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.

Slash and Burn

 

Recently, a couple of men who work for the local landowner came along our road with chainsaws and matches. They chopped away at the thick gorse and broom bushes which lined the roads. They dragged the branches and trunks into the field and set them on fire. Sometimes they started the fires on the road verges themselves, leaving nothing but scorched roots.

The aim, and the result, of the slash and burn work was to give clear visibility along the narrow road, perhaps averting collisions in future. (Though I’ve not witnessed any collisions due to thick bushes along this stretch of road, we now need not creep out of our driveway with quite so much caution.)

I appreciate the greater visibility, but as I surveyed the scarred landscape yesterday, I remembered the beautiful filigree of millions of spiders’ webs picked out in dew or frost over those cold winter days. And I thought of the devastating impact on so many tiny creatures who will have died in the bonfires, as well as birds who can no longer find shelter and protection in a leafy landscape now gone.

Indiscriminate actions which destroy the habitats of innocents hit the headlines with increasing frequency. Policies of slash and burn destroy the good with the bad, leaving no winners and nothing but a wasted wilderness in lives and services. Society is the poorer for it, in more ways than pure economics.

I focus my eyes this morning on a promise of God from Psalm 103. ‘The LORD gives righteousness and justice to all who are treated unfairly.’

May your justice roll on like a never-ending river, Lord God. Help me to do your will, to speak your words, to love as you call me to love, today and every day, preparing the way of the Lord.

 

 

 

I pledge allegiance

 

It’s a grand old flag, it’s a high-flying flag, and forever in peace may she wave.

Stormy winds can wear out even the toughest piece of cloth, shredding and tearing it, wrapping its sun-faded design round a shaky pole until the flag no longer resembles itself. I grew up pledging allegiance to the flag of a country which is fast fading, tearing and shredding into an unrecognisable rag, a country where the rule of law is being dismantled in front of our eyes.

I have pledged my allegiance to the cross, symbol of the love of the Almighty God whose grace and mercy have saved me. The cross is also a symbol of the justice of God, who couldn’t turn a blind eye to sin but instead came himself in the person of Jesus Christ to pay the price of that sin, to ensure that justice was done.

The flag and the cross are symbols only, though. If my heart has not been circumcised and changed forever by my love for God, wearing a trinket round my neck is meaningless.

We live in turbulent times, where our actions reveal our hearts’ attitudes. If we carry the love of Christ in our hearts, we will declare that through our compassion and kindness, our mercy and grace, our love for all humanity because Jesus died for the sins of the whole world. Every human being is made in the image of God. Let’s never forget that.

Lord, help us to respect one another, to love one another, to co-operate with and work alongside one another of every race and creed and identity. May we reveal our allegiance to you in the attitudes of our hearts, our minds, our words and our actions.

We declare the power of love, and the lordship of Jesus Christ. This is His world, which he has redeemed.

Catching the Waves

 

The swell starts far from the shore. The waters gather and begin to move as one.

We stood in the warm water, in the even warmer air of a Brisbane December, poised with the body boards we borrowed from Felicity and Gregor. I wasn’t very good at it. Both times I flopped onto my tummy on the board, I was soon slammed hard into the sand. I should have learned how to do this when I was young…

I grew up near Surf City, USA. It was a common sight to see beat-up old VW buses chugging towards the beaches, surfboards tied higgledy-piggledy on the roof. Or poking out a passenger window. But not a gifted or even able swimmer, I was never tempted to give it a try.

Today I am thinking about the way the waters gather far out from the shore, responding to tides and currents that drive them. They begin to swell and move ‘together’ moving in synch, long before they reach or even ‘see’ the shoreline: yet they respond and go in the right direction.

Finally, there is such a volume of water that they form into the impressive rollers the surfers anticipate. Those who are experienced seem to be able to sense the timing, to know when to move from a prone position into a kneeling position, when to rise onto feet, find balance and take the exhilarating ride into the shore. Equally, the experienced surfers know when to drop off the board and swim back out to sea, avoiding that unpleasant slam into the sand which I experienced.

The Spirit is moving over the waters of our faith, gathering us so that together our faith in the powerful move of God encourages us off our tummies and onto our knees, off our knees and freely, joyfully riding the wave of God.

Lord, help me today to move in time with your rhythm, waiting and watching, kneeling and standing, riding in joyful abandon of faith and trust in you. You are the wave-maker, the surf-gatherer, the creator of land and seas and skies: may I be alert, attentive and ready today, tonight, constantly.

Praise you, Lord, for the swelling move of your Spirit across the globe today, among the young, among the old, among the faithful and among the faithless, among swimmers and non-swimmers alike. May we greet each new wave with joy and daring, trusting you to protect us from submerged rocks and hungry sharks. Amen.

Disturb the nests - shake the tree

 

How did the trunk of the ivy grow so thick? This pernicious plant – forgive me if you like ivy – has crept and crawled its way across the dry stane dyke (dry stone wall) at the front of the garden, insinuating itself between the heavy stones, stretching its hairy roots into any spot of dirt where it could gain purchase. It has sidled up the cherry trees, choking the life out of them. So I have spent a few hours starting to get to grips with it all, a little fearful of disturbing a nesting bird. None so far.

