Together

 

‘Got it!’ he voiced triumphantly. He reached down onto the tarmac drive and picked up a tiny spring.

Don was trying to put air in a car’s tire, but the great inflater he has had lost a tiny but crucial bit and it wouldn’t work. It needed that spring. Our Ukrainian friend with great eyesight found what we would never have seen. The tire was refreshed with the right amount of air.

Life is full of decisions and complications. If this, then that; if not this, then what? We can go round and round, increasingly agitated and less able to spot the tiny ‘spring’ that will make it all work.

We need each other. I love the way our minister Tony introduces the Lord’s Prayer, pointing out the number of times ‘we’ and ‘us’ are said. Jesus intends us to live corporately, as family, sharing the highs and the lows and offering perspectives.

Seeing the spring that someone else can’t see.

In church in Glasgow last Sunday, I heard a great sermon on the gifts of the Holy Spirit. How they are meant to be used together by the body of Christ in order to build up the church (the Jesus-followers). One has the gift of wisdom; one has the gift of knowledge or discernment or prophecy and so on, all for the purpose of building up church.

Someone close to me is facing a lot of decisions. I have one or two as well. We just came off the phone with each other, having heard that sermon together on Sunday, so we encouraged one another to ask for wisdom and move forward in faith and confidence that, as James says, God will give wisdom to those who ask for it.

We don’t need a tire inflater, but we do need the breath of the Holy Spirit to inflate and enable us to move in the power of God, think with the mind of Christ, and rest in the peace and comfort that come from the Holy Spirit.

Have a great day, looking out for the others in your life.

Weeds and Winds and Seeds

 

The ground elder and nettles are in flower. In my prayer window, I watched them be blown and buffeted in blasts of wind.

The seeds, I thought. I don’t like the wind but of course, the seeds need the wind to spread and propagate more of their kind.

I think of some of the many inspirational believers I’ve been privileged to know in my lifetime. Followers of Jesus who persevered – or are persevering – in their faith despite the gales whipping around them. How far, how wide, the seed of faith is spread when believers hang on to Jesus during the blasts of the enemy! How beautiful and fragrant the blossoms of such flowering faith in Jesus Christ our Saviour and Lord!

I am grateful, so thankful for those I know who, in hard times, train their gaze on Jesus as the winds of life whine and shriek and roar.  May you, o Lord, continue to strengthen and support all those whose lives are hammered by the storms of life today. May I emulate them in whatever I may face today, clinging on not just with grim determination but with the joy of the Lord inspiring me.

I am drawn to Isaiah 63 v 1: Who is this who comes from Edom, from the city of Bozrah, with his clothing stained red? Who is this in royal robes, marching in his great strength? ‘It is I, the Lord, announcing your salvation! It is I, the Lord, who has the power to save!’

I pray that those who feel themselves faltering in the storm will be encouraged and strengthened knowing that the Lord has the power to save, and is coming in great strength.

My thoughts return to the elder and the nettles. Weeds. Pernicious weeds with tough, pervasive roots.

Yes, the seeds of the enemy are also blowing in our world today. May the Lord help me to uproot them from my own heart, mind and spirit. May I be quick to identify any new seedlings of doubt or fear and wheak them out before they can grow and propagate worldly thoughts or deeds any further. May I have the courage to tackle the weeds of hatred and injustice wherever I see them. Amen.

 

The Divine Fragrance

 

As I entered the kitchen through the back door, I could smell the beautiful aroma of lilac coming from the vase of flowers in the dining room. The scent is heavenly, pervading more than just the room in which they are displayed.

Fill me with your Holy Spirit again today, Lord Jesus, so that I may carry the fragrance of your love, mercy and grace everywhere I go. May your aroma be so powerful that it spreads into places and touches lives beyond my immediate proximity, beyond my awareness.

May I be totally surrendered to you, bottling in my very being the beauty of your divine being, like a precious perfume … not hiding the stink of rot and decay which comes from the enemy’s work, but banishing it altogether. May my life exude the fragrance of faith in the God whose love is unconditional, whose justice is right, and whose peace is everlasting.

Be glorified today, Lord, throughout your creation.

Torn Fabric

 

It is barely 4 am, but here in northeastern Scotland the land is light already with the fore-glow of dawn. I draw into my prayer window and close my eyes. A rectangular shape: a womb: a tomb: a loom weaving the warp and weft of life according to the genius of the master designer.

Yesterday we buried our precious Indy, a quirky wee cat who brought us such joy and laughter over nearly 18 years. Struggling to let go.

Sadness and sorrow everywhere. Surely this was not part of the plan. Brokenness and pain. Torn threads and frayed edges. Moths chewing holes in the fabric of life.

Sigh. I’m tired.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus. One day: no more tears, no more pain, no more sorrowing separations. Other places, other losses, deeper by far. Come to the broken places everywhere, Lord, the battlefields around the globe.

I’m out of gas. Coasting into the gas station. ‘Fill ‘er up, Lord.’ Fill me again with your Holy Spirit.

I sit, serenaded now by the blissful tune of many blackbirds, greeting the new day with hope. With hope, faith and trust in the overcoming love of the grand designer. Help me to find my voice to sing a song to the Saviour I know and love.

Jesus. All our hope in you is founded. Jesus. Name above all names. Beautiful Saviour. Risen Lord.

Both near and far off

 

Yes, Janie assured me, sitting beside me at my laptop as she explained and fixed a few things. When you save a document, it saves both to the hard drive of the laptop, and to the cloud.

To the one nearby and to the one far off.

When Jesus saves us, he saves us for this present time, so that we can walk through the troubles we face in his peace, full of joy and hope for the future. While we walk, we are also sitting already at the right hand of God as we abide in Jesus, so we have become sort of divine hybrids with gifts and abilities coming directly from God himself.

And we are also saved for all eternity, to live with God in his recreated world.

All because of the work of the cross. Praise Jesus.

Nourishing words

 

Watering the sweet peas, I swung the watering can round to fill the bird bath, then carried on round the garden. We have had some rain, but perhaps the puddles are dried up now and the birds may need a drink, I thought vaguely.

