we learn to trust. To trust in the One who is the way, and the truth and the life.

Jesus will reach that fertile soil, the fertile soil in each of our lives. Again, we will rest beside streams of living water. Again, the living water will flow through us, so that we bear fruit for the Kingdom.

I am so grateful for his love, for his guidance, and for the way he uses us as believers to encourage one another as we hear his voice expressing his love in many creative ways.

Praise the name of Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

 

Out of Control

 

I was about 14, spending a weekend in the snow at Big Bear, in the mountains surrounding Los Angeles. I was with the church youth group, and we went tobogganing.

The hillside was steep, ending in a slight ski jump above a gravel lay-by on the roadside. Giant conifers were scattered across its slope. I’d never before been on a toboggan.

My friend Carol had spent a few years on the east coast and knew how to steer a toboggan with her body, leaning one way and then the other, so she suggested riding down with me. I got on first. She accidentally let go.

I took off at speed. Careering downwards, I could have just fallen off to stop myself. Instead, I closed my eyes.

Somehow, I missed the various trees. I didn’t wipe out any other kids on sleds. I made it to the bottom, where I flew upwards before landing with a conclusive thump on the gravelled lay-by. No cars were there and none were coming along the road.

God placed a guardian angel with me on that perilous journey decades ago. He held back any vehicles. I landed unscathed, exhilarated by the thrilling ride. Oblivious to many of the dangers I passed along the way.

Today, global news bulletins, environmental degradations, local events and relationship strife can make life feel out of control, like a crazy toboggan run. I still don’t know how to steer the toboggan. I don’t know what to do in many cases, or how to make a positive difference. But I do know who can make a difference. I do know who rides with me, who is in control, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

I’m not sure if I was actively praying on that crazy toboggan run, but I sure am now. Sometimes my eyes are open; sometimes they are firmly shut. I am putting all my trust in the only one who can keep me safe, who can calm the storms and make all things new. To Jesus be all the praise and worship, all the glory and thanks. He’s still got the whole world in his hands, even if I have to just close my eyes and go with it.

 

Light

 

Let there be light took on a more personal meaning last night. As Storm Amy raged outside, buffeting the trees, breaking branches and scattering dying leaves, the lights flashed and then clicked off last night around 10.

The word from the power company was that they were working flat out, and estimated power would be restored by Monday night at 8 pm. But it’s Saturday morning, I thought. Wow.

So glad to be going down to the prayer breakfast. I always appreciate the prayer times, and today I really appreciated the hot coffee and the plug to charge my phone. Nearly bought a new, big torch, except it was rechargeable and not battery-powered – useless in the circumstances. Glad I left it in the shop, as when I opened the back door, I was greeted by voices from the television, which had been on for the news last night.

Yes! Back in business, but with winds again gusting I am trying to do all my electricity-dependent stuff now. You never know.

I count myself pretty resilient. Daughter of Marines, graduate of Camp Fire Girls. I know how to minimise my needs and get by.

But oh, how lovely to the eye is the steady beam of a kitchen light, and the sound of the electric kettle steaming up for a coffee.

My inconvenience is the way of life for most of the world. I am reminded again of the privilege in my life, grateful for the choices I have, and prayerful that I use what I have to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly and obediently with my God today.

And in the darkness and despair of those for whom such deprivation is the norm, let there be light. Let the light shine in the darkness.

Truth to Power

 

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. Speak truth to power.

Truth to power. Usually I think of a brave soul confronting a political power, or an employer or someone else who is in a position of power over them. This morning that phrase sank deeper into me.

Truth to power. Speak it out. Confront the dark with the light. Speak to the unseen powers of the enemy. Declare the Lordship of Jesus over all the earth. In every thing. In every one.

Give thanks that in everything, absolutely everything, God is always sovereign.

His ways are not our ways.

He is good. He is just. He is Alpha and Omega. He knows the end from the beginning. We see through a glass darkly. He sees clearly. Always.

When a mistake is made in knitting, everything has to unravel back to the mistake before it can be corrected and made perfect.

God is in the unravelling as well as in the knitting.

Thank you Lord, that I can trust you. In all things. All the time. In the good and the bad, the easy and the hard, you are there. I may not understand, but I trust. I believe: help my unbelief.

I step out in faith, hope and trust today, asking Holy Spirit to fill me again, to replenish my empty tank of gratitude and enable me to fully trust.

I give thanks, and as I do, joy begins to bubble deep within. I see reasons for gratitude everywhere.

All is well. All will be well. Jesus is Lord in everything.

Serendipity

 

Carol sent me a picture of herself with Mom, who she visited again yesterday. She sits with her, speaking into Mom’s good ear words of life and encouragement. Mom responds, declaring that Jesus has always been her best friend. At 101, limited in so many ways, Mom isn’t wavering. Praise Him for such a role model. I am truly blessed.

Carol and I only met in June at an ice cream stand near the home where Mom lives now. We recognised the Spirit in each other, were drawn together and though we barely know each other I am sure that our relationship will span eternity.

I met Don over fifty years ago, while checking out of a hotel in Stirling. Here we are, still loving each other after all the ups and downs of life. We know each other well, and I am sure our relationship will also span eternity.

Ours is the God who delights in creating serendipitous situations, where he brings people together who would normally never meet. May I be open and alert to any such situations I encounter today.

Preserving faith

 

Still thinking about apples.

Don helped me the other day to trim the trees and bring in most of the rest of the apples. I’ve given away bags of them. I’ve made another apple cake, apple juice, and apple butter, but yet more bags of apples sit on the kitchen floor.

The clock is ticking. If I don’t find ways to deal with them in a few weeks, they will spoil.

Years ago, Billy Graham came to Aberdeen for a three-night outreach. I was there, (freezing even in June in Aberdeen’s outdoor stadium, Pittodrie). Each night, people poured onto the field after his message, giving their lives to Jesus. The fields were ripe and the evangelist harvested them into taking a public step of commitment to Jesus.

But then what? Billy Graham flew away. Many local churches just sailed on in their customary, traditional way, welcoming new visitors but perhaps not going much further than that. There were some believers who invited the new Christians in to their homes, in to small groups, to disciple them. But I suspect there were not enough of us tending the harvest of new believers, discipling them. Turning them into apple pies, apple butter, apple juice, apple muffins … according to their gifts.

This is an imperfect metaphor I know. Messy with the apples so much on my mind, and messy with young believers who come into faith without knowing much about Jesus.

But as darkness and lies pervade the airwaves and the internet these days, I believe the fields are increasingly ripe unto harvest. Alpha courses are better attended. Teens are serious in their search for truth and life. People are open to the gospel, hungry for God.

May we all be alert to those who are taking tentative steps into the Kingdom, aware that as we come alongside them, the Holy Spirit will guide our witness and our conversations, bringing rich rewards for the world to feed on.  May no one be left languishing untended and undiscipled.

Abundance -

 

Apples in abundance. Apple butter. Apple cake. Apple pie. Apple cider? Apple cheese? Apple juice ?

We have four types of apple tree. Two are small and yield a few delicate, tasty eating apples. The Bramley cooking apple tree is big and loaded, as is the one which I think could be Golden Delicious.

If you want any apples, please speak to me!