It's going to take more than a pair of secateurs to cut the thick branches and trunks, and more oomph than I have got to dig out the serpentine strings of roots heading down the drive. I need help.

Jesus says to watch out for false prophets, wolves disguised as sheep. He warns to watch and pray that we don’t fall into temptation. He instructs us to be alert and watch the signs of the times, and be ready for his word, for his return.

Lord, where I have allowed fake news to take root in my brain and my spirit, forgive me and please pull it out. Lord, where I have buckled and collaborated with the enemy, tempted to aim low rather than aim at holiness, forgive me and please strengthen me to resist and defeat the enemy in Jesus’ Name. Where I have fallen asleep and am missing what you are doing right now, right here and right in my life, wake me up and fill me with your Holy Spirit to join in with you, rebuking all things that are not from you.

I may need to disturb a few nests…

The Last Word

 

Since when is 6 years old, considered old? We have three grandchildren turning 6 in the next few weeks, and they are all lovely, lively and enthusiastic: certainly not old. (Though I do find myself wondering how they can be 6 already!?)

Yet, I gather that our 6-year-old laptops are geriatric, possibly unable to move on to Windows 11.

The speed of change is breath-taking in the global world as well. Not six years, but two months has redrawn the political landscape.

God spoke to Malachi, declaring that ‘I, the Lord, do not change.’ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.

What a relief to have a rock of ages on which to anchor our lives, assured that though storms rage and roar, eroding what once was and creating what has never been, we can cling on to the One who never changes and, even if our own grasp is not enough, He never lets go. He holds us by our right hand. He never leaves nor forsakes us.

There is a spiritual awakening stirring hearts and souls and minds during these turbulent times. Praise the Lord that what was meant for harm, will be turned to good by him who has – and who IS - the last word.

 

Spiritual Strength

 

Bending this way and that, the bare branches of deciduous trees not yet dressed in their spring finery are set in sharp, pleasing relief to the expanse of clear blue sky. Buds are forming; soon blossom will burst out, and these bare branches will be hidden by leafy clothing.

I love the luxurious grace of trees in all their spring and summer finery, and yet that finery obscures the stark beauty of supporting skeletal frameworks which give the trees their shape.

Whether I am in blossom, in leaf, or bare in a wilderness winter, may my spiritual skeleton be that which shapes me today. May others look at me but see the grace and mercy of Jesus, who is my rock and my redeemer. May my words drip with the honey of salvation, arousing a deep spiritual longing in those I encounter today, leading them to Jesus.

May others, who find themselves in a ‘dry and weary land where there is no water’, discover that God’s love is better than life, and that those who love Jesus will praise and rejoice in God forever, ‘while the mouths of liars will be silenced’. (Psalm 63)

He is the Lord, and He reigns on high, holding this beautiful world in his hands. His was the first Word, and it will be the last. Hallelujah. Our God reigns.

To Be or To Do

 

Monday morning: I busily jot down the many tasks on my To Do list, then slip into the prayer window to start with the most important.

Within minutes, I sense a challenge: rather than prioritising a To Do list, I should prioritise a To Be list. Specifically, I sensed the two attributes I should work on today are gentleness and kindness.

‘Martha, Martha,’ Jesus gently admonished the busy sister. Speaking up on her meditative sister’s behalf, he continued, ‘Mary has chosen the better way.’

Must it be just one way or the other?

This morning’s Lectio focused on St Patrick, and specifically the way that he prayed constantly even as a slave, out on the hills with his captor’s sheep. He wasn’t cloistered or prone, but was praying while he worked.

May a hum of prayer undergird all my work today, lifting and keeping me near Jesus all day. May my To Do list be accomplished while I focus on my To Be list today, with the help of the Holy Spirit!

It is well

 

Through it all, my eyes are on You. It is well, with me.

The sun is streaming in through the window. There’s plenty going on which is not great, but God will sustain those who put their trust in him.

I sat in that sunshine and waited on the Lord, and he renews my strength. I have a situation to handle for my mother today which I find a challenge, but I trust in the Lord to guide my words, my thoughts, and my choices.

As much as I don’t really like to admit this, it is good to know my limitations because then, in humility and need, I fling myself on the Lord to sustain me, guide me, and keep me strong.

That is his promise, and he will do it.

Through it all, my eyes are on You, and it is well with me.

Of shells and grasshoppers

 

A seashell. Just the ordinary kind found on beaches the world over, dirty white and scalloped.

Discarded. No longer needed by the soft life that once dwelt within. A life now gone, pounded out by the storms of life, the tossing of the waves, snatched by the jaws of predators.

I see the men of power parading on the world’s stage, and I see shells, empty shells. Their experiences and choices have hardened them into the brittle and bitter shells we see. They have allowed their empathy and humanity to be pounded out of them, snatched away by the enemy.

‘God sits above the circle of the earth. The people below seem like grasshoppers to him! He judges the great people of the world and brings them all to nothing. They hardly get started, barely taking root, when he blows on them and they wither. The wind carries them off like chaff.’

I am so grateful for the pertinence of the ancient words of Isaiah 40. May my prayers be born in the love of God for his creation, full of compassion and kindness, shimmering with the joy of hope in the faithful God who never changes, who is full of justice and mercy, full of grace.

