Blessed be your name

Overnight rains have soaked the thirsty ground, and now a warm sun peeks out from the clouds still being blown across a blue sky beyond. The potatoes planted deep and the carrot and parsnip seeds planted shallow will be swelling in the rain and sprouting towards the sun.

Swell my heart today, Lord, with praise. As the seeds in the earth soaked in the rain water overnight, and now feel the warm fingers of sunlight tickling and teasing them into growth, may my heart swell in the refreshing truth of the gospel, and may it sprout in the warm glory of the Son. May it grow into a living praise machine. May I go through this day with all its challenges, imagined and unforeseen, with a song in my heart, a song on my lips, a song of praise and thanksgiving. Be lifted up, Lord, be exalted. Be glorified, my Jesus, be worshipped all over the world.

As Covid 19 highlights the failings of society, may your praises highlight the glories of this world you have given us. Maybe the earth would be better off without humanity, but partnering with you, Lord, we can steward creation as you want us to. Help us today, Lord. And be glorified in everything.

Blessed be your beautiful name, Jesus. Amen.

Fully Immersed

Fully immersed.

It was easy to fully immerse in the sun and the salty Mediterranean Sea. A fearful swimmer, I declined to swim away from the boat we took one day. But when I did venture into that beautifully-warm sea water on the beach at Lindos, I was amazed at the extreme saltiness which soon splashed onto my lips. I was reminded of the buoyancy of the salty Dead Sea, and readily began to swim, knowing it would take more effort to sink than to float.

We are home now, paddling back into the detail of our ‘real’ lives. As I wade back in, rather reluctantly, I sense the salt of the Spirit, and relax into the buoyancy he provides. In his arms, it takes more effort to sink than to float.

May I remember that through every situation, so that fear recedes and faith, joy and peace prevail. My heart overflows with gratitude to the loving Lord who created, and died, for me.

Don't give up

Don’t give up meeting together, Paul advised in the reading we had in the West Church today.

I don’t intend to. After missing four consecutive Sundays, surviving an emotional wringer and a physical challenge or two, I slipped into church this morning grateful and relieved. Prayer warriors who have kept us before the throne of grace greeted us. Tears were not far from my eyes.

It is so good to be back. I have heard good sermons while I was away. I have sung meaningful worship songs to my Lord. I have prayed and received communion with other believers. I have linked arms with the family I was with, so glad to be worshiping with Don, with Mhairi, with Mom. I have hugged and been hugged, loved and been loved. Precious moments which I shall always savour. Living thousands of miles from loved ones is hard, so hard. (No airports in heaven…)

I have been churched in California over these last weeks, but I have missed the soft surround of believers I’ve known and walked with for decades. Cocooned and safe while I am restored and refreshed and strengthened to emerge again. Hide me, Lord, under your wings. Cover me, within your mighty hand.

I have not exactly soared, but neither have I crashed and burned. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, praying friends and family.

God bless you all.

Undergrowth

I took the clippers and hacked away at the undergrowth. I discovered a couple of trees taking root under the laurel. I found two bushes intertwining into one confused lump. And there were the inevitable weeds proliferating in the shadows.

‘Hide me, now, under your wings’: the opening line of the worship song, Still, expresses my feelings today. Sometimes things feel overwhelming. Too much, Lord, too much. I want to hunker down under his wings.

And yet, as he prunes away the overgrowth, the light of the Son can reach me more fully. I can see him more clearly.

May I focus on your face, Lord, and be strengthened and renewed. May I receive all the goodness you have for me this day, with a thankful heart.

May I trust in your wisdom and rejoice in your love today, Lord, and every day.

Glass Terrarium

I’ve had a glass terrarium for 45 years, but never planted and hung it in the conservatory until this summer. As nasturtiums snake up round the chain, growing before our eyes, lobelia and geraniums cascade out of the openings.