Most of the apples are not perfect. Many are spotted, which makes them unsuitable for storing but perfect for using right now. Some have bruises from having fallen; some have brown spots; some have been attacked by wasps.

The fields are white unto the harvest, Jesus tells his friends. But where are the workers to bring it in?

I do not have a gift of evangelism. I become knotted up if I have to explain the finer points of faith. I am more able to write what I believe than to say it. I hope I am living it.

In my lack of confidence, I am prone to excuse and explain my silence as I look at non-believers through a lens of judgmentalism. Perhaps I conclude that they have been so bruised and hurt that they are hardened to receiving my words. Perhaps I think their attitudes and actions reveal an apathy towards the saving grace of Christ. Maybe I suspect that their inner core is so damaged by parasitic worms that it will take more than I can say to bring healing and restoration.

Father, you are the gardener. May I be open to your voice today, alert to your guidance and obedient to your commands to follow you into the fields and reach out to pull in the harvest. May I truly trust you to be enough, to take the little I can offer and transform it into all that is needed.

Jesus declared that he was here to give us the abundant life. As we give ourselves to him, he transforms us. He can take the most bruised of us and make us like apple butter, spicy and warming. He can peel away our spots of injury and neglect and help us become like apple sauce, basic and nourishing for all. He can cut out the wounds inflicted by others and make us sweet like apple pie.

Thank you, Lord, that you have taken my imperfect life and are making me like new.

May my wholehearted trust in you express itself in joyful gratitude which nourishes the spiritually hungry and draws them into your orchard today.

Haunting hymns of heaven

 

We perched on the wooden pews in the cavernous church, listening to Paul Anderson’s virtuosity on the fiddle, astonished at his masterful handling of his instrument, his strong fingers finding precision in drawing the notes out with speed or sweetness. Then his wife Shona’s lovely voice rose and fell with haunting melodies sung by generations of Scots in the northeast and further afield.

My third great-grandfather left Perthshire in 1852 for the USA. Some of these tunes were in circulation in the 18^th century. Before he left. Perhaps Andrew Scobie knew some of them. The Scobies were a singing family. Perhaps Andrew and his wife Jane sang some of them. Maybe they found comfort in them as they adjusted to the rigours of life in Wisconsin.

I’ve lived in Scotland for over fifty years now. I am a dual citizen, but perhaps one’s deepest sense of identity comes from the place of birth and childhood. Changes in the political landscape of the US, as well as revelations of past injustices sanctioned there, have jarred me. I’m not identifying with a lot of what is said and done.

As the Scottish fiddle and voice embraced me last night, I sensed a connection, an older connection perhaps.

And then this morning. Praise the Lord. I sat waiting on his word and he guided me to Romans 8:16. ‘The Spirit of the Lord testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.’

Yes. My connection is solid; my identity is ancient and sure. In this world we will have trouble and tribulation, but we don’t belong to this world. We are aliens here, awaiting the Kingdom of God. We belong to God, with Jesus as our Lord.

Praise him. Praise him for his sacrifice so that on this beautiful autumnal morning I can declare with assurance, ‘I am a child of God. My identity is in Him, and Him alone.’

Nothing can steal that from me.

Overload

 

Overload. A constant drip-drip diet of news and information hardens my heart and grows my appetite to congratulate or condemn, to judge among the nations and the leaders and those who follow.

Judge not, Jesus commanded. Don’t judge others, because the way you judge them is the way you will be judged. Leave it up to the Lord.

I’m finding this tough.

May I increase my diet of Scripture today, Lord. May I seek your face; may I search for the signs of grace and mercy in those I meet. May I, like the child Jesus, grow in grace and truth. Renew my mind by the transforming power of your Holy Spirit, that my default reactions, thoughts and emotions, are those of Jesus, and not those of my own base humanity.

May I nurture my relationships today, Jesus, taking care of those I know and love, learning from you, the seeker of the lost and hurting. In my personal relationships, I can make a difference, however small. Thank you, Lord.

Soften my heart and deepen my hope: the expectation that you, o Lord, will enable and empower me to be all that you want me to be in this day.

Priorities

 

I sat holding the wee baby who had finally fallen asleep. She wasn’t feeling well, maybe a virus coming on, and just couldn’t settle. All around me was strewn the detritus of a busy young family. Clothes at various stages of the laundering process were piled in baskets awaiting attention. Other things needed doing.

‘The poor you will always have with you,’ Jesus told the crowds.

Those laundry piles can wait. They will always be there.

I don’t have that many opportunities to nurse a wee granddaughter, sit in peace in the sunshine coming through the windows, and cover them all in a blanket of prayer.

I am blessed.

 

Sit with Me

 

The door clicked shut behind me. I looked around the transformed room, one which I had helped to lay out the day before, when it was just a church meeting room, but in which now, as I stood in it alone, I was embraced by peace in my deepest being.

The door on the world would remain closed to the world for the hour I had booked the prayer room. The first time I went in, I had a plan. I had a prophetic word which had been spoken over me which I wanted the Lord to further unpack for me. I went to the art table and listened as I doodled.

During that week, I ran to the prayer room five times. Ran. Eager to meet with the Lord again. Every time, I encountered God in a different way. Every time, I was enriched and comforted, refreshed and encouraged. Strengthened for whatever lies ahead.

I confess that I am a Martha, desperately grasping to be a Mary. Surrounded by a big house and garden, a big family, a big group of friends … I am easily distracted out of my prayer window and back into the fray.

The prayer room gave me space and time and no distractions. The different stations invited me into various ways of contemplating God, looking at my journey with him, crying out and longing for and sitting silent.

I want to know the permission … the delight … of the Lord, to linger in my prayer window. I want to grow blind and deaf to the untidy house (well, that’s an easy one), food to cook, tasks to be done. Not permanently, but for an hour every day and not just the fifteen minutes I usually carve out with one eye on the diary.

I hear the Lord sighing. ‘Michele, Michele, you are easily distracted. You are worried and upset about many things, but only one is needed. Choose the best way to live. Choose to linger with me, listening, learning, loving.’

May I take this word seriously and apply it. May my longing to sit with Jesus overpower any other senses of duty and responsibility, distraction and call.

The Inner Eye

 

‘I’m not much good at imagining how that little swatch of fabric will look spread all over a reupholstered chair,’ I said to Mo, who we’ve turned to for help in re-covering some old furniture.

My mom always knew exactly what sort of lamp she wanted for one of the corners of her living room, and she waited until she found it. I never know what I want until there’s a lamp there, for instance, and then I know if I like it or not.

I’d love to have a creative inner eye.

Yesterday, riding in a bus up to the Braemar Gathering, I daydreamed out the window. I’m made in God’s image: the creator God. The One who created everything out of nothing. I’m made in his image. I must have some imaginative creativity inside me … I’d love to be able to see what’s not there, as if it were.

So I prayed. Lord, help me to see what is not there. Help me to imagine how that chair will look covered in those various swatches of fabric we have chosen to consider.

We snaked our way through the purple heathers of Scotland in September, approaching Braemar, and suddenly I found myself expanding that prayer to life events – globally, individually.

Lord, help me to see what is not visible to the human eye. Help me to see what is really going on. In 2 Kings, Elisha’s servant was terrified as they were surrounded by a hostile army. Elisha asked God to open his servant’s spiritual, inner eyes. His servant then saw what Elisha did – that they were protected by God-sent horses and chariots of fire.