May I never allow the world to reduce me to a hardened shell. May my fragile human love be strengthened by the powerful, tough love of God. May I always trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, my Saviour and the King of Creation.

Pariah state

 

‘Always in my mind is a picture of Jerusalem’s walls in ruins.’ God’s words to Isaiah (49:16) resonate with the sorrow in my heart and mind as I watch with horror what is happening to my country.

The consolation – the only consolation – is in the previous verses, when God refutes the claims of the Israelites that He has forgotten them by claiming that even if a mother could forget her own child, He would never forget His people.

I don’t mean to conflate a nation with the people of God, but I am heartbroken to see the nation that was for a couple of centuries a beacon of light and hope to the world flip into another pariah state.

Lord, have mercy. So many are suffering because of this administration, nationally and globally. Have mercy and intervene. Show your power and love, O Lord. Hear my prayer.

Confident expectation of good

 

It’s beginning to feel a lot like … spring!

It’s in the light. It’s in the birds, checking out the nesting boxes. It’s in the crocus blooms.

Spring is surely synonymous with hope. High hopes for the productivity of the garden (usually dashed). High hopes for a warm summer (ditto).

The definition of hope in God, though, is a confident expectation that God will turn up and do something good.

In this season of global political distress, I want to declare my hope in the God who created this world and continues to hold it lovingly in his hands. Hands that were pierced for our sins.

Lent is the season for remembering the truly awesome love of God.

My hope is in God, and God alone.

Enjoy the beauty of this day, knowing that God has not abandoned us.

Peace

 

Yesterday’s strong winds have blown themselves out. This morning dawns silent.

I look out to admire the last of the cheery snowdrops in the flower beds, but instead my eye lingers on the greens of the grass. We don’t have special grass. Probably most of it is moss or weeds. But this morning, the variation in shades of green is what catches my eye. Nuances and subtleties. Taken together, one might think it is a solid colour, but a closer look reveals varieties. It’s lovely.

Now a cock pheasant strolls past in all his glorious plumage, headed for the bird table and the seed he will find on the ground, spilled by his smaller friends. The richness of his appearance excites my appreciation, but the carpet of green draws my attention.

As the political world continues to fracture into polarised camps, we tend to see the ‘others’ as one solid shade (perhaps of black). Lord, open our eyes, whichever side of the divide we occupy. Open our eyes to see the differences; open our ears to hear the stories; open our mouths to express our opinions with kindness and respect. Bring us back from the brutality of hatred and anger.

We live in stormy times, but they, too, will blow themselves out. As my dad always used to say in times of challenge, ‘This, too, shall pass.’

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, God. So grateful for the everlasting life partner who never leaves nor forsakes us.

Mud on the Road

 

Mud on the road.

More mud than usual as farmers begin their spring work. It’s thick. It’s ‘clarted’. It’s slippery.

Elected leaders stride out in their hubris on muddy roads. Some may think they are standing, walking on the Rock, walking forward in His Name. Some may not care as long as the road leads to power and wealth.

Lord, humble our leaders today. Humble those who dream of glory, of golden statues and absolute power. Humble those who dream of control, of digital mastery. Humble the bullies who have aligned themselves with the enemy of all that is good.

Whether they turn to the right or to the left, may their ears hear a voice behind them, saying ‘This is the way: walk in it.’

Lord, you have the whole world in your hands. Please act decisively today on behalf of the bullied, the dispossessed, the marginalised and the lost.

‘All thrones and dominions, all powers and positions, His Name stands above them all.’

The Name of Jesus stands above the names of our times: Trump, Musk, Putin, et al.

And Lord, help us not to forget that we, too, walk on muddy roads. May we keep our eyes on you and our ears open to your whisper, ‘This is the way: walk in it.’

Is a Thousand Enough?

 

A thousand hallelujahs.

Today I am reflecting on the rhythm of the rain. Having literally just done the school run with a couple of my grandkids, one of whom doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word, ‘walk’, I walked back as the sun gave way to a bit of rain. Not much, considering this is Glasgow. But enough for me to raise my hood.

It was pleasant, hearing the rhythm of the rain on my hood. What we complain about is often meant to bless. Our loving heavenly Father is raining blessings down on us all the time. Sometimes we are so overwhelmed with the rogue hailstones that we miss the gentle blessings.

Today, Lord, may I receive the rhythm of the rain. May I see rainbows in the raindrops. May I smell the fresh aroma of the rain. May I be refreshed as I walk, without umbrella or hood, face turned up to heaven to receive, to be washed and cleansed and loved.

Open my eyes to the real world, Lord. To your world. And as I trust you, who hold the whole world in your hands, may my anxieties wash away, my concerns drop off.

The Lord blessed the household of the Egyptian Potiphar because of Joseph. Lord, would you bless every place I put my foot today, because I reflect your presence.

A thousand hallelujahs, as I get to go see our tenth grandchild today for the second time. Little Joni Ruby Gigi, may the Lord refresh and fill you today with his love, his health, his strength as you grow into the plans he has for you.

God is good.

Forgetting what is past

 

The consultant explained the possible risks of a hip replacement operation. Quiet, we headed home from Elgin, having decided to think and pray about it for a couple of days.