As I moved on round to other seedlings, Don called out from his vantage point on a garden chair, where he was taking a well-earned rest.

‘Look at the bird in the bird bath!’

There was a small song bird – maybe a chaffinch – energetically bathing in the water. Not a demure drink, but a full-on immersion, wings flapping, tail raising and lowering, head bobbing in the water. A picture of joy, of refreshment, of cleansing and cooling off.

I hadn’t had any particular ideas about which birds might benefit from a bath; which birds might even have been longing for a bath; which birds might not have realised they wanted a bath until the prospect of clean water was lying before them.

The words of God may be a bit like that bird-bath, cleansing, bringing refreshment, restoring hope, shining light, conveying peace.

God is love. Jesus died for the sins of the whole world. The Spirit is poured out into the lives of all who ask, so that they may be empowered to live out and to share the truth in this post-truth era. When the daily diet of dire news can draw us to despair, God offers food that nourishes and renews us.

I pray that the words I write today might comfort, encourage, console and strengthen someone today.

 

A Sparkler on a Dark Night

 

A sparkler on a dark night, sending showers of white-hot light spraying into the near-atmosphere, dispelling darkness, raising smiles and ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’.

A windmill, kids’ whirligig stuck in the white sand of a beach, picking up the rising wind and whirling, faster and faster.

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

The wind blows where it will. The sound as of a rushing wind drew the crowds in the street around the upper room, and as they gathered, Peter told them who they were being drawn to.

May our gracious Lord Jesus pour out His Holy Spirit in power now and always, wherever he wishes. May the light of Jesus Christ blaze through the darkness in his world today. I pray that churches round the world, gathering on Pentecost Sunday, will be blessed, delighted, surprised even as the Spirit comes in power.

Receive the Holy Spirit, Jesus told his disciples, breathing onto, breathing into them. And they were empowered to witness to their experience of the goodness, grace and mercy and love, of God for the whole world.

Wind of the Spirit

 

A fine mist is sweeping across the fields and gardens, as if a global gardener is using a fine sprayer to provide moisture for her growing plants. The sky is seamlessly grey; the hills hidden from sight. Not my ideal day.

And yet, I can’t help but smile listening to the joyful song of the blackbird. Spring offers sounds not heard at other times of year, songs of hope and expectation. The cuckoo’s crazy cry breaks in a few times, nothing like as musical as the blackbird but raising a smile as well.

I took a sample of the brown, curling leaves on one of our hydrangeas to the expert at the garden centre yesterday, fearing the plant is succumbing to a disease. No, he assured me. Frost and cold wind damage. It should recover on its own, when warmer weather at last arrives.

I think perhaps I have a touch of frost and cold wind damage. The news and other sad situations can steal my usual buoyancy and curl my inner resilience. Encouraging to know that as I wait on the Lord, asking for a fresh filling of his Holy Spirit, I don’t need to wait for outer conditions to improve. In his loving embrace, my withered senses will recover.

Waiting. As I wait for the warm winds of the Holy Spirit to revive me, may I rest in your unconditional love, Lord Jesus. Wind, wind, blow on me. Wind, wind, set me free. Wind, wind, my Father sends the blessed Holy Spirit.

On Tiptoe

 

On tiptoe.

It was Christmas Eve, many years ago now. (spoiler alert) Don, dressed in his Santa Claus costume, had just delivered selection packs to the three little girls of dear friends of ours. Striding back towards our little white mini metro, he glanced up and saw two young children peering out of an upstairs window of a house across the street.

Their eyes were big and their jaws were slack as they spied the one they were waiting for. ‘Santa’ waved and, relieved that he had bought extra selection packs, walked up to their front door to deliver these trifles to the children waiting so eagerly, on tiptoe.

I realise this morning that my waiting stance is not eager and on tiptoe. I often wait with – if not dread, then with resignation – for the next bad news to drop. A new revelation of wrong-doing by a prominent politician or church leader. A new threat of invasion or violence. A new outbreak of disease or confusing insurance claim for Mom.

Paul writes to the Romans, (and I love this translation in The Passion version): ‘The entire universe is standing on tiptoe, yearning to see the unveiling of God’s glorious sons and daughters! For against its will the universe itself has had to endure the empty futility resulting from the consequences of human sin. But now, with eager expectation, all creation longs for freedom from its slavery to decay and to experience with us the wonderful freedom coming to God’s children.’

The wonderful freedom!

Jesus Christ has set us free from that enslavement to hang-dog resignation and despair. I know this, and once again I step, intentionally, into the freedom he has bought for me. I sense hope rising within me as I step out of the darkness and into the light. I look up, my spirit on tiptoe.

This week will culminate in our remembrance and celebration of Pentecost, and I determine, with God’s help, to walk towards this glorious day on tiptoe, in expectation that God is eager to do it again, to bless each of us with the gift of his Holy Spirit as we posture ourselves to receive all he has for us.

I pray this morning for Christians all over the world to surrender their despair and remember who it is we follow, waiting on tiptoe in anticipation for what Jesus will do in individual hearts, minds and spirits as he blesses his church universal with another outpouring of his Holy Spirit.

This is the day the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.

Mistaken Identity

 

The band gathered for the final worship song, one of my favourites. Holy Forever.

I noticed our centenarian across the aisle. I thought he was staring at me but no, turned out he was intently eyeing the teenage guy beside me. We began to worship, and then I was jostled by Don as he moved out of the way for Sandy to squeeze by.

His eye never wavered. He was moving towards the young lad. I stepped back and he shuffled past, grasping Caeden by the arm, smiling broadly. There were some words as the two heads came together – one aged, one young.

I don’t know what was said, but, still holding Caeden’s arm, Sandy turned towards the words on the screen and joined in the worship, reading and singing the words with confidence and conviction. A veteran of the SAS, his faith, like his body, has stood the test of time.

I didn’t get an opportunity to find out what drew Sandy to move across the aisle, but I believe his senility could have confused Caeden with his own son or grandson. With grace and kindness, Caeden responded warmly.