We’ve noticed how quickly the soil dries out. In fact, it is often so dry when I water, that the water puddles and pools and then gushes out the openings to drip onto the geranium below. Nothing soaks down to the roots unless I slowly drip it onto the hard soil.

I’ve been thinking about joy. A tender emotion, it can quickly dry up and crust over, especially with global situations as they are just now. Chasing happiness, confusing it with joy, doesn’t reach the root of the issue. Happiness is transient and fleeting, where joy bubbles up from within.

Spending time with the Lord – maybe in nature, on holiday, or in the garden or even prayer window – is like slowly dripping water onto parched soil. It has time to percolate down and reach the roots which are dry and thirsty. The joy of the Lord is our strength.

And then the growth and flowers come.

Warning

A warning light pops up, indicating the laptop’s battery needs recharging. A simple matter of connecting cables and turning it on at the wall.

Life is full. I can’t keep up if I’m running on empty. The Lord is my light and my salvation. As I gaze at him in quiet and at rest, so my spirit is refreshed and revived.

Make new friends, but keep the old

One is silver, the other is gold.

Pine trees stretch high, silhouetted against a bright winter’s sun. The wind has risen again and moans in the chimneys – chimneys which will be swept clean tomorrow. We’ve waited two months for the sweep to arrive in our neighbourhood.

I could smell soot recently, a sure sign that it’s time to get Dick van Dyke and his friends in. I doubt there will be much singing or leaping around on the rooftops tomorrow, but hopefully when the wind whistles down it won’t carry a scent of soot.

I’ve just had a refreshing time over coffee with a much younger friend. We gossiped God. I feel like the soot that can clog me up has been swept away, so that the wind of the Spirit can blow on through and out to a tired world.

Praise the Lord for old and new friends, especially those in the family of God.

Prayer

A flash of movement on an upper branch of the rowan tree drew my attention. A woodpecker hammered away at the wood, hoping to find nourishment. Suddenly he lifted off and flew to the bird-feeder, where there were some easy pickings.

Tried my new bread-maker yesterday, a thoughtful Christmas gift. I had to breathe deep to read the directions, do all the prep, and then struggled a bit with the electronic controls, which failed to respond to my finger’s pressure until suddenly they did. I’m sure I’ll figure that out.

The bread exuded a gloriously delicious smell all afternoon and finally pinged to indicate it was finished. Wholewheat bread: I knew it is harder to get it to rise but I thought that this machine would be the panacea, so I was disappointed with the result. Tastes fine, but next time I’ll make a large rather than medium loaf, maybe mixing the flours and hope it produces a bigger loaf.

The temptation is to fly off to the supermarket and buy what’s on the shelf, full of additives and expensive though it is. I will continue to experiment with this bread-maker, though, hoping to figure out the best way to get the result I’m expecting.

Spiritually, it’s tempting to live off the sound-bites of theologians and writers who can word things so cleverly and meaningfully. But the Lord knows what I need at this moment, and it’s as I hang with him that I receive the real food to carry me through the day. It’s called prayer, but don’t let the word put you off.

Waiting

Yesterday I thought about being prepared. ‘Our’ farmer spent yesterday ploughing the field that surrounds our home. Up and down he drove the tractor, tedious and tiresome but still requiring attention and care. He was busy prepping the field for planting.

Now I imagine he will wait a few weeks while the manure he dug in begins to break down and enrich the soil. The field, prepared, will await the right moment for the seed to go in and germinate.

Life goes on all around the field. Small creatures scamper across it. Birds dig for worms. Cars pass on the road beside it. But still the field lies still, waiting.

Most mornings I prep for the day by sitting in my prayer window and looking at God’s word and praying it into the day. I take ideas from what I read. Ideas about who God is. Ideas about how I should live.

Then I move into my day. Most my days are busy. But deep inside, I wait. I wait for God’s ideas, for his word, to germinate, to take root and transform me.