The route took us back through Huntly, where Don grew up and where we started our life together. We cruised through the streets, noting the changes that had been made to streets once familiar, now no longer home.

Life is the blink of an eye. One minute you are young and raising a family, and the next minute you are considering a hip replacement.

Philippians 3 is the reading for today, and I was encouraged by the words there. ‘Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.’

What lies ahead needs our prayerful and energetic involvement. Today I shake off the sad shawl of nostalgia which draped my shoulders yesterday, and look forward in hope, trusting Jesus to guide me in the way I spend my days, filled again with hope and peace knowing that the Lord who called me goes before, with and behind me.

May you, too, be confident in the future, which, when Jesus is in it, will be light and love, peace and justice, mercy and grace and life in all its fullness.

Maranatha.

Raise up the artists and singers of protest and praise

 

The morning dawned grey, windy and cold. By noon the sun broke through, though clouds still swirl overhead.

We took time out yesterday and indulged in a movie, watching ‘A Complete Unknown’. This was our era, and it was a poignant trip down memory lane. So good to hear some of the protest songs of Baez and Dylan, during those dark and turbulent days of assassinations, civil rights abuses and war.

May God raise up those artists and singers who can reveal and inspire this generation.

‘So each generation should set its hope anew on God, not forgetting his glorious miracles and obeying his commands.’

We are the generation fading forward, praying with hope and faith, focusing on Jesus Christ, and expecting him to bring justice and peace. May we keep our hope set on the God who never fails, who never abandons, who is faithful, merciful and just.

The morning may be grey, windy and cold, but the sun will break through.

The Walls Tumbled Down

 

The Israelites were commanded to bring down the walls of Jericho through a weapon of praise.

Not praise for any person or anything man-made. Praise for God the Almighty, the light who shines in the darkness.

I am feeling overwhelmed by the speed of the coup in Washington DC. Heartbroken and dispossessed, left wondering how I can do anything at all that would make a difference.

And then yesterday, Adrienne led young children in a re-enactment of blowing the weapon of praise, and the effect that had. The walls of Jericho collapsed when the people did what God directed them to do. Praise him, sometimes in silence, sometimes loudly.

It took more than one raising of that weapon of praise. It took more than one day. And it took more than one person. It probably seemed crazy. It probably seemed futile. It probably seemed like whistling in the dark.

But God has given us a weapon of praise, and that praise makes the enemy shake and fall.

I refuse to be paralysed and disempowered by strutting megalomaniacs. I am raising my weapon of praise, and I won’t stop praising God until the walls of oppression and dictatorship collapse.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

In these dark days, may the light of Jesus Christ shine from all those who love and follow the Saviour.

Praise the God of creation, the Lord of all, the Almighty, omnipotent, omniscient God, commander of heaven’s armies of angels. Praise the God of the poor, of the marginalised, of the sick and vulnerable and frightened.

I lift up the name of Jesus in praise, knowing that He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. None of this surprises him.

What does he require of us? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God.

Strengthen us all to do just that.

Abide

 

Just been thinking about the importance of who we are rather than what we do. Someone used an illustration of an apple tree, that its fruit will always be an apple, not a pear or a plum.

As I long to be like Jesus, the only way for me to become holy is for me to abide in him. As long as I am rooted and grounded in Jesus, he will nurture me to become more like him.

Calling myself a Jesus-follower, or Christian, will never be true if who I am is not being changed daily by my Saviour and Lord. All my actions will spring from that abiding.

Unhinged

 

It hangs low on the right, unhinged. The pottery drawbar to the fairytale castle was fixed recently with a kitsugi kit, so in two places the adhesive is visible as a gold line. So now the drawbar is intact, but it has slipped its mooring. The castle can again be easily breached by an enemy force.

May I not assume that yesterday’s corrections and healings are a forever fix. May I come to God today, in humility and openness, and wait on his golden glue to repair my brokenness, both new and old.

I ask the Ancient of Days to fix this old soldier so that I can continue to stand in his strength against whatever would seek to destroy.

 

New Shoots

 

The crocuses are responding to this week’s sunshine. The snowdrops bob in the breeze. A friend brought me early daffodils, which are opening and trumpeting in the vase beside me.

Nothing new in these observations, but the sense of well-being it raises in me is ‘new every morning’. New every year. Great is His faithfulness.

Spring is coming. As the saying goes, it’s always darkest before the dawn, and spring feels like the seasonal equivalent of the dawn.

In the darkness, we were waiting: the opening words of a praise hymn. Jesus brings hope. He brings light. He brings life. We celebrate his resurrection in the spring, season of hope.

Every year we plant a veg garden. Every year we are disappointed with most of the results: crops of caterpillars and slugs.

God is not into disappointment. He is the hope which never lets us down.

Today I am focusing on him. In this coming season of new life, I put all my trust in the Creator God as he continues to work in every detail of his creation.

Watch for the green shoots and praise the Prince of peace.

Another lesson from the birds

 

The wild bird seed container has been refilled; the peanut dispenser sways in the wind, offering protein and sustenance to our feathered friends. Fat balls swing in the breeze.

Cautious birds wait, unsure whether or not Don will reappear. Gradually they flit back, darting here and there, landing briefly on a perch, having a peck or two before lifting off again. It’s like a joyful dance, choreographed by the creator, the birds feeding lightly and then moving on so that others can be fed.