Mistaken identity perhaps. But in the family of Christ, one could say that Caeden is indeed a grandson of Sandy. A spiritual grandson.

As we all worshiped together, I could hear the angels rejoicing at this beautiful tableau. The body of Christ in Banchory.

To God be the glory. Holy forever indeed.

Lift up my eyes

 

The wind is wild. The rain sweeps in, sweeps through, and clears away the clouds so the sun can remind us it is springtime.

I complain, again. It’s too cold. This is like autumn. How can any of our struggling seedlings grow? (How can I grow?)

The world is weary. The news is discouraging. Dire, even. I can focus on my feelings and go down with the ship. Or I can lift my eyes to the hills and remember where our help comes from.

Today I choose to lift my eyes. I choose to sing my songs of praise. I choose to carve out time for creativity, for connection with the divine.

This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in Him. So many blessings. May my joy in Him spill over into constant prayer for those in trouble, those in deprivation, those in pain, those in grief, those in conflicts, confinements and fear. Those struggling under black clouds of despair. Lord, sweep those clouds away. Let your light shine in the darkest of places, restoring hope, bringing life, destroying the enemy’s efforts.

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

Perfect Circle

 

Perfect circle. Endless love. It is finished. We are seated in the heavenly realms at the side of our Saviour Jesus Christ. Seated. At peace. Fully trusting in his promises. Knowing he is faithful. By his grace we are saved.

When our words fall short, when our understanding is limited, pictures, colours, designs lift us into places of profound peace and security. So grateful to Elaine for opening up the avenue of art as a conduit to God.

So grateful for the endless creativity of our Lord, who invites us to approach him through so many pathways. May I always be open to explore new ways of worshiping the Lord of all, Jesus my redeemer.

His Forgettery

 

I wrote something on my computer yesterday and printed it out without saving it. Intentionally. I didn’t need to save it.

When I turned on the laptop this morning, I had a message that it had temporarily saved a Word document which I hadn’t saved, and where did I want it to go? AI, or the algorithms of this laptop, wants to give me a second chance to save something.

Another time I might be grateful for that grace, but not in this case.

Ours is a God of second chances, a God who forgives and moves on without saving a memory of that last infraction, that last failure, that last sin. ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ (Psalm 103:12) He gives us free will so we have the choice of receiving his forgiveness, receiving his forgetfulness of that sin, or revisiting it and continuing to condemn ourselves.

I love that there is no condemnation now in Jesus. He has paid the price for those sins I committed yesterday, for those I will fall into today. Bad attitudes. Hastily spoken words. A heart that is too small.

Self-condemnation.

I accept his umpteenth chance and invite his help in moving on into the freedom of forgiveness, of knowing I am forgiven. And believing, truly believing, that the sins I have repented for, he has moved into his ‘forgettery’.

Free at last.

All I have needed

 

Glorious abundance can look messy. Certainly in our garden, it does! (Don loves No-Mow-May so much that he starts it in April!)

This crabapple tree is heavily laden with beautiful pale pink blossom, which will transform into vibrant red balls as the season progresses. Full of promise, and yet…one year I toiled to pick and cook them into a jelly which – nobody ate. Never again.

Hollow promise.

I started to reflect that I am no longer in the springtime of my life, but the Lord gave me pause. In him, all things are possible. I am in a different season for sure, but that season still can blossom with blessings which can transform into sweet fruit which others will eat and be refreshed. With God’s help.

New every morning. Great is your faithfulness, dear Lord. May my life blossom with promise today, promises of the Kingdom, promises which encourage and console and strengthen others as they look to you, Jesus. Those in seemingly impossible positions for whom I pray this morning, intervene with power, Lord, and surprise and amaze with blessings only you provide. In Christ alone.

All I have needed

 

All I have needed thy hand hast provided…

Monday morning, and as I run my eye over the diary of the upcoming week, this encouraging line echoes through my mind and awakens the truth we talked about in Bible study last week, from Ephesians, that in Christ we have all spiritual blessings.

However full the week looks, however demanding the expectations on us, however daunting the path ahead appears, in Christ we are more than conquerors and in Him, we can do it.

Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Grace and Peace

 

A short walk before dinner.

That last stretch before the road end is always littered with throw-away coffee cups, empty plastic water bottles and discarded fizzy drink cans. Hands full with this detritus, I distribute it in the bins at the road-end and consider that the distance between the fast-food outlets in Westhill and this road-end, a mile from the paint-ball grounds, can probably be measured in the time it takes to drink several ounces of liquids.

Why do so many people thoughtlessly throw their trash onto the verge in the otherwise beautiful countryside? I’m afraid you won’t find the answer here. I don’t know.

What I do know is that Jesus invites me to throw my trash, the rubbish of my worries and the smear of my sins, onto him. Unlike the countryside, which is besmirched by such profligate littering, Jesus accepts and absorbs and transforms all of the ugly stuff I give him and turns it into something beautiful, something holy even.

That is grace. Grace which invites us to live in God’s favour though we clearly don’t deserve that privilege. Grace which welcomes us with open arms, tattered and filthy as we are, enfolding us in divine love and forgiveness.

Grace which leads to the peace that passes all understanding; as we sink into the reality of his grace, we experience the peace which informs our very beings so that we can enter the minutiae of this day expecting to see Jesus transform all trash into treasure.

Grace and peace.

He never forgets

 

Gazing out the window, God drew my attention to one of the many gorse bushes glowing gold in the spring sunshine. It sits along the roadside, flanked by a couple of wild cherry trees, also resplendent in the pale pink of their spring bloom.

Nothing special about any of it. Gorse and ‘geen’ trees sprout in generous abundance across my field of vision, but for some reason I was drawn to contemplate these particular trees and bush.

Our house sits a mile or two from a hill where a famous battle was once fought, the Battle of Corrichie. It involved the rather infamous Mary Queen of Scots’ troops, against the Duke of Gordon. I imagine none of this land looked as it does now. Certainly our house was not standing. So I found myself wondering if, after this bloody confrontation, this field outside my window was a scene of devastation, scattered with the injured and dying and dead as they fled the scene. I wondered if, beneath the glorious golden gorse, there lay the now-decomposed body of a fallen fighter.