Lord, in these days of deep fakes, of lies from the mouths of leaders, may I discern what is really going on. Show me your power, Lord, and give me a vision of the truth.

May none of your sincere followers be duped by the enemy. May we live with eyes wide open to the truth of who you are and what you are doing in these days.

Punching through the sin that entangles

 

Stretched between the thorny spikes of the gorse in the fallow field, intricate spider webs shimmer in the morning sun, their lines picked out in overnight dewdrops. They resemble a field of trampolines, tempting the unwary flies and insects to land, and then be caught by the wily spiders.

In my mind’s eye, I see an empty wooden cross, anchored in the soil beneath but stretching, breaking through the network of sticky webs, soaring through clouds overhead into the beautiful blue of beyond.

The cross of Jesus, anchored in the

righteousness of God, punctures and perforates the sin that so easily entangles us, lifting us soaring into the heavenlies where we can sit in Jesus at the Father’s right hand.

I am so grateful that no schemes of the enemy are beyond the power of God to shred. I am so grateful for the mercy and grace of the Lord who loves his world so much that he was willing to be sacrificed for our sakes. How can I not be filled with joy and thanksgiving, even in this time of turbulence and uncertainty?

Praise to King Jesus, who died for the sins of us all.

Nothing is Wasted

 

Nothing is wasted.

The field is reduced to stubble. Round bales of straw line up like children outside a classroom, like sports fans outside a stadium, like concert-goers outside a venue. The bales all look alike, and yet each one will be unique in some way.

The crop – barley, I think – has been taken away to be used, and these straw bales are the left-overs. They will be useful to the farmer during the coming winter. Nothing is wasted.

May I, too, be a good steward of whatever I am in charge of today. Right now, it looks like my time. May I make good use of the spare minutes between one appointment and another, not scrolling mindlessly but looking up in wonder and awe at the majesty of the Almighty God.

In Him, nothing is wasted.

Re-setting the spiritual vagus nerve

 

The pop-up sauna was in a purpose-built gypsy caravan, situated in a quiet industrial landscape. Outside sat three barrels of icy water. Mhairi enthusiastically coached me to soak in the sweltering heat of the sauna for ten or so minutes, and then emerge into the open air to plunge into one of the barrels of cold water.

You have to submerge all the way to the base of your skull, she advised, because you want the icy water to reach your vagus nerve. That will have the effect of resetting your whole nervous system.

Hmm. I’m not sure I would know if my nervous system had a reset, but in fact, the experience was more pleasant than it sounds and I slept better that night than I normally do.

A week of 24/7 prayer commences in our church buildings on Monday. A team will gather on Sunday to set up the designated room with prayer stations, offering a variety of foci designed to stimulate contemplation, adoration, petition, penitence – whatever the participant needs and wants.

This is an opportunity to reset a weary spiritual system, exhausted with the ways of the world and struggling to find beauty and peace.

There is no need for coaching. Jesus invites us, ‘Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’ Yes, we can come to him all the time wherever we are, but there is something special about going into a room set up as a trysting place to meet the lover of our souls. I anticipate that it will hit the vagus nerve of my spiritual system, so I have signed up multiple times.

I am eager and longing for that deep refreshing found only in Jesus’ presence.

Free at Last

 

I handed the box of Lego to the staff member in the self-checkout area. She pressed her device into the button securing the straps that prevent it from being opened. The straps were released and dropped off, and she handed the box back to me.

I noticed the security guard watching that I did then, indeed, pay for it.

Jesus is such a ‘device’. As I lean into Jesus, as I press my heart to his heart in submission and love, resurrection power blasts from his heart into mine and releases me into absolute freedom for all eternity.

Jesus paid the price to release me into freedom forever. At the cross, he paid the full price for my sins, even as the enemy looked on, vanquished forever.

In Jesus, all bondage breaks. The straps, the chains, fall away: the negative comments spoken over me, the destructive aggressions done to me, the perceived threats and fears for the future: all fall away as my heart aligns fully with the heart of Jesus, my Saviour.

I am set free to worship him in spirit and in truth. I am set free to walk in love and hope. I am released to live in peace and the assurance that whatever is going on right now, in the end, all is well, all manner of things shall be well.

So once again, I align my heart with my Saviour’s. Freedom!

 

Sabbath Restoration

 

Wee Joni lay on her back on the mat, kicking her legs, studying her hands in awe and amazement, learning about herself and her world. I leaned in, delighted to be with her again: I hadn’t seen my youngest grandchild for awhile and as babies do, she had changed massively.

As I chatted quietly to her, her bright eyes fixed on my face and her face became a smile of joy and delight. She cooed quietly, noises new to her coming from her larynx, almost surprising her. Joy rose within me.

As I gazed in delight at Joni, she gazed back in delight at me.

Our heavenly Father tells us that we need to build a sabbath pause into our week, not for his benefit, but for ours. As we rest in his presence, as we lie back and gaze into his face, we plug ourselves into the source of light and love and life and laughter and are renewed and refreshed and restored.

Like Joni gazing up into my face, we can delight in the Lord and he will renew our strength. And like me gazing into the face of this precious granddaughter, the Father delights in us.

May I totally embrace this truth and live it more fully in the rhythms of my weeks. This is what I want to do with my one precious life: I want to be fully surrendered to the Father so that his image shines his healing light into this dark and hurting world. Help me, Lord, to live in constant communion with you today and always.

 

The Cross is Crucial

 

As I focused my mind’s eye on the cross, the vertical beam shone brightly. It drew my thoughts to the foundational importance of nurturing a living, loving relationship with Jesus, heaven to earth, divine to human, anchored in the Rock of Ages.

My loving relationship with Jesus, in whom I abide, needs to be well-established in order for me to be able to extend my arms horizontally and draw in those around me.

The Cross says it all.

Lord, may my relationship with you, Jesus, deepen today, so that I rely on you for everything, and can extend your limitless love to those I meet and for whom I pray today.

Dry, oh so dry

 

I am often amazed at the natural blindness I have to familiar landscapes. A couple of days ago I noticed that a potted apple tree was drooping alarmingly. Why was I so surprised? It’s not really rained for days, and the sprinkling of water I’ve given the garden is obviously not enough. It was oh, so dry.

Holding the hose over the pot, I let the slow stream of water soak the thirsty earth. I left it running a few minutes, so that the roots would be refreshed right to the bottom.

Today, the leaves have perked up, almost cheerfully, enjoying the summer weather while being refreshed and restored.

Many years ago, while praying with a much younger friend, she declared these words from Isaiah over my teenage children: ‘For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants. They will spring up like grass in a meadow; like poplar trees by flowing streams.’

Declaring these words over all who droop and feel a limpness in their lives, all who ‘travail and are heavy-laden’ today, all who are dry, oh so dry: May the Lord refresh you with his love, his joy, his peace and his hope. May you sink your roots deep into Jesus, abiding in him, the water of life. May you spring up like a poplar tree by an ever-flowing stream.

I sense that might apply to most of us in these times.