Every day is one of preparation and waiting, of seeing transformation and of resisting the urge to be impatient and independent.

They who hope – who wait – on the Lord shall renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not be faint.

Today, trusting in that promise, I wait on the Lord.

Geens

Geens. The cherry trees we planted 36 years ago are having a bumper season. Jam. Cakes. Pie?

These lovely sweet cherries are small, though, and as I sat for an hour today removing each pit with a straw, (the bespoke cherry pitter which I ordered won’t arrive probably until the harvest is over!), I noticed how neatly and cleanly this rudimentary method popped out each pit, leaving no heart in the sweet cherries.

I’d been thinking about refugees. I’m still praying for those families broken apart at the US / Mexico border. For those babies who may never again see their mothers, their dads. For those anguished parents only seeking asylum, safety, who instead were met with cruelty and humiliation. In a very rudimentary way, their hearts were popped out, leaving them bereft and hollow.

My forebears were immigrants to the USA. Not refugees as such, but honest people looking for a safe home, for new horizons. They were welcomed in by others who had done the same thing. Welcomed in, not shut out.

God will never crush a bruised reed, he promises in Psalms. I think of the amazing love of the father of the prodigal son, eye on the horizon continually, looking for his wayward son. No wall greeted the returning prodigal. No hard heart. No closed door. No violence and separation. Only open arms and unconditional love.

The Lord is close to the broken hearted. May he be close to all those bereft of mummies, daddies and children as a result of an evil policy enacted by a heartless, selfish individual. Lord, have mercy.

Buon Camino!

Surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, Paul writes. Witnesses cheering us on. Life is a pilgrimage but we don’t go it alone. Jesus is true to his promise, that he never leaves our side. How amazing is that? Like the disciples headed for Emmaus, we don’t always recognise him but if we take the time to engage with that stranger next to us today, on the bus, in the waiting room, at the school gate, we might just catch a glimpse of him.

And then there is the community of saints: family, friends and other believers we fellowship with in church and Bible studies, prayer groups and FB groups. Cheering each other on. Sharing burdens, supporting in prayer, travelling with us in spirit.

Then there’s that cloud of witnesses, which I take to be the saints that have gone on ahead, round the corner and further in to Jesus’ presence. Out of sight, but somehow aware of our journeys. Praying us forward.

May the Lord bless each reader who so kindly cheers me on through the blog. Though I am not very good at acknowledging ‘likes’, I do notice and am encouraged. Thank you.

As  they say in Spain, Buon Camino!

Over to You

If I were an artist, I would attempt to paint the picture the Lord gave me a couple of weeks ago, of the stagecoach being dragged wildly over rough terrain, pulled this way and that by six or eight untamed horses, with a driver crazily distracted and aware that there was a cliff somewhere up ahead. Suddenly Another was beside him, taking the reins, calmly taking charge and reassuring the driver that He knew where the cliff was and He was in charge. That picture so filled me, the erstwhile driver, with peace for the day’s tasks.

This morning He reminded me that this is the day that he has made. Last night a message came in for something for Mom which filled me with fear and required midnight Skypes. With Mhairi’s help, it is resolved this morning, though there remains in me a frisson of unease because there is another element to the story which remains unresolved.

But this is the day that the Lord has made. He is in charge of my circumstances, of Mom’s circumstances. He has the reins. If I allow him to drive this, I should be able to enjoy an exhilarating ride and not be driven by fears and forebodings.

I have said that if I have a regret, it is that I am not more adventurous and less timid and easily frightened by heights, speeds, water, whatever. Perhaps this is the day, when the Lord is inviting me to enjoy the adventure with him, not anticipating disaster, but revelling in the moment.

Thank you, Lord, for entrusting this to me, and may my squeals be ones of delight and joy, not fear. Over to you.