All speculation of course, but through this flight of imagination I heard the Lord assuring me that he never forgets anyone. Whoever may have fallen and lain forgotten, has never been forgotten by him. He counts the hairs on each of our heads, and he loves with an everlasting love, and he never forgets. We are all special to him, our Father.

Those loved and lost in my own life and yours: he has not forgotten. None are lost. His love is everlasting.

Spring Song

 

The birdsong in spring is glorious, the variety rising in harmonious singing that brings joy to my heart and lifts the spirits. How beautiful when varieties and differences come together and sing out to the God of creation.

May I raise my voice today in praise of our wonderful God and awesome creator, and may my voice harmonise with those of all different backgrounds and voices who are also singing to the true God.

Whatever the state of the world, it is God’s world, and he will bring healing and wholeness, peace and contentment. May he bless those in authority today with his presence, opening eyes and ears to the Truth and blending those voices now raised in anger and aggression into voices of humility and peace.

If even the stars sing out their praises, may our broken world begin to heal as we raise our voices to Jesus.

Distractions

 

‘Listen,’ I sensed Him saying as I sat for a few minutes in silence. ‘What do you hear?’

The refrigerator humming its constant monotone. And?

You don’t usually even notice it, I sensed Him going on. You get on with your day without being distracted by that background, unimportant constant.

True.

I can struggle to define my priorities for the day. All around me stands a house that could use a clean and a tidy-up, even some licks of paint, and a garden crying out for weeding, tidying, pruning, planting… Then there is the daily duo lingo … this blog … someone coming for dinner … even, today, someone coming for coffee … Mom’s affairs …

And then there’s the news. The political scene globally.

Refrigerator hums. Distractions.

I have four writing projects underway, all at different stages of development. That’s where my heart is, and yet I can be so easily drawn away from them. Easily distracted, as most of my children’s school reports used to read.

Today I pray for the Holy Spirit’s gift of self-discipline. I give this beautiful day to the Lord, and ask that he would help me to order it as he would.

Still sparking

 

Don turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.

Dead battery.

Out came the charger, and after a few hours charging, the car revved into life. He then drove it into Aberdeen to purchase a new battery, and the drive itself was enough to recharge the old one. The car hadn’t been driven for a few days, and with an old battery, that was enough to steal its spark.

It’s such an obvious metaphor for the spiritual life. I find that when I am active in faith-related activities, my spirit is full and firing, and I bubble with excitement over who the Lord is and what he is doing. When I don’t take the time to plug myself into the Lord, both through individual time with him and also sharing study and time with others, I soon find my spiritual battery losing its spark.

It doesn’t require serious study or silent contemplation to recharge my spiritual battery. Tomorrow night we are hosting a young intern for dinner between his commitments with the youth work, and I know that spending time with another believer over a meal time offers just such a recharge to faith.

I want to finish my race well, (wherever that finish line is) without letting anything steal my spark.

Blush of new life

 

We awoke to overcast skies and a gentle rain. The field which encircles our house like a skirt has lain ploughed and brown for the last few weeks. This morning, after the rains, a blush of green has spread over the land. New shoots have sprouted. New life.

Full of promise. Beautiful.

Prayers can fall like gentle rain on the arid and parched situations in life. No prayer cried out to our loving God is ever forgotten, ignored or dismissed. It may seem a long time before those green shoots sprout, but sprout they will, though the plants which spring up may not be exactly those we had imagined and asked for. But in the wisdom of God, they will be the best, the ones which will grow, mature, and bear fruit for the world.

Lord, keep me constant in prayer. May I pray in the assurance that you are listening, that you are wise and loving and that at just the right time, new growth will spring up in those situations which seem arid and dry.

All that glitters

 

A few days away in Aberfeldy, with most of the family. The fourteen of us headed off for a hike to see the waterfall at the Birks of Aberfeldy. It wasn’t that long a walk, but it did involve a steeper climb than Don and I usually do these days.

Eliott and Callan are into rocks and stones, noticing their shapes, their colours, and particularly the glints of minerals that convince them of their value. Before long, Eliott (8) picked up a heavy cube of stone. He could not be persuaded to put it down; he could not persuade anyone else to carry it for him, so with grit and determination he carried it all the way up, and all the way down, to take home later. He was sure of its value.

What am I carrying today which glitters like Fool’s Gold, distracting me and slowing me down in my spiritual quest to live for Jesus only? Like Eliott, I have trouble discerning values, and don’t always listen to other people’s advice.

Lord, on this beautiful spring morning, please help me to abandon the burdens which are not mine to bear. I want to run my race with joy, not with grumbling. Thank you for the cross, where I can lay my sins and burdens down. And thank you for you loving invitation to be yoked with you, so that those burdens which are mine to bear are lightened through the sharing of the load with you.

As the finishing line comes ever nearer, I want to be running my best race for Jesus, radiating his love and grace, mercy and forgiveness, into the dark chaos of the world today.

 

 

Beyond the Cross

 

For the joy set before him, he endured the cross.

Jesus saw the light of God through the cross. He knew where he was going, after he had endured the cross.

I am back from a few days away with the family, wonderful days making memories and filled with laughter and joy. I’ve landed with a thud. My e-mail in box has half a dozen messages from Mom’s insurance provider. Things I need to figure out; a phone call I will need to make. There is also something I need to do by phone later today for her bank. Another situation I have to address concerning her accommodation. And it makes me feel weary, burdened and heavy-laden.

Over these last years, this is the cross I have been called to bear. I am grateful that my love for Mom is strong enough that I can bear it, with Jesus’ help. Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will refresh you, he says.

We are all bearing a cross. The joy lies in the conviction that beyond the cross lies peace, joy, freedom, love, life itself. Salvation.

I am so grateful for Jesus enduring the cross.

Dry and Weary World

 

The sun shone with springlike brightness, drawing both Don and me out into the vegetable patch where we continued to dig and weed and feed, preparing the soil for hopefully a productive planting.