The Overcoming God

 

A ship sank off the coast of India, Don tells me, taking with it a cargo of billions of small plastic beads, which will wreck the marine life in the area. Cheery, starting the day with that bit of news…

Well, I counter as I emerge from the prayer window: the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. For God, nothing is impossible. Ocean clean-up; peace in war zones; overthrowing of tyrants and disease, hunger and deprivation.

The news is generally dire these days, but I am going to praise the Lord of heaven and earth, who loves us and gave his life for us. Not in an air-head way, but in a deliberate act of faith in our loving and faithful Lord, who is the Alpha and the Omega, who has redeemed this earth from the tyranny of the enemy oppressor.

I believe in God the Father; I believe in Christ his Son; I believe in the Holy Spirit: my God is three-in-one. I believe in the Resurrection; I believe Jesus will come again. Why? How can I believe this? Because I have experienced his love, his mercies, his grace and his peace: he transformed my life. I know who I believe in.

And so I declare his praises this morning. Whatever my feelings about the state of the world, I believe in the loving faithful God, full of grace and truth and mercy and forgiveness.

Happy Endings

 

The paper is coarse, many pages marked with age spots. The cover is thick and heavy, conveying a sense of timeless permanence. The illustrations, despite their own age spots, are delightful, depicting an age which carried its own weight of darkness and injustice.

Fragile with homesickness, I purchased this first edition of Dickens’ David Copperfield for £9 over fifty years ago in Shrewsbury, which I was rather aimlessly visiting during the Christmas break from Stirling University, where I was an exchange student. Nine pounds was a lot of money to me, so the purchase was an impulsive self-indulgence. I have treasured it over the decades, but although I studied Dickens at uni and have read David Copperfield at least a couple of times, I had never read that first edition copy.

So I am reading it now, savouring the delicious descriptions of characters both appealing and revolting. I’ve been pacing myself, limiting my reading to a couple of chapters at a time to avoid the temptation to pick up speed to reach the denouement. With Dickens, the many incredible coincidences can be forgiven and even relished because of the beautiful detail of the story. Now, after weeks of working through it, I am approaching the end, anticipating the joy of seeing the sweep of this epic story tied up with a red ribbon, culminating in a happy ending despite the many sorrows along the way.

Perhaps we are all fragile with homesickness these days, living in a world increasingly dark and threatening, full of misery, injustice and insecurity. This is one of those moments to invest in a deep dive into the Scriptures, also full of vivid descriptions of villains and normal people who make mistakes, as well as heroes who trust God despite all the odds: Moses, Abraham, Peter and Paul. It is a story of which we are all a part, in which we are invited to see ourselves more clearly in the light of our perfect Saviour. A story which is also full of amazing coincidences (haven’t I experienced so many in my own life?) and which is – will one day be – tied up with the most amazing red ribbon of all: the redemption of the whole world by our loving Lord Jesus Christ.

I walk out into this beautiful day with a song of thanksgiving in my heart…looking forward to those final forty pages of David Copperfield later this afternoon!

Chicken or Eagle?

 

‘Chicken in the garden!’ one of the twins yelled. We all rushed out to encourage this feathered visitor back over the wall into her own garden.

We rushed hither and thither, the three children and me. I got close, reached out, nearly had her, then hesitated when I saw her beak, and she bustled off, all feathers and fluster and squawks.

Don came out, approached the chicken from the front and as he leaned in as if to pick her up, suddenly revealed an egg in the hand he had outstretched beneath her.

‘Oh!’ he shouted to the three children. ‘Look! An egg!’

The children roared with laughter. ‘She laid an egg!’ One child was so excited and laughing so hard she wet herself, which made us all laugh all the more. In the midst of our hilarity, the chicken decided it was time for a sharp exit and got herself back over the fence into her home yard.

I took the cold egg from Don, noticing the stamp, and returned it to the fridge.

Fun being married to a clown.

‘…those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles…’

Mhairi has often challenged, ‘Be the eagle, not the chicken.’

Wise words. Who would be the chicken?

This day, Lord, may I soar on wings like eagles, strength renewed as I fully trust in the Lord. I put all my hope in Him, trusting Him for issues both global and individual.

 

Cherry Carpet

 

We couldn’t reach them to harvest, but we should have spread tarpaulins under the ‘geen’ (wild cherry) trees that line our driveway. Storm winds stripped the branches and threw the over-ripe but still juicy black cherries down to give the driveway and grass verges a dose of cherry pox. I dragged the empty dustbins back to the house, unaware – until I was in the middle of the carnage – that  those cherries would stain my shoes and threaten our floors. I spent awhile afterwards with a toothpick to dig out the squashed fruit, and water to wash off the black juice.

With visiting children scheduled for this morning, Don and I were outside yesterday sweeping and hosing off the vibrant black smashes before they could stain kids’ shoes and transfer inside.

(I know, this is why it’s a good idea for everyone to leave their shoes at the door. A habit we never developed.)

Such a shame we couldn’t have harvested more of those sweet cherries for jam, pies, ice cream …

Lord, may I bear fruit today that enriches lives, warms hearts, feeds minds, reveals your abundant love and provision for all of your children. May I be willing to humble myself, to bend down and reach out to those whose struggles blind them to the sweet provision you offer. May I reach out to those I read about and offer a word of encouragement, a hand of friendship, an assurance of the love of God.

Don’t let me cling on to the gifts you give me, until time spoils and storms batter those gifts and render them useless.

The gifts are for the healing of the nations. Thanks be to God.

A Lone Pine

 

A lone pine.

We’d heard the saws, the roaring engines. Seen the signs warning of dangers because logging was underway. When silence returned, I took a walk.

The familiar path, familiar over forty-five years of treading, was still there, but suddenly I was lost. The road split, but not where I expected: the curtain and fabric of trees was gone. Years of building dens with children and grandchildren, of engineering and damming puddles and ditches, erased. I didn’t recognise the terrain.

With a shock, I recognised that the apocalyptic landscape now piled high with tree trunks was our former playground. I stood in silence in the late afternoon sun, mourning the loss. Those trees bore witness to so many heartfelt prayers poured out by me. Prayers of grief and sorrow. Prayers of petition and desperation. Prayers of joy and celebration. Prayers of peace.

A place of exploration for the kids – just weeks ago three of our grandchildren found badgers’ dens there. Where have they gone, I wonder, those homeless badgers?

Then I saw the tree, alone and askew. It must have stood at the edge of the forest, its outer half reaching out to sunlight and warmth, its inner half stunted by shadow and other trees. It stands deformed, rooted but unbalanced, incomplete.

I had been reading the obituary of a pastor who had very strong views about certain aspects and branches of Christian teaching and expression. Perhaps he had remained rooted in Jesus, but his experiences or teaching skewed his growth so that he flourished on one side, while stunted on the other.

Lord, may I receive from you and you alone, so that I remain rooted and abiding in Jesus, spreading his branches of love and light, mercy and grace, in all directions, providing shade and sanctuary on all sides. Where my understanding and growth have been stunted, bring your healing restoration, I pray.

Come alongside

 

They put on old clothes, donned gloves and headed into the barn to load the trailer with its fourth load for the dump. They dragged heavy window frames, lighter louvred doors and kitchen cupboard doors into the light, brushed them down and took pictures so we could put them up on some platform and find them a new home. They strimmed and cut grass, dug out overgrown plants and weeds, swept the drive and more … all the while smiling and responding to the requests and demands of three active children.