Why can’t we learn from the birds? Yes, our families are important to us, but we are not to overfeed them at the expense of the others further out on our concentric circles. Jesus taught us to love our neighbours as ourselves – neighbours near and far. His words are staged in front of me this morning as I watch the birds feed.

Sometimes I can feast on God’s word, relaxing into his presence and revelling in his love. More often, though, my time is full of various things, and then I can feed on his word like the birds are doing outside my window. Through a praise song playing softly as I clean or cook. Through a cross positioned where my glance falls on it and I remember Jesus’ love for me. Through a cross-stitched verse hanging on a wall. Through a call or message from a friend. Through a look from Don.

His love is all around me as I step into this day. I give him thanks, for his love endures forever.

Memory Lane

 Down memory lane tonight. After a busy few days, we’ve relaxed by the fire today, choosing entertainment from the big old collection of LPs. I’m smiling here listening to the sound track from a film called Tom Sawyer. Memories. Our first year of marriage … a freezing cottage with no heat but an open fire, and me a California transplant … no tv … this was one of our goofiest records to listen to, full of corny hopefulness.

A different time. Seems like a different universe.

Later this year we’ll celebrate our Golden anniversary. What a fantastic time we’ve had! My memories are vibrant, full of laughter, joy, fun, love. Being blessed four times with beautiful children who continue to bless us. Having deep and nurturing friendships. Being part of a committed, Jesus-loving church.

‘Nothin’s impossible,’ Tom is belting out just now.

That’s what Jesus said to his followers. Nothing is impossible with God. When I consider the intricate, amazing complexity of creation, how could I doubt it?

We’ve had some challenges along the way. Doesn’t everybody? ‘In this world, you will have trouble,’ Jesus said. ‘Take heart, for I have overcome the world.’ My sister’s favourite verse.

In challenging times, he’s been closer than a heartbeat. As he always is, though I’m most aware of his calming reassurance when the darkness deepens.

So, in these darker days, the light shines brighter still. I know the truth and he has set me free.

Full of gratitude tonight, to a gracious God who loves us unconditionally.

Whatever looms and threatens tonight, God is bigger … God is love … He is able.

Thank you, Jesus, for never giving up on me, on us. Thank you for taking the punishment we deserve, so that we might have the life we don’t deserve. Your grace. Thank you for your grace.

The original ecologist

 A red kite circles overhead, silhouetted against a grey, louring sky. A fat cock pheasant struts past the window, plucking fallen grain from the bird feeders overhead. A diminutive blue tit clings to the bobbing netting, pecking at a fat ball while buffeted by the strengthening wind.

Soon, maybe already, they will be building nests, preparing for the next generation. They will gather dead twigs and yellowing moss, using that which is now dead to build a cradle for new life.

Nothing is wasted in the economy of God.

Lord, take what is now dead in me and use it. Help me to work with you to build a nest, a home for new life not yet known to me. As one season segues seamlessly into another, so may it be in me today.

Nothing is wasted in the economy of God. The original ecologist.

Battle Hymn

This may be a different post from my usual blogs. I am sitting here in tears having just read Heather Cox Richardson’s post about the significance of February 1 in American history. On this day in 1860, Julia Ward Howe was inspired to write the words to the Battle Hymn of the Republic, having spent the day visiting the Union forces guarding Washington DC from Confederate troops who were surrounding and threatening the city at the start of the Civil War.

One verse reads:

“In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.”

On February 1, 1865, President Abraham Lincoln signed the Joint Resolution of Congress passing the Thirteenth Amendment. The amendment stated that "[n]either slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction." It gave Congress power to enforce that amendment. Within a decade, though, segregation was evident. Another century of struggle ensued, struggle for justice and equality. The civil rights movement in the sixties achieved some results, and finally in 1976, in an effort to recognise the achievements of Blacks historically, President Ford designated February 1 the first day of Black History Month.

In 2025, President Trump has revoked a 60-year-old executive order that protected equal opportunity in employment. He has called for an end to all diversity, equity and inclusion programs.

Neither the Pentagon nor the State Department will recognise Black History month, which starts today.

Groundhog Day (which, weirdly, is tomorrow).

What would Jesus do? What does he call us to do?

‘As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, while God is marching on.’ As Jesus followers, we are called to die to self and live for Jesus. In peace and with courage. We are called to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God. We of every colour and gender.

I am heartbroken to see the direction of travel over the last two weeks.

Family

 

Laura, who I met for ten minutes after a church service in early November, has been visiting Mom faithfully. Saturday she went in and took her downstairs where young people from St Peter’s by the Sea were giving a concert. Mom loved it.

That is what family do. I am so grateful to be part of the family of Jesus Christ. I pray that I would not miss any opportunities to be the hands and feet, mouth and arms of Jesus today.

Sardines

 

‘Gramma, come play hide and seek!’ ‘How about a variation?’ I ask. ‘Sardines.’

There then ensued joyful mayhem. As I weaselled my way into the attic cupboard beside Ella, we stood side by side in the darkness, waiting to be found by Joel or Jamie. In her impatience to be discovered, Ella tapped lightly on the door, and Joel discovered us and squashed in, too.