Inside, I have been washing some windows and generally tidying up a bit, preparing the house to welcome visitors on the weekend. I have been cooking and baking, planning and buying, for a few days away next week with most of the family. (Sadly, not all, as Emirates cancelled flights from Brisbane, because they transited through Dubai.)

The Maundy Thursday night story in Luke details that it was as Jesus was still speaking words of guidance to his disciples, that Judas and the arresting soldiers arrived to take him prisoner. Jesus knew they were coming, and up until the last minute, he prepared in prayer. Not in sad farewell admonitions to his friends, but in heartfelt prayer with his Father.

Lord, as my tendency is to slide into Martha-esque preparations for Easter celebrations and reunions, please pause my busyness and draw me into quiet, contemplative preparations of my spirit. You, Jesus, prayed until the final moment; may I trust that with you there is always enough time.

May I walk with you through the sadness and brokenness of Thursday night and Friday, and into the bright new dawn of resurrection life on Sunday morning. Show me how to pray without ceasing for the brokenness of this world in agony, knowing that at just the right moment, the dawn will break and Jesus, the Prince of Peace, will appear with healing in his wings.

My whole being yearns for Jesus, in this dry and weary land where there is no water.

I Worship You

 

I worship you

I stand and sing

I worship you, Exalted King

To you I cling.

I worship you

I bow and kneel

I worship you

Lord, be revealed

I worship you, Exalted King

To you I cling.

On my chair lay a cross fashioned out of a strip of palm branch. I grew up in a tradition of symbols providing a touchstone with the divine. As a young teenager, I sat for many an hour with other church teens fashioning palm crosses to be distributed on Palm Sunday. The cross on my chair yesterday briefly took me back to those happy hours.

Then we stood to worship, singing Hosanna. Hosanna. In my upstretched hand I held the palm cross and waved it before my Lord and King. As I did so, I realised that I was not holding the cross lightly. I was clinging to it. Gripping it as with all my might.

The enormity of Jesus’ suffering on the cross for me gripped me. The unconditional, endless love of the divine Saviour as he hung there in agony, never giving up on me: it hit me with a wave of gratitude and humility. I sensed his presence powerfully as I poured out my heart to him.

Later, in sharing the profound experience I’d had, initiated by God through that palm cross, I explained that I recognised that I am totally clinging to his cross. Gripping it, more aware than ever of my absolute dependence on Him.

I sensed by others’ reactions that they wanted to extend compassion to me, thinking I was at a particularly low point. But no. Not low, but a new awareness of the absolute dependency we all have on the Cross of Christ. It is a delusion to assume we just need to hold tight when times are rough for us individually or globally. It reveals our pride, our independent streaks. Rebelliousness.

May we all be clinging to the cross today and every day as we walk with alert prayerfulness through this Holy Week, to the cross, through the cross and to the glorious day of victory and resurrection. May we all be exquisitely aware of our own dependence on his love and sacrifice and his saving grace.

Hosanna. Save us, Lord. Hosanna.

Blanket of Deception

 

In North Korea, a blanket of propaganda and lies has settled over the nation, blocking out the truth and deceiving many.  In Russia, a similar blanket has lowered over the populace, spinning out propaganda which distorts and denies truth. Autocrats around the world lie to their people, telling horror stories of the enemy and fueling a ‘them and us’ mentality.

The one in the west who voiced accusations of fake news is now the voice raised most often in promulgating it.

But this blanket of lies is not fire-proof.

The light is in the world, and the darkness cannot overcome it. May the fire of the Holy Spirit of truth flame brightly in the hearts of all who love Jesus, who is the Way and the Truth and the Life. And may that holy fire expose and totally incinerate those untruths being spread by the father of lies.

Lord Jesus, open hearts and minds and spirits to hear and see you, to receive you with joy and to serve you with courage and perseverance today.

Short-sighted

 

Other Radio 4 listeners might have caught the programme yesterday about eyes. I heard a few minutes of it as I drove between places.

My take-away was that developing eyeballs need exercise. When the eyes of young children are focused on screens, they grow too big and that makes them myopic. Yes, that can be corrected by glasses, but it can have other negative effects that come through later in life – an increased risk of developing glaucoma, for instance, macular degeneration, and maybe something else.

The antidote: the healthy development of children’s eyes hinges on their being outside every day, naturally exercising their eyes as they focus and refocus on things near and far.

God has given us so many ways to encounter him. Focusing too closely on just one way – be it through a particular preacher/teacher/writer, doctrine, nature, worship music, or even the Bible itself could distort our vision of the height, breadth, length and depth of the amazing God. I hesitate about adding prayer to that list, because surely one can never pray too much? But perhaps if the prayer is not well-informed by Scripture, teaching, nature and even experience, it could veer into a self-centred distortion of the reality of God.

I’m reminded of Jesus declaring, ‘I came that they might have life, life in all its fullness.’ Perhaps it is in the embrace of all the facets of life we are offered that we really gain a true perception of who God is.

I don’t want to have spiritual eyes which are myopic; I crave to have spiritual eyes which see as much of the truth of the glory of the God we worship as I can take in. I don’t want to slide into a spiritual blindness which results from too narrow a focus on too constricted an understanding.

On this glorious spring day, I intend to listen to hear God in the garden as well as in his Word.

 

Sharp shards of pain

 

This morning I have bounced back to a previous art journalling collage – back to the broken alabaster jar. And as I looked at the broken bits in the picture, I realised how many shards point up. How easy it is to blame God for my brokenness.

First Martha, then Mary, spoke the same first words to Jesus after Lazarus had died. ‘If only you had been here…’

Ouch. Broken bits pointing to heaven. Pointing a finger of reproach, of accusation. If you had been here. No wonder Jesus cried. Of course he cried tears of anger at the power of death, but he also cried tears of grief and sorrow with his dear friends, and probably tears of disappointment that the sisters felt abandoned, let down, by him.

‘If only you had been here…’

On my collage are the declaratory words of Jesus, his promise to us: ‘I will never leave you.’ Never. Leave. You. Trust. Let go.