They came alongside us and picked up some of the jobs we were struggling to keep up with.

Love in action. We are both so grateful, and so encouraged. Thank you, Jamie and Chrisie.

Jesus invites us to be harnessed into the same yoke as he is, so that he can bear the burden of the pull. It’s not always easy to accept offers of help. We like to be independent: my parents used to tell me that as a young child I often refused offers of help with an impatient, ‘I can do it!’

Sometimes we can’t do it on our own. Usually we can’t, though we struggle on stubbornly.

Jesus welcomes us: Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will refresh you.

Who isn’t weary these days? Who isn’t heavy-laden – both personally and in a world-weary way?

Lord, I come to you today, and offer you my ‘to-do’ list. Please scratch off those things which aren’t important, and help me to buckle in beside you to accomplish the rest. I am so grateful to have such a divine helper. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, my helper and my friend, my saviour and my Lord.

God is Everywhere

 

I slipped into my prayer window after a busy time preparing food for some of our family, who will arrive soon. I sensed a sigh of relief. The chicken is bubbling. The jellies are setting in their moulds. The cake for the pre-birthday celebration rests in the cake saver. With an hour to spare.

I started the timer for the five minutes – paltry, I know – which I mark out for listening particularly to God’s voice to me. I sensed his welcome, and his whisper that he loves it that I have a special place set aside to encounter him, but that, in fact, he is no more present in that prayer window than he is in the kitchen, the garden, or the garage. It is me that is more present in that special place.

Lord, as I anticipate a busy, happy weekend, may I also anticipate catching your eye in the eye of loved grandchildren, of hearing your chuckle in the good-humour of loved son and daughter-in-law, of being stilled and consoled by your love I see in the eyes of Don. May I sense your presence amongst the livestock at the Banchory Show. May I see your exuberance in the competitors in the highland dancing. May I sense your joy in the dogs and their owners in the dog show.

Lord, I praise you for this whole world, which you have so lovingly created down to the tiniest detail. I love you, Lord. May your love and peace flow through me to all those I meet today.

Tall ships and small decisions

 

Exotic flowers trumpet from the six courgette plants I’ve got growing outside my bedroom window. Baby courgettes lengthen imperceptibly. One courgette has reached a stage to be cut and eaten – I think. I’ve not grown these before. I am not quite sure when to harvest, when to leave.

I do know that if I leave them too long, they will swell into marrows (squash), and the taste will change, will not be so delicate, so delicious.

This is one tiny decision to be made in my life, today or tomorrow. A decision which I trust will be guided by someone who knows more than I do. Yes, maybe a gardening friend, but also perhaps the divine gardener himself can guide me into the right course of action.

We are heading into Aberdeen to see the Tall Ships. We go with some misgivings. We’ve changed our minds about taking the bus, reasoning that it might entail more walking than we are up to. More walking in the rain, which is forecast. We are pulling the plugs on all our internet and telephone stuff before leaving the house, in case the thunderstorms in the forecast arrive while we are away. Been there – done that – having holes blown in motherboards by a direct hit, telephones disabled by power surges.

Every day involves decisions major and minor. Lord, would you guide my every thought, word and action today and every day. So grateful that Jesus is my ever-present companion, his Spirit in me my guide and advisor. May I listen well and obey, today and every day.

PS (I couldn’t post because Don had already pulled the internet plugs…we had a great day. Praise the Lord!)

Deep Fakes

 

Deep fake.

An IT professional (Doug) mentioned that he is preparing for a presentation and will speak about the dangers of taking things at face value, ‘even your own identity’.

It strikes me that humanity has struggled with deep fakes since the beginning, when the enemy slithered into the mind of Eve and insinuated that maybe God wasn’t who he said he was. Maybe he wasn’t as truthful as he made himself out to be. Maybe it would be better to take things into her own hands, and bite that piece of fruit.

I often think of the irony of Pilate standing face to face with Jesus – ‘I am the way and the truth and the life’ – and asking ‘What is truth?’. He didn’t recognise it even when Truth stood right in front of him.

Lord, I fear the insidious spread of AI and what that might mean for humanity, and yet Deep Fakes have been active in our midst since the beginning. This day, please open my eyes to recognise Deep Fakes when I see them. Open my heart, my mind, and my spirit to welcome, recognise and live by the truth. I love you, Lord, and I know all things are possible with you, and that in my weakness you are strong, so this you can do. I need not fear, just have faith. Amen.

Trust

 

Technology may be great, but I for one would find life less stressful without the pressure to keep up to date with security formats, changing Windows platforms, laptops which still feel new but somehow are deemed antique and need replacing.

Despite assuring God I would remain in his peace as I made an overseas call (without Skype anymore, so I hear the clock ticking…), I felt anxious as I dialled the number of a US bank to give some information which was needed.

Anna picked up within a minute, and I was off the phone in five minutes. Easy.

Help me to trust in your promises, Lord. I had just read Psalm 55:17: Morning, noon and night I cry out in my distress, and the Lord hears my voice. May that assurance sink into my very being, Lord.

Our God is an awesome God. Nothing is too big for him, nor too small. So grateful for his grace, mercy and love.

 

Stir it up!

 

I sit in the silence of my prayer window, waiting on the Lord. Suddenly the bread-maker’s paddle rotates, pauses, rotates, pauses, and rotates again.

Wind, wind, blow on me. Fan the flame of faith in my soul, in the depths of my being. Let faith arise. I sense his presence.

Abandoning the sporadic bursts of rotation, the bread-maker launches into a continuous motion, mixing and warming the ingredients to just the right temperature to make the yeast begin to stir to life and raise the bread.

May I follow my Lord Jesus so closely today that I catch the fragrance wafting from his presence. May I not flag nor pause, be distracted nor diverted, but keep in step with wherever he takes me, physically or spiritually. May my every word drip with the honey of the Kingdom; may my look reflect the love of Christ for his world; may my actions bring peace and joy to any who observe me.

I can do nothing in my own strength. In Christ I can do everything. I will not be overwhelmed by the news. I will keep my eyes on my Saviour, keep my heart beating in rhythm with his, and allow him to keep hope alive and joy strengthening.

Stay Close

 

People might think I never wash my hands.

I’ve spent several hours so far, picking and then stoning cherries. Fingernails are now stained with the juice of red and black cherries.

In a rush to pit all the cherries so I could loan the cherry-pitter to a friend, I forgot to insert the critical piece, a tiny rectangular bit of plastic with a cross cut into the middle of it. I couldn’t understand why the cherries were falling through the hole and not just the cherry pits. I resorted to a former method – using a straw, until Don came through and asked innocently, ‘Don’t you need this?’ Of course. That tiny bit of plastic with the cross cut in the centre, big enough to allow only the unwanted cherry pit through into the discard box. Crucial.

How often do I struggle to remove the hard inner bits of my own character, instead of coming to the Cross and letting the Lord do it for me? Rather than reforming my character in my own strength, with all its limitations, help me this day, Lord Jesus, to bring those things which defeat my godly aspirations to the Cross. Help me to follow you so closely that those godly character traits – the fruits of the Holy Spirit living in me –  begin to stick to me, without my being even aware.

My yoke is easy, you said, Jesus. My burden is light. Praise the Name of Jesus.