More waiting. Joel couldn’t help himself. He had to whisper: Jamie found us, to much squealing and laughter.

Sometimes we can be in tight places, in dark corners or situations, harbouring mean thoughts or judgments: through our own poor choices. That’s called sin. But even in those dark places of our choice, our deepest longing is to be found, to be brought out into the light, to be changed. We might be whispering for help; we might be knocking on God’s door; we might be shouting to be discovered.

God hears. And oh, the laughter and joy when we are brought into the Light!

Lord, open the door on my pinched heart today. Flood your light into the dark corners of my thinking. Fill that empty space in me with your Holy Spirit, that I might reflect you wherever I go this day.

Build on the Rock; take down the scaffolding

 

Roof repairs were completed weeks ago, yet the scaffolding remained up round a converted church in Glasgow. This Red Alert Storm Eowyn whipping winds of 100 mph has taken the scaffolding down in a crash; fortunately, nobody was injured. A weather vane is down; tiles are flying. A window has been smashed.

It is easy to start a repair project. Something around or inside our homes; something deep within our soul. Something precious in our spirits which we have taken to God, and then, after initial confessions, healings, mercies, we’ve kind of neglected. Kind of forgotten about. The Lord never leaves us half-forgiven, half-healed. May I press in to know the fullness of his life and love in every aspect of my life.

I am reminded how important it is to see something through to the end. Otherwise, when the storms blow, our careful efforts may not only collapse, but may cause new damage.

I am thinking today of the horror knife attack last summer in which three beautiful wee girls were killed, and many others were injured in body, mind and spirit. The perpetrator was sentenced yesterday.

I am thinking of the survivors, and all those trying to help them deal with the dreadful consequences. May those involved in helping in this and other such brutal events be there for the long run. May there be no quick fixes which leave behind flimsy scaffoldings of coping mechanisms for survivors to cling on to, scaffoldings which may fly apart when the storms of life blow, perhaps creating new victims.

Lord, you are the rock on which we build our lives. We are weak and helpless without you. Have mercy on us all. Bring your healing power and abiding love.

A Plan Coming Together!

 

My kids used to love watching the A-Team on a Saturday evening. The leader of the group of ex-soldiers, kind of a troupe of Robin Hoods, used to devise elaborate plans for defeating the bad guys. Every person in the group had a job to do, and when the plan played out and the baddies were defeated, (as they always were), the leader invariably said, with great satisfaction and a broad smile (smiled despite his teeth clenching a fat cigar): ‘I love it when a plan comes together.’

Cue the music. Many of us are humming it now…

There is a young mum looking for a Bible study where she can take her pre-schoolers with her. Another young mum who is already going to a Bible study, though her involvement is limited because of her pre-schooler’s needs. Within that Bible study, there is an on-going prayer that the group would be added to and led by God. Enter the lynch-pin, another young woman with a calling to help families grow spiritually, delighted to be able to offer some distractions for the children while the mums engage in worship, prayer and study.

I sense God sitting back, probably without a stogie clenched in his teeth, declaring, ‘I love it when a plan comes together.’

Cue the music. Something celebratory, joyful, bursting with gratitude and love. Many of us will be humming something now.

Praise God!

 

Creative God

 

The birdfeeder is pretty depleted, but still they come, dancing around it, sharing space, nibbling and then going. I’m trying hard to identify them. Chaffinch. Yes, I’m pretty convinced I can identify the chaffinch. Sparrow? Maybe. Blackbird – yup.

None are very eye-catching, and a friend said last week that as the weather warmed up again, the goldfinches and siskins, birds strikingly beautiful, weren’t coming anymore. They must be better able to forage than these rather unremarkable and numerous ones out there now.

And yet Jesus created them all. Those of striking beauty and those of ho-hum colouring. He provides for each one, each one as it desires, as it requires.

May I walk into this week confident that whether I am a goldfinch or a sparrow, Jesus loves and provides for me today.

Whether the global forecast is one of freezing temps or one of luxuriant warmth, he still provides.

Profoundly grateful.

Prowling round Heaven's Gates

 

The geriatric cat, Indy, pads purposefully past the prayer window. She doesn’t notice me, but I know she is looking for a way back into the house.

Briefly, she pauses at the front window, then reappears, circling back towards the back door. Her old ears have lost their acuity, and often she fails to respond when we stand at the open door and call her name repeatedly.

This morning, Don went outside, trailed behind her, calling her name, accompanied by that ‘psst psst’ which he considers his private language with his cat – but which, I am pretty sure, she never hears anymore. With delight (I imagine), Indy saw him coming and sped up to follow him back into the house.

I came across some old diaries in my tidying the other day, and was surprised to read an entry from 1974 where I poured out my spiritual thirst and talked about a few of the wrong houses I was prowling around in my quest for truth. In amongst the spiritual theories I had, Jesus came out on top, though it was my own limited understanding of who he is. There I was, prowling around ‘heaven’, searching for a way in, and deaf to the calls of my Saviour.

More than that, as I looked for a way ‘in’ to spiritual truth, Truth stood at the door of my deaf heart and knocked, waiting for me to invite him in.

And when I finally did, in 1979, he came in power and love and mercy and peace.