As I navigate my brokenness this morning, (aware that I am not even aware of all the brokenness in me), I offer up those sharp shards of disappointment, of silent accusation, of reproach. Where I have felt let down by God. Where I have wondered where he was. ‘If only …’

As glass is ground down to be recycled into a beautiful or functional new object, so I offer these shards to you, Jesus, this morning, that you would grind away the sharp accusations – some unspoken and maybe not even acknowledged by me – and transform my understanding. Fill me with the joy of your salvation, as I hear again your words, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’

Trust. Let go. ‘I will never leave you.’

Sepia Monotony

 

The sepia monotony of winter is finally giving way to the riot of spring colours. Sitting in my window, I see a branch of the forsythia beginning to open yellow and bright, a colour splashed along the drive as the dozens of daffodils swell and burst open, their trumpets heralding a softer season coming.

God knows our needs down to the most minute detail. And it is often through the minute detail of his creation that he speaks peace and consolation.

Somehow I need to appropriate that encouragement into the technological tedium I often feel challenged with. Messenger links that fail to work. Signature pages for a tax return that require signing and uploading. A protest letter about the proliferation of plastic which requires me to sign on to a different platform than I use, so makes me hesitate and draw back. Yet another banking issue for Mom. Just a lot of little gnats of technological unease that can undermine peace of mind.

I’m watching the daffs bob in the rising wind. Slightly bowed down, but still standing.

May I bow only to you, Lord Jesus, this day and every day. Strengthen resolve, encourage perseverance, and keep my eyes above the waves. (bit of a mixed metaphor there, sorry about that…)

May I take inspiration from those saints who I know, and those who have gone before. And on that note, happy St Patrick’s day.

Up from the wilderness

 

Don pointed out the deer skull lying on the verge. All traces of skin and flesh gone, it lay bleached white beside the road. I remembered that deer. Mary and I had come across it months ago, killed by a car, and we had lifted it to the side of the road so it wouldn’t be mangled and mauled by other road users. Now all that was left was this stark-white skull.

The hill on which Jesus died was nicknamed, the Bible says, ‘the place of the skull’. Visiting one of the two possible crucifixion sites with Mom several years ago, the depressions in the rock rising on the hill did resemble the hollows of a skull.

I am not thinking of death this morning, despite this beginning. Instead, I am thinking of life, the real life we find in Jesus. ‘When all is stripped away, I simply come.’

Life on earth is vulnerable. Plans can change due to things out of our control. We are affected by things happening half-way across the world. ‘When a butterfly flaps its wings, it causes a hurricane on the other side of the world.’ The butterfly effect.

True? I’m not sure about the detail, but certainly, the globe is a community which affects and is affected by things which start in a local pinprick of a place and spread like a rash.

This morning I am using the ‘zine’ I fashioned at the art journalling group I go to. I am using it to raise my eyes to the majesty of the Most High God. I am using it to restore my song to rise to give God glory. I am using it to remind myself of the extravagant love and grace of God.

Up from the wilderness, leaning on her beloved…

How does this relate to the imagery of the bleached skull? Rather than just focus my eyes on the heavens to regain a right perspective on things, I am focusing them on the place of the skull: the stark shock of what Jesus did for me at Calvary, and a depth of gratitude for his love for me. And the assurance of life everlasting, where every tear is wiped away.

‘In this world you will have trouble,’ Jesus told his friends. Tells us. ‘Take heart, for I have overcome the world.’

So although disappointment has catapulted me into a wilderness, today I am stronger than yesterday as ‘up from the wilderness’ I come, ‘leaning on my beloved’.

Thank you, Jesus.

Tigers in my life

 

I’ve got in mind a picture of an elaborately carved wooden ceiling, like one you might find in a cathedral or a castle. Those gifted craftsmen (and women?) who carved such works of art may have done it as an expression of their love for the creator God. I hope that their relationship with Him was enhanced as they worked.

As beings made in His image, we all have the creative urge, and how he must love our efforts, whether professional or untaught.

Yesterday we saw a picture of one of our eight-year-old grandsons proudly displaying a paint-by-number depiction of a tiger. It looks amazing, and I’m smiling as I think of his pleasure in creating this work of art showing one of the most splendid of animals. I hope that as he painted, his appreciation for creation and the loving God who made the tiger will have swelled.

As finite beings, our vision of the glories of God will always be limited unless God himself enables us to see from his eternal perspective. I think he is always ready to give us glimpses or experiences of the beautiful majesty of his infinite presence.

May the Lord help me to expand my expectations of Him today, looking for his generosity and beauty in the trivial and routine, in the dailiness of my life, prepared to receive glimpses of glory even in the mundane.

On Wings

 

I strode along the Platties, trying to get a good walk between engagements today. A duck and a drake - beautiful in his midnight blue and deep green feathers - swam out from the shoreline below the concrete path that runs along the Dee in Banchory. They seemed intent on crossing the river, which was flowing fast towards the sea. They tried to stay together, first one and then the other striking out cross-current but then being swept further downstream.

My mind wasn’t fully engaged, but I saw their struggle and wondered how they would return to the nest they may be building. Would they just be swept all the way to the river’s mouth in Aberdeen harbour?

The next moment, they both lifted out of the water and flew to the other side.

Of course. They had a built-in escape mechanism: flight. They would get back to their nest when they wanted.

Life is turbulent and the current is strong. Home and family relationships, environmental concerns, injustices, global wars and strife. We are in the river. We are all in the river of life, and the current is turbulent and strong. We live in the world – the river, and these currents affect us all.

But take heart, Jesus cries. ‘I have overcome the world!’ He has triumphed over death and given us his Holy Spirit to strengthen and guide us, to lift us above the world’s frenetic and dangerous currents and afford us His perspective on things.

We have the wings of the Spirit to help us rise above, to take us into His presence, experience His peace, and rest in His love. Then, refreshed, we are better able to navigate the turbulent waters of life.

So grateful.

Out of the wilderness of winter

 

The wilderness of winter is segueing to the voluptuous excesses of spring, and it can’t do it fast enough for me! The bulbs are up, some are out but most continue to grow and form in response to the warming welcome of sunlight.