Tears of heaven this rainy Fourth

 

On this cool and rainy 4^th of July in northeastern Scotland, I pray in tears, asking the Lord to reawaken compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience within the hearts of all who call themselves Christians and yet voted and approve of the heartless bill which has just been signed into law in the USA.

It is in a somber mood that I greet this 250^th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Lord, have mercy on us all.

I read Paul’s admonition and instructions to the Colossians (3:12-17) and petition the Lord, to fill me again with his Holy Spirit to enable me to live to such a high standard of empathy and compassion, but also to change the hearts and minds of those in leadership positions in many countries in the world right now.

I am so thankful for the Lordship of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful that He is the loving Creator God who knows the end from the beginning and who is in ultimate control. I am so humbled that He has called me into a close walk with Him, and so eager for others to hear and respond to His call for them. Today, Lord, open eyes and ears and hearts and minds today, I pray.

King of Kings

 

King of Kings, Majesty, God of heaven living in me.

Those words from a heart-stirring praise song of a few years ago are in my head today. I just want to praise and worship the one who is above all, who has the words of eternal life, who gives me his comfort and his strength and his courage today.

May the true King make himself known in new ways to us all as we go through this day, these days. What would Jesus do? May we do the same.

June 14, 2025

I always wince

 

I always wince when the needle goes in. Because a health condition requires regular blood tests, I should be used to it. But I’m not. I always wince.

But despite the wince, I am so grateful that I have the rare (in this world) luxury of affordable health care. Free at the point of need. Because of the NHS, I don’t need to languish beside the road, waiting for a generous Samaritan to stop and help me.

I am so grateful to live in a country which prioritises help for all over help for the few, for the entitled, for the wealthy. All over the world, in some of the most surprising places, the poor and the marginalised have no hope, no help.

May God bless the NHS today. May he bless administrators with insight and common sense; may he encourage all the nurses, doctors and other staff. Just as he fed the five thousand + from five loaves and two fish, may Jesus stretch the money available, to enable shorter waiting lists and less pressure on local GP surgeries.

 

 

 

No Turning Back

 

‘Can we turn back now,’ Mary said softly. ‘I’m puffed.’

Our twice-weekly walks to the end of the road and back are not happening as regularly, and when they do, she often tires before we reach the road-end.

The Lord is calling each of us on, to follow him along the path he has chosen which is just right for us. I need to keep fit for the walk, reading and meditating and praising God daily. The path he calls me along is not as straight and even as our little road. There are twists and turns, hills and dips and valleys, challenges – some surprising, some expected. I don’t want to flag, to give up, to turn round. I want to finish the race well.

No turning back.

So grateful that Jesus is with me always, even til the end of the world.

No Rain

 

No rain for over four weeks left the garden dry as dust. Friable, though, not hard-caked. I slipped through some of the weeding with ease. The plants growing in the wrong places were lifted out with a quick flick of the hand trowel, carrying no soil on their roots. Perfect.

We had a day or two of intermittent rain. Still the soil remained dry beneath a skim of damp earth. Still easy to weed.

More rain. A couple of downpours. Another hour of weeding, this time amongst Don’s tatties. The weeds lifted easily enough but now they brought with them a blob of earth.

It got me to thinking this morning. If I don’t soak in the Word of God, in the presence of Jesus Christ, regularly, my roots in Him become disengaged, less able to cling into the matrix of the Kingdom. My faith can shrivel, even die.

Also, if I weed out the nefarious seeds of the enemy quickly, he cannot take root and stunt my faith. But if I allow the wrong rainfall to soak my thinking – the media, the news, gossip – my default thoughts and reactions will reflect fear and doubt rather than trust and faith.

May I keep my spirit clean and weed-free, Lord, so that I may really be refreshed daily in Jesus, able to grow and produce good fruit for the many starving souls all around me.

Clear skies

 

I sat gazing out of an east-facing window in the early morning. Rivers of light striped the clouds, which swirled in varying shades of grey. One of the strings of light opened into a window, a porthole exposing the bluest of skies beyond. The low-lying cloud rolled on but the circle of blue remained, and I noticed that on a higher plane altogether there was a swipe of white cloud which didn’t move, which stayed put far above.

I live on the level of the swirling rivers. Life happens. Even when in a ‘river’ of plenty and joy, I am affected by the fast-moving darker situations and events. It can be easy to be swept along and lose sight of what is true, right, noble, good, pure, lovely and admirable, distracted by the aggressions, lies, hatred and ugliness I see.

Usually I think of Jesus as the rock on which I stand, and the vine in whom I abide, (or try to), but I also lift my eyes to the skies and imagine him there as the unmoving swipe of purity high above, never changing, always loving, always encouraging.

I am so grateful for the love of Jesus Christ, for his sacrifice, his mercy and grace to me. The clouds have largely broken up and cleared now, and I step out into my day. Have a blessed one.

Returns

 

The sun on my back, warm and welcome: I bent over to weed a flower bed and plant some dahlias. Above me, a pair of swallows squabbled noisily as they flitted round the nest they make annually in the apex of the roof eaves. I’m assuming it was a quarrel as it was so loud and insistent, but perhaps it was loving excitement over the coming brood to be laid in that nest.

We love the swallows that return every year. So tiny (yet noisy…), such vibrant colours and the joy of watching them swoop in and out of the garage and caper during the evening (probably feeding is a better description of what they’re doing).

Consider the birds of the field, Jesus advises. They don’t store up but depend on God’s daily provision for them.

We had another blessed re-connection yesterday, as a now-grown son who we sponsored through Tear Fund found me on Facebook and got in touch. What a delight. What a blessing, to know he is doing well, married with family. It’s as though he migrated back here after twenty-two years to renew this long-distance relationship. God is good.

I love the way God knits us together, across regions, across generations, across cultures. May the Lord open our hearts today to receive all the richness he has for us. May we live in utter dependence on his loving-kindness, resting in his peace and not worrying about the future.

Hope for the future

 

For thirteen weeks, my sister Judy and I had hitch-hiked our way around Europe. It was 1970; she was 21 and I was 19. It wasn’t exactly ‘Race across the World’, but in those days pre-mobile phones, pre-credit cards for students, we were dependent on the cash we had with us in the form of traveller’s cheques, and largely out of touch with our parents apart from the occasional letter we picked up in poste restante in the American Express offices of big cities.

Our bible was Arthur Frommer’s ‘Europe on $5 a day’, and some days we managed it on even less. It was an amazing summer, but by the end of our trip we would occasionally lock eyes and say, ‘It’ll be nice to get home and let Dad take care of us.’

I’m so grateful for the amazing time we had and the once-in-a-lifetime experiences from hitch-hiking, where we got to speak to the ‘locals’ in every country we visited. We met some fantastic people. We also took a couple of lifts from some dodgy characters, and possibly came nearer to disaster than we were aware. By the end of it all, we were tired.

There is something about the hug of a loving dad. The protection and security he offers. A good dad will know what to do. We can lean in and be safe.

That memory came to me this morning in church as we prayed. I read too much news yesterday. Too much detail about nuclear war. Everything around me felt uncertain and shaky. What to do to prepare for any eventuality?

Then Tony preached on Jeremiah 31. ‘The people who survive the sword will find grace in the wilderness,’ ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love.’ ‘There is hope for your future.’