In Training

We strode out in some of our new hiking gear, headed up Scolty as part of our training for the pilgrimage walk we will be making in a few weeks. We needed to catch our breath a couple of times on the ascent, enjoyed the view briefly, and then headed down. Four km in an hour. Could we do five times that length, day after day? Hopefully so.

I remember hearing golf described as a good walk ruined. A pilgrimage is more than the physical exertion of journeying. It should provide mental and spiritual space for rest, contemplation, and renewal. For that to happen, we need to be strong and have the stamina to endure the physical challenge so that our minds and spirits can soar, and not be tethered to the ache of our thighs or the rubbing of blisters. I don’t want our pilgrimage to end up being a good meditation ruined.

Paul talks about the spiritual life requiring training and discipline. It’s tricky building those elements into our already busy schedules, but hopefully as we discipline ourselves to undertake regular physical and spiritual training, we will position ourselves to benefit from a close encounter with our Lord.

Buon camino!

Special Delivery

We were expecting two deliveries yesterday. As day rolled into evening, I went online to check the progress of one of them, and saw that it had been rolled over a day. We got up this morning, hopeful. By 8 am, the coal had come. As yet, no sign of the other delivery.

‘Today, when you hear his voice’, I read this morning in one version of the Bible. Another version reads ‘Today, if you hear his voice’. I don’t know which is more accurate, but I know which I prefer. I prefer expectancy, rather than insecurity. 

Trust in the Lord and he will make your path straight. Our walk is one of faith, and so as I step out today I expect to hear his voice. He’s always with us, and he’s not always silent. And I expect to receive the second delivery, too!

Best Christmas Ever

‘I want it to be the best Christmas ever!’ the lady enthused, planning her seasonal purchases. 

The best Christmas ever. In a material world, that distils into a pile of presents under the tree, a loaded drinks cabinet and a fridge stuffed with all the delicacies. Perhaps for some it includes parties, amongst colleagues or club-members, often characterised by excess consumption of one sort or another. 

The truth is, the best Christmas ever has already been. It must have been the first Christmas, as a perfect deity was incarnated as a helpless baby and began the slow trudge towards the cross. For each of us, it must be the time that perfect man/perfect God was born into each of our hearts and took his place on the throne of our lives.

The best Christmas ever started with relationship: the Father bending down and kissing a twisted world with a loving kiss in the shape of his Son Jesus. The best Christmas every year involves relationship: families coming together to play and laugh, reminisce and wipe away the odd tear. Friends meeting up to share time. Those who, through no merit of their own, find themselves with treasure, reach out to share it with those with none. Those who, again with no merit, find themselves with time, reach out to share that with those who have no-one. 

All of us trudging through this weary world, taking time out from the frenzied preparations to sit with Jesus, refreshing and renewing that relationship, lifting him high in our praises and high in our lives. 

Jesus is the reason. Jesus is the relationship. Jesus is the Lord.

He has given us everything for the best Christmas ever.

Nothing noble about wrinkles

The follow-up to a busy time in the B&B is Mt Everest in the laundry basket, awaiting ironing. This is the real down side of running a B&B: the ironing of sheets and duvets. I redeem the time somewhat by listening to the Bible in one year or worship music or a sermon podcast, but still. At the end of the day, I’m standing for over an hour pushing a hot iron up and down wrinkled cotton.

The wrinkled cotton is the hardest to get the crease marks out of. Some of the blended fabrics are a breeze by comparison.

We are each unique: the fabric of our personalities is particular to each one of us, made up of our genes, our experiences, our upbringing and probably a thousand other things. The wrinkles in our personalities are harder set in some of us than in others. 

It’s the pressure and the heat that removes the wrinkles. Much as we don’t like discipline or hard times, those are the things that iron out the creases of our characters.

My mom used to keep a water bottle in the fridge, with the lid punctured with nail holes. When she brought the clothes in from the hot California sun, the wrinkles would be emblazoned into the fabric. They were removed easier with the application of a light sprinkling of water from that bottle. 