For years I was deaf to his ‘psst psst’ and his gentle calling of my name. Just like the story Jesus told, of the shepherd who leaves the 99 to go to find the one which is lost, he came for me himself, depositing his Holy Spirit as a foretaste of eternal life and a counsellor and enabler in this present world.

This lost sheep has been brought home.

Praise God.

Life in its fullness

 

In looking at a black-and-white snapshot of my sister Judy and me from 1959, first I noticed the circular skirts of the 50’s, the lunch boxes and the saddle shoes (yuk). But then I realised that Judy was just 10, I was 8, and yet she dwarfed me. There looks like a much bigger age gap, and as Judy grew to be nearly 6’ tall, there was always a significant difference in our bodies.

And Judy was always disappointed in hers, that it was so big.

That makes me so sad, and that sadness extends to all those who hate their bodies for their size, their appearance, their abilities or disabilities, or whatever. God loves every body and has made each one to be a temple of his Holy Spirit. Every body is made to be the resting place for God himself.

Every body is beautiful.

Every morning in Brisbane, we were awakened by a chorus of wild sounds. Kookaburras and cockatoos, Australian ibis and ‘bush turkeys’, and some weird and wonderful bird with a very distinctive cry, insects and frogs, whatever inhabits a tropical rainforest: with exuberance and joy, each one lifted its voice at the break of a new day, and sang out, whatever song it was blessed to have. It was noisy; it was wild; it was beautiful, exuberant life.

Jesus came to give us life, life to the full; exuberant, joyful life. Whatever limitations or disappointments I may feel about my body today, I am so grateful that Jesus made it to be fit for his Spirit to live in. I pray for all those who are struggling with self-image today, Lord. Please open their eyes to see their physical bodies as you see them: each one unique and beautifully crafted, prepared to receive the divine presence.

May we all embrace ourselves as we embrace you and invite you in.

Hidden ligaments with profound functions

 

Until I injured the muscle across the top of my chest, I didn’t know it was there. I mean, I know about glutes and biceps and triceps and six packs and so on, but a muscle across the bony top of my chest? It went unnoticed.

Now, however. Now I am reminded of it as I turn over in bed, as I try to raise my arms or perform other unremarkable moves. Ouch!

I’ve just been reading Ephesians 4. Thinking about unity in the body of Christ, and that led me to think about the unseen, unnoticed ligaments and muscles that hold each of our churches together. I prayed for the teams of junior church, of property managers, of those on rotas, but as I sat with God, I was drawn to pray for the invisible cohort who literally strengthen and hold together the lungs of the church: all those who pray for hearts to be open to the Saviour. All those who pray on teams and alone. Known and unknown. Now and over millennia, silently and noisily calling out to God to pour out his Spirit on Banchory and this beautiful area. To fill hearts and lungs with the powerful Holy Spirit of God. To turn lives round to Jesus.

Lord, strengthen and bless this crucial ligament so that the body of Christ may act justly, love mercy and walk humbly before the Lord here in Banchory and Deeside, and across the world.

And Father, my eyes are still focused on the continuing conflagration in Los Angeles. Lord, I continue to pray for destructive winds to cease and refreshing, restoring rains to come. I also continue to pray for spiritual rain to fall across the Southland, that lives which are tinder-dry would be watered from above and filled from within with your refreshing, everlasting water of life. I continue to cry out for the City of Angels, my city. Have mercy, Lord. May spiritual smoke alarms be beeping now in the hearts of many who recognise the precarious tinder-dryness of their lives. May many turn to you in these dreadful days. Douse the physical fires, and may the purifying fire of your Spirit consume the dry kindling of empty lives and hearts. Lord, nearly half a century ago, your Spirit kindled a fire within my dry and desperate heart, cleansing and filling me and inspiring me to open the door of my life to Jesus, to invite him to come in and sit and eat with me. Work this miracle of salvation in hundreds, thousands of hearts now, Lord.

May my prayer join the prayers of that invisible ligament of pray-ers, enabling spiritual lungs to be filled with the very breath of God.

Raging Fires

 

Fires continue to ravage my home-town, Los Angeles. I may not have lived there for fifty years, but it still has my heart. Pacific Palisades: one of my dad’s cousins lived there. I’ve lost touch. Are any of his sons still there? The sister of a friend lives there: they’ve evacuated, and don’t yet know if they have a home to return to. Malibu: the site of the dream house I never owned, overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean. A place of wild beauty. Sunset Boulevard. Oh, my goodness.

Today I am praying Isaiah 61:1-3 over those affected by these devastating conflagrations. I am praying the Lord will provide beauty for ashes; that any who might have been possessed by their possessions, will be released and set free into a new reality. May your light shine, Lord, in the lives of believers, offering hope and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

Sing, Choirs of Angels today. Sing over the City of Angels. Comfort and bind up the broken-hearted. Bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes. Jesus, walk among the broken-hearted.

I was told there was a picture of a desperate firefighter scooping water from a puddle into his helmet and flinging it on the fire. A shortage of water hampered the efforts to douse the flames. The woman at the well (John 4) didn’t recognise that Jesus was the source of the water of life. She drew water from a puddle rather than from the divine source. May those directly affected by this tragedy be drawn to the water of life. Revive and refresh them today, Lord, those who have lost ‘everything’, and those who have battled to save what they could. In their loss of everything, may they find the one thing that matters. You.

