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.