Lean in. The Father has promised never to leave nor forsake us; he gives grace in the wilderness, loving us with an everlasting love. Hope for the future.

Now I get to go to the baptism of nine young people, eager and ready to declare their love for and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ as their Saviour. Hope for the future indeed.

 

Wordless speech

 

Very pastoral musings lately. Walking with my neighbour, we paused at the field of cows and calves. Our presence drew some of them to the fence, where they eyed us curiously, once or twice raising a front leg and stamping it down.

Don’t you hurt my baby, I imagine they were thinking.

God is speaking to us in all sorts of ways all the time. Through his word, the Bible, through his whispers in our minds, through his assurance in our spirits, through nature, circumstances, friends …. In every way he longs for us to hear and heed him.

Take me deeper into you, today, Lord Jesus, that I learn to see, hear, read and dream with discernment.

Falling from Above

 

Trees fan their branches high above my drying whirligig. They have grown and extended their arms silently, unnoticed. Yesterday, bringing in the many sheets which had dried beautifully in the sunshine, I noticed the effect of these overhanging branches: they provide resting places for the many pretty birds darting here and there round the property. And from that resting place, their droppings fall.

Hmm. Branches now too high for me to lop them off, I will just have to minimise the time the clothes spend out there! I gave the wee birds a talking-to as I hung out the re-washed sheets just now.

‘In this world, you will have trouble,’ Jesus declared to his friends and to us. ‘Take heart: I have overcome the world.’

Many things we do in life, we go into with high hopes and enthusiasm. Sometimes they work out. Sometimes, despite all the auspicious signs, something spoils all our plans. Words contaminate; actions lacerate and we can slump, let down and discouraged.

Take heart, Jesus encourages us. I have overcome the world.

At the cross, he overcame the evil one, paid the price for our sins and after three days, rose to sit at the right hand of the Father in heaven. He sees whatever is going on in my life today and he says, ‘take heart!’ What an encouragement! What a Saviour. So grateful.

You are seen

 

You are seen, God assures each one of us.

Still thinking of the eye, not just of God’s eye, trained on his children, but our own physical eyes. Precious and vulnerable, the eye was designed by God with eyelashes to protect it from dust and detritus that would irritate and impair vision.

We are given spiritual eyelashes for the same reason. An eyelash may be a verse of scripture reminding us of the promises and attributes of the Father, repeated at a moment of weakness or temptation. An eyelash may be a touch of the Spirit encouraging and comforting us in our trials, or it may be a sense of the presence of Jesus himself, enabling us to retain a clear vision of Christ and his love and sacrifice for us. These ‘lashes’ shield us from focusing on and being blinded by the ugliness of global events and fears for the future.

Help me to keep my eyes trained on you, Lord, shielded by the spiritual eyelashes you provide.

‘I love you, Lord, oh your mercy never fails me: all my days I’ve been held in your hands.’ Thank you for your love, mercy and grace.

A Fountain of Love

 

In prayerful contemplation, I perceive the face of my Father God. From his eyes wide open, I see springing a fountain of love, a fountain of tears as he absorbs and carries the pain of his children, of his creation, of his world. In every tear, a rainbow. Love that never fails. Support that never falters. Strength that never weakens. His presence always with us.

Jesus wept. A fountain of love, a fountain of pain, springing from an eternal source that never dries up.

So grateful for his mercy and grace.

Signature of Love

 

I’ve been waiting for the swallows to return. Thinking they’re a bit late this year, though I’m not sure if that’s true.

Then this morning, a couple of birds swooped swiftly towards the upstairs bathroom window. There is a swallow’s nest rebuilt annually in the eaves of the apex of the roof above that window. (There guano begins piling up on the outside window ledge at this time of year…)

Waiting eagerly for something good.

Jesus encourages us to keep alert. To keep our gaze fixed on him. To keep hope alive. Hope, I have heard said, is the confident expectation that God is going to turn up and do something good – whether small or great.

Open my eyes today, Lord, and keep me on tiptoe watching for where you are leaving your signature of love in my life today. Help me to reciprocate, leaving a signature of my love for you in my actions, thoughts and words today. Amen.

Helmet fitted

 

A young adolescent came off a zip wire in the park, slamming his head into something hard - a tree? The ground? He sustained a severe concussion and a brain bleed and is fighting to regain some of his mobility. Yesterday an older adolescent, competing in a tense basketball game, somehow whammed his head into the brick wall the other side of one of the baskets, resulting in severe concussion as well.

A cyclist went past my window just now, his helmet securely buckled onto his head.

News headlines flood our phones moment by moment, and most of them tell horrible stories: wars and rumours of wars, famines, natural disasters, self-absorbed political leaders running amok. Scrolling through the news feed is not to be done without forethought and preparation. The Bible is our source for such preparation.

Paul goes through the armour of God in his letter to the Ephesians, and I am so grateful that one of the pieces of armour he lists is the helmet of salvation. Thank you, Lord, that you understand the attacks on our minds through the pervasive attacks of the enemy, trying to undermine our faith, hamper our hope, and impair the love that Jesus calls us to spread.  Thank you that I can stand firm in the knowledge that Jesus has overcome the evil one.

Whatever I read today, Lord, with the armour firmly fitted on me, especially that belt of truth and helmet of salvation, may I read it with the assurance and peace which only you can give, knowing that in you everything is put right.  

Full of Questions

 

Full of questions. Full of incredulity, shock, amazement: unable to reconcile ‘today’ with ‘yesterday’. How did we get here?

The two disciples trudged wearily away from the site of the cross, headed home, barely aware of the stranger who joined them on their journey. So absorbed were they in the sorrow and vicious brutality of the last few days, they were amazed that anyone could have missed what was going on.

Yet it was Jesus who joined them, the risen Lord, teasing their fears and griefs out of them as he opened the truth to them.

Lord, as we trudge today away from calvary, may our hearts burn inside us as we tune our inner ears to hear your voice. May we be as quick as the disciples were to share the good news: He is risen indeed!

Never mind the state of the world or the nation or our own family circumstances, his resurrection takes our vision beyond the pain and suffering to a new landscape of hope, beauty, peace and love, a harmonious place where we will one day live in joyful communion and relationship with God himself.

He is risen indeed. Hallelujah!

Digital Easter

 

A digital Easter card dropped into my in-box. With its fairytale-like quality, it drew me into its unfolding story. A delicate blue butterfly flitted with intent across the screen, dropping its magic dust and occasioning a sequence of events. Finally, the picture emerged: an Easter garden, complete with three empty crosses and a stone tomb. As the door of the tomb rolled away and glorious rays of light streamed from its empty interior, the flowers which had been seeded by the butterfly’s flight opened into a riot of colour and beauty.

Below that empty central cross, drops of precious blood fell onto the rocky, dry soil beneath. That was the story of Good Friday. But resurrection life was sown in the hard hearts of mankind, renewed life, restored and refreshed life in every penitent heart of everyone who looks at the cross of Christ and somehow, wordlessly, understands. Gets it.

May the blood of Jesus shed for me soften those hard stones in my heart, in my mind, in my spirit, and cause wildly colourful, fragrant flowers to blossom and bloom in my every action, every thought and every word today. Out of sadness and sorrow may joy and hope spring.

I surrender. I repent. I forgive. More of you, Jesus, until the cold darkness of the tomb of my heart radiates the warmth of your love and life into my little corner of the world today.

Fifty Followers

 

Fifty followers of Jesus filed behind the wooden cross, wending our way through the streets of Banchory early this morning. Octogenarians and children as young as 6 or 7, and all ages in between, stepped out in somber mood.

At appropriate places we paused, hearing the familiar story of the passion and death of Jesus Christ. This afforded a moment to invite two new volunteers to take up the cross and lead the way.

A granddad and his grandson stepped forward. Two teenage boys took their turn. Two silver-haired women, followed by two adolescent girls also shouldered the burden and led the way.

‘Take up your cross and follow me,’ Jesus told his disciples. We each have our own cross to carry, and sometimes that can be so heavy. I know this last week, there was a moment when I heard myself say, ‘It’s just too much.’

But Jesus never gives us more than we can bear, and his promise is that he is always with us. I noticed that when Don took the top of the cross and I took the bottom, he was bearing most of the burden. The truth is that when I take up my cross, Jesus shoulders the weight of the crossbeam, and I just need to stay in step. It’s when I get out of step – walk too fast or drop back hesitantly – or veer off at a tangent, that the cross becomes awkward, heavy and ‘just too much’.  

Yoked to Jesus (another invitation he gives us), this morning I thought of how uneven a yoke that is, as he bears the lion’s share of the weight.

Lord Jesus, with fresh resolve and renewed strength, may I take up the cross which is mine to carry. May I be ever alert to your leading, and may I be always willing to follow whatever path you decide to take.

Thank you that you did not shirk the cross. Thank you that you resisted the temptation to veer off and do things in a less painful way. Thank you that it was not the nails, but your love, that pinned you to that awful tree of Calvary. Thank you.

More than I can afford

 

I was visiting my parents in Long Beach, maybe twenty years ago now. I wanted to take them out to dinner. As we approached a special restaurant along the coast in Laguna Beach, I told my dad I wanted to pay for this.

‘You can’t afford it,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I’m getting it.’

I can’t really describe how I felt. Hurt. A little angry. Sad, because of course it was true. I couldn’t afford it. (Why such negative feelings, when I know my dad was picking up the tab in love, with no judgment or condemnation on me?)

‘It is finished,’ Jesus breathed out as he paid the huge debt of sin humanity had run up. He wasn’t picking up the tab for a nice steak and glass of wine; he was paying the price for the injustices, the cruelties, our sharp words and unkind actions.

Today I am overwhelmed with sorrow that I can’t pay my own bill for the sin I have perpetrated and continue to commit. But the price is way beyond me.

‘You can’t afford it,’ Jesus says to me, to you, with love in his eyes. ‘I’ve got it.’

And he breathed his last. ‘It is finished.’ The price is paid. It’s settled: he has set us free from the clutches of the evil debt-collector.

More than the sense of sorrow is the huge sense of gratitude and relief and love which floods me as I look on his broken body on that cross of pain.

Thank you, Jesus. I worship you, in awe and love and gratitude. Thank you.

 

Be strong

 

Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Such words of encouragement to Joshua as he took on the mantle of leadership from Moses.

This morning, the Lord impressed on my mind an image of myself behind bars. Behind me was the eye of God.

I, like many others, have been struggling with the situation in my home country. I’ve been surprised at the depth of my grief, the frequency of my tears, the shock of my outrage. I’ve never experienced such a maelstrom of emotions – helpless anger, shame, incredulity, confusion, fear, anxiety. Lord, bring your peace into that cauldron of toxicity. Calm the storm, I pray.

I sense that the Lord is showing me that, due to many factors, I’ve lived all my life assuming the truth of an idolised version of the US which put it pretty close to the Kingdom of God. Raised by very patriotic US Marines, who were great parents who I loved dearly, it’s hard to watch the façade drop away from so many facets of a nation which we believed always wore the ‘white hat’. It’s shocking to watch their imagined reality, which I inherited, die, as the administration embraces greed, selfishness, injustice, ignorance and cruelty: ugliness of every kind.

As hard as I’m finding this, Lord, I offer to you the hope that the nation’s motto, ‘In God we trust’, might finally become true as I – as we – learn that it is only in you that our trust is secure.

May I pray with greater insight, fervor and longing: ‘Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done.’

Jesus came to set the captives free – even those captivated by a mistaken dream. Humbly, I come to you, Jesus. Set me free today, I pray.

Secure in tradition

 

I am preparing for my conversational French hour this afternoon, so have been brushing up on all words Easter-related. We are going to share our family traditions, en francais, of course.

That has taken me down a very pleasant memory lane, one strewn with the odd Easter bunny (very odd…), Easter bonnets, dresses, hot cross buns and chocolate egg hunts. I’m also reflecting on the rhythm of Holy Week, the rhythm which kept us in step with the Lord Jesus’ walk to the cross and then the joy of resurrection day.

Here in Banchory, there is also a rhythm to Holy Week, starting with a Wednesday morning service remembering Jesus’ words from the cross, then a Maundy Thursday late afternoon service followed by picnic supper arranged by the young people, a 7 am Good Friday walk through Banchory with the cross, again reflecting on Jesus’ last words. Easter morning starts at 9 by the River Dee, with a service again led by the young people, and finally the traditional joyful gathering in church at 10.30. He is risen indeed!

Traditions are important, instilling in children a pattern by which to comprehend life. As adults, it is so good to settle into the familiar, with the touches of new life brought by a younger generation: all drawing our eyes to the love and life and death and resurrection of our Saviour.

Jesus himself loved tradition. There is something in the repetitive cycle of remembering God’s gracious goodness to us which gives us security, faith and hope in the ever-changing global and local landscapes.

He is risen. He is risen indeed!

Garbled reception

 

A good friend sent me an excerpt of a writing by an American priest involved with a contemplative group. It was about lament. I found his words so inspiring, filling me with an urge to look up the Psalms he names. Additionally, I was so encouraged that my friend heard me, sensed my despair, in a very brief exchange after church yesterday. She really heard me, and reached out. Thank you, Alison.

I’ve just done the day’s Lectio, and as I thought about Jesus being the Way, into my brain skipped the song from Judy Garland’s Wizard of Oz: Follow the yellow brick road. (Sorry, for those of you who will now hear this on repeat all day.)

Sitting in my prayer window, reflecting, I noticed the antenna on the radio was not fully extended. I pulled it out. Maybe next time we listen, we will get clearer reception.

This morning I ask God to help me extend my inner spiritual antenna fully. I am picking up so much discouraging static as I read the news and comments. It can garble and overwhelm the message of Jesus. In the email from my friend’s American contemplative group, I read about Psalm 42, and other psalms of lamentation that speak to God’s people during tough times. ‘As a dear longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.’

I am going to try to discipline myself so that for every minute I spend reading political comments, I will spend an equal amount of time reading God’s word.

Even in the tough times, maybe especially then, God calls us to walk in the Way: ‘I am the Way, Jesus said.’ To follow the yellow brick road he has laid out for us. My metaphors may be garbled but I pray that as I extend my spiritual antenna today, God’s Word will drown out the despair of the world.

May you, too, be filled with hope and the peace that passes all understanding.