The field stretching out beyond the bird feeders has been ploughed and lies exposed, awaiting whatever seed the farmer will plant. Birds scavenge among the clods of dirt for bugs and worms, eager for change from a winter diet (I imagine!).

To be honest, the winter’s hibernation offers me a break from the sense of drivenness which comes as an untidy garden begins to awaken and display its need for the hand of a gardener. I struggle each year to know how much to do in a big garden largely untamed, and how much to release to nature. As my efforts at husbandry often go unrewarded (my leeks are still in the ground, about the size of spring onions…), I wonder why I bother, but something in me drives me on, hoping this will be the year…

Oh Lord, help me to keep time with you today. Help me to walk to the beat of your drum, to allocate my time well and to keep my priorities clear. May I never unseat you as King of my heart, the one who knows what is best for me and who calls me to Spirit-filled acts of service, and to divine times of rest and refreshment.

This is the day that the Lord has made. Let me rejoice and be glad in it!

Out of the Picture

 

Mhairi suggested we look at our wedding albums from over fifty years ago. Pictures were few compared to the chronicling of today’s weddings, but we enjoyed the professional pictures on the day, and the snapshots popped into the albums, taken by various friends and relatives.

One such snap was of Don’s aunt and cousins and their families. We identified each person for Mhairi, and in the next picture there was an additional middle-aged man, not in the previous shot. ‘Who’s he?’ she asked.

The father of Don’s cousin’s wife, Cindi. He must have been the photographer of the previous picture. In the days before selfies, someone had to take the camera and remove themselves from the picture. Someone had to choose to be left out of a ‘forever’ memory.

I’ve been thinking about humility, a fundamental quality in a follower of Jesus but one which is challenging to really live in. How hard it is to choose to be left out of any accolades which we might feel we have ‘earned’. How difficult to not just accept but actively step into a position of invisibility.

This day, Lord Jesus, help me to truly take myself out of any picture in which I feel I merit praise. May all of my words and attitudes spring from my relationship with you, reflect your glory, and be attributed to you. I can only do this with your help; fill me with your Holy Spirit again and strengthen me to walk humbly before God, living to pursue justice and mercy in these days. Amen.

Out of the Trash

 

The morning was a glorious one. Purple and gold crocus are vibrant against the spring green of the leaves and grass. Delicate white and green snowdrops continue to flower in the beds.

I wanted to finish what Don had begun while I was away: plant the sweet peas. He’d gathered the toilet roll tubes I’d been saving over winter, and started filling them with compost. I finished the job, burying one seed in each tube of compost and watering them after I’d positioned them on the window ledge of the conservatory.

I’m expecting to see new growth at just the right time, pushing through the dirt.

Nothing is wasted in God’s kingdom economy. A cardboard toilet roll tube is the perfect plant-pot for the deep roots of the sweet peas. When the time comes to set them out, it’s easy to plop each tube into the appropriate holes and watch them flourish.

Things which I may consider a waste of time in my life may in fact provide the perfect container for my next spurt of growth, a spurt of growth which might bloom and exude the fragrance of Jesus, which attracts those whose noses have been more accustomed to smelling the rot and decay of some of the stuff that goes on in the world. May the beauty of our Lord be revealed.

I offer up all of my experiences, Lord, good and bad, for you to use to your glory. ‘Behold, I make all things new,’ you promise, and I declare that promise now over all those trashy decisions and experiences I’ve made and had. As I surrender all to you, I thank you for all that you are growing as a result of the richness in the compost of my life.

it is good

Dressed in the drab colours of winter, the fields outside lie apparently dormant, awaiting the tingling warmth of a returning spring sun.  After two weeks in the sunshine of California (and the rain), the contrast is noticeable. Also noticeable is the chorus of birdsong lilting through the air. Along the coast where I was, the only birds I saw were pelicans returning to their nests each evening. I never heard their ‘song’.

It’s good to be back. Two places geographically very different, but each displays its own beauty, its own charm.

After six days, God looked at what he had created, and he saw that it was good. Better than that. 

Popping with glory

 It’s the quality of the light, and the vibrancy of the Mediterranean colours that I love. The view from my cousin’s house pops with stunning brightness and depth and sings out a love song to our awesome creator God. I am so full of praise and gratitude for all he is and has done and is doing in our world. I am awestruck by the detail of his blessing. All those things that so exercised me yesterday, he sorted early on, so I was able to truly enjoy the rare treat of a small gathering of cousins.

I am also so full of gratitude to him for the gift of extended family. I so miss the counsel of my big sister during these days, but God gave me cousins who are happy and willing to come alongside, despite living in scattered places across the country.

I’m off to hold Mom’s hand again, reassure her of my love, and remind us both that this is just the prelude to real life. And that Jesus is with us in every step we take.

In Every Teardrop

 In every teardrop, there is a rainbow.

Eleven years ago we moved Mom into assisted living, out of the family home she had lived and loved in for 64 years. She vacillated between agreement with the need for the move, and resentment and opposition. It was a hard time. A wilderness time.

On one of those dark days, though, I remember crying as I drove between her home and the new place of residence, praying as I cried. And impressed on my heart by our loving God were the words of that promise, In every teardrop, there is a rainbow. Maybe that is one reason I really love rainbows.

Mom and I have navigated a wilderness journey since then. I am often bewildered and lost in decisions I feel unqualified to make. In those moments I hear Mom’s adage in better times, ‘everyone is just doing their best’, and know she would say that to me now if she were more aware. I also hear echoes of my dad’s advice, ‘make a decision, pull up your socks and do it.’ I find it amazing to look back and see how many times during these years I have made faltering decisions in faith, praying that as God sees me doing my best he will make up the shortfall.

And as I’ve pulled up my socks, I have seen him do it.

Thinking of wilderness, of Jesus being led into the wilderness for forty days, and of these wilderness years since Dad died, I am aware of the many miracles I have seen while out here with Mom. Even yesterday, calling Social Security, which can entail an hours long wait for someone to answer, we were through to a very helpful girl in five minutes. And then, as she had to seek approval from Mom for me to speak on her behalf, we watched in amazement as Mom clearly answered the questions, stating her name, her date of birth, and even my full name. Miracle upon miracle.

Today is my last full day here, and I have a wonderful gathering of five of us cousins, but I also have to tie up a few loose ends which are out of my control. I will continue to focus on Jesus, with his help, and trust that these things will resolve without problem and satisfactorily.

I am aware of so many praying for us. Thank you. I am grateful to God for a digital connection to friends who are staunch supporters. God bless you. 

In every teardrop there is a rainbow.

The Enough

The enough.

I know that the Lord’s blessings can come, pressed down and overflowing, and I have experienced so much abundance in my life because of his lavish grace. My heart sings with gratitude to the merciful Lord who loves me.

I also know that he is the God of the ‘enough’.

One of the things that I’ve seen over the years of helping Mom is the way he always provides the enough. There are situations which I find baffling and beyond me, and I can feel alone and wishing so much my dear sister were still here to make decisions together, but invariably God has sent someone to answer the sometimes silent cry of my heart.

Yesterday was such a day. There is a confusion over the payment for the bed and wheelchair Mom requires. Insurance stuff here is so confusing, even for those who have navigated it for years, but more so for someone like me who moved out of the system decades ago.

Two cousins visiting. One retired from a career in geriatric social work. She has gently and quietly come alongside and made some calls. We now await a quick response but I am so grateful that for this need, God sent the enough in the beautifully calm action of Deb.

The Lord be praised.

High expectations

 I see up close the real consternation of someone I love who is captured by inherited expectations. Lunar new year may be a day of celebration, but it is also a time where certain provisions and specially prepared foods must be on the table for the ancestors. There is anxiety, much rushing around to find ingredients, to prepare food, to exchange small gifts with many others.

High expectations create chains that bind.

I came to set the captives free, Jesus declared. Love the Lord and your neighbour. Act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.

Christian expectations are also high, but with the Holy Spirit we are given the strength to fulfil them, by his grace.  

In the desert, prepare the way of the Lord. May this Lent be a time of true preparation. Help me, Lord, to discard those expectations which bind me, and live and walk instead in the freedom only you give. Give me a discerning spirit to recognise what is from you, and what is not, and the strength to accept only that which is from you.

Throw out

So when it rains in Southern California, it pours. That is what’s going on now.

As I redirected my morning to going through more of my parents’ files, I first had a quiet time and read Ecclesiastes 3:6, where it says, there is a time to keep and a time to throw away. I’m revisiting the stuff I’d decided to keep, which is too heavy for me to carry back, and am being much more ruthless.

Who knew the Bible had something to say about decluttering?!

No-brainer

 Arriving at Mom’s place late morning, usually, I help give her lunch, then roll her wheelchair over to a lighter, quieter spot where we, or at least I, can look out across Los Angeles to the mountains which encircle the city. Hollywood Hills, San Gabriel’s, San Bernardino’s: I’m not sure which I’m looking at.

Mom snoozes, arousing from time to time for a brief interaction. I play her some 40’s music on my phone and am so pleased to see her slight rhythmic motions, assuring me she hears and she enjoys. 

After a couple of hours of that I leave for a restorative walk along the coast. Somehow, I missed lunch again. So I nibble on a bag of trek mixed nuts and a few raspberries. Today I added in a smoothie, but not a proper lunch. Not really.

The sermon this morning was looking at the transfiguration as told in Luke 9. The preacher commented that Peter’s suggestion to put up some shelters revealed his desire to make it last, so that he and the other two disciples could linger longer at this mountain top experience with Jesus.

I’ve had mountain top experiences, and am so grateful for them. But I have to confess that even in the most transcendent moment, I’ve rarely if ever been totally absorbed in the experience, but have usually been aware of those around me, or of the need to cook a meal, or even the nagging thought that it’s getting late and I need to get to bed.

That leads me to Martha. Mary chose the mountain top and was able to focus on what was best … time with Jesus … and resist the nagging guilt that she was dropping her responsibilities to help put supper on the table.

That brings me back to the nuts and berries, and skipping lunch. How often do I shorten, or even miss, mountain top experiences with Jesus because I am distracted by many things and prepared to live on spiritual nuts and berries instead of lingering to enjoy the feast Jesus wants to give me?

It feels like a no-brained, so why do I find it so hard?

I have been a Christian a long time, and I still have so much to learn. I’m asking God to help me develop focus and concentration, and the discernment to recognise where I am on the mountain, and the courage to choose pleasing Jesus rather than meeting others’, or even my own, human expectations.

At Jesus’ baptism, when the Father declared his love for his one and only Son, he instructed, ‘Listen to Him’. My prayer is that the Lord will transform me so that I am eager to tabernacle with God for however long he chooses, without falling prey to human motivations and distractions. 

R

I really want to ‘listen to Him’, especially in these challenging times. Don’t you?

In the mystery

 There is something mysteriously comforting to me in standing or sitting by my dad’s grave. I know he isn’t there, but it provides a touchstone to the personality I know and miss. I stood in the warm sun, gazing down. I didn’t bring flowers. He wasn’t sentimental and I know they gather them up once a week before cutting the grass, and throw them out. 

The warm sun on my back was inviting and I sat down on the brow of the hill beside his headstone, gazing out at the view. I could see the Harbor freeway, smaller roads, Terminal Island with its working cranes, and the Pacific. Somewhere in there is the hospital in which I was born. Around the corner from the cemetery are the social housing projects I lived in during my first year of life. I felt embraced by the place of my beginnings on this earth.

I love living in Scotland, and have moved away from wanting to live in such a sprawling city as this. But still, sitting on that hill, the dry grass beneath me, little black ants finding their way onto my legs and feet every so often…it was all so familiar, so welcoming. Home.

God is in the mystery. I walk my days between two places, loving both. Only the Lord can bring it all to a happy conclusion, tie my life up with a big red ribbon one day, soon or not so soon.

Good to have time to reflect. To sit. Rain is in the forecast, even here, and I may not have many days for sitting and staring, absorbing the place.

Grateful today for the Valentine our Heavenly Father has given us all, the gift of life itself. Thank you Lord.