Come to the water of life. Our own spirits can dry up in this world of brutal events, making us vulnerable to the danger of conflagration. May we drink daily from the presence of the Word of God, keeping us supple, green and alive. All around us is dry stubble; at any time, it could explode into a consuming fire. Keep us drinking from the water of life. Every day.

I am reminded of another friend whose house was surrounded by a wildfire a few years ago. Every house in the neighbourhood near Santa Barbara burned to the ground, except theirs. In the aftermath, Kerry and Carter offered fresh lemonade to their devastated neighbours, sifting through the ashes of what had been their homes. May I offer lemonade today, the divine lemonade of life, to all those I meet who are weary, thirsty and in despair. Come to me, Jesus invites us. May your Spirit in me be a portal into eternal refreshment for all who are dry and hopeless today.

Jesus is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, and he is all we need. May his grace and mercy and love pour out over Los Angeles today.

Take Care!

 

The sun shone in a cloudless sky yesterday afternoon; ice crystals twinkled across the fields and along the road on which I walked. Ever cautious, I had donned snowtrax galoshes over my hiking boots so that I wouldn’t end up at an overcrowded A&E with a broken limb.

I was thoroughly enjoying time with God, sharing my thoughts, my anxieties, my gratitude, my hopes. Listening for his voice in the beauty of my surroundings. On the way back, I paused to take a picture of the Hill of Fare, pure white against the blue sky, and share it with the family on WhatsApp.

A few steps further on, the tight, elasticated rubber of the snowtrax pulled it off the sole of one foot and onto the top, so I leaned drag it back underneath. Snap! I almost heard a muscle in my chest as it strained, or tore, or stretched too far in my exertion. Ouch.

Totally unexpected. An injury sustained in one area while I was focused on avoiding an injury in another! And while I was engaging in a prayer walk!

The injury I sustained is to connective tissue, to muscular infrastructure that holds my upper body together. Every breath I take reminds me of the injury.

And yet, God is in every breath I take. He is the air I breathe. He holds my life together: in him I live and move and have my being.

There is no injury to my relationship with God. As I lift my eyes to the hills and focus on where my help emanates from, I refuse to be distracted from my pursuit of a deeper relationship with him.

One of life’s general mishaps, or a targeted attack? I know that in life problems can arise from unexpected events. I resolve to keep my eyes on my Lord who loves me, who got me home safely, who gave me good advice through NHS 111, and who provides me with a loving, attentive husband who has a fire roaring in the grate beside me.

I am profoundly grateful this morning, and praying for all those hapless folks who are finding themselves in overcrowded hospitals today, and all those exhausted medics and nurses doing their best to help.

Keep safe today, whether on the ice or in a dry, fire-ravaged city. (Praying for the cessation of the Santa Ana winds sweeping LA, and unexpected rain.) God bless us all.

 

Bailey of Brisbane

 

One of the joys of being in Brisbane was getting to know Bailey, the long-legged mutt, part Australian cattle dog, who is very much part of the family.

After a few days of his getting used to our being there, he began to include me in his affections, nuzzling gently under my arm from behind and longing to give me a sloppy kiss (I suspect in hopes there might remain traces of something yummy I’d just eaten…).

As we start out on our journey through 2025, my desire is to rededicate my life to the Lord, to set aside and prioritise time just sitting with him. Like Bailey greeting those he loves and trusts, I want to nuzzle in to the Lord, resting in the shadow of his loving ‘wings’ and even daring a sloppy kiss, in anticipation of tasting something utterly sublime on the face of God: the taste of unconditional love.

May I resist the urgent for the important, disdaining distractions in order to marinate in the love of our Saviour and friend

 

From Tropics to Snow

 

From a tropical rainforest bubbling with exotic birdsong, insect hums and buzzes, and heat, into a silent winter landscape white and clear and fresh and popping with hungry birds taking turns at the bird feeders: half a world away in the space of twenty-four hours.

We were speaking with one of the air crew on the flight to Dubai. On learning he was Egyptian, Don used his Egyptian words still remembered from half a century ago. The steward was blown away and immediately ordered a couple of glasses of fizz, some pistachio and date pastries and delectable chocolates (no doubt ordinary fare in first class…). He shared that he lives with his family in Dubai: a clear case of taking someone from their home country, but that not equating with removing the home country from the person’s heart.

Google has just informed me that over the last year, I travelled round the globe one and a half times. I am sorry for the carbon footprint I have left, but grateful for the opportunities to be with those so dear to me.

It’s natural to be distracted by the geography in which I and my loved ones live, but having just listened to a remarkable talk by Tim Mackie ( https://youtu.be/HQIH-WfmZms?si=oXMFILPi7vASqe4J ), as a Jesus-follower my resolution for the rest of my life is to settle into the eternal geography of the one who is with, and in, all things, and to live every moment with my footprint in Paradise. The reality is as Paul wrote, that in Jesus I live and move and have my being.

May this be a new year of spiritual awakening and growth, of a deeper awareness of the reality in which I live. For those others who have listened to the Tim Mackie talk, I want the huckleberries to be staining my teeth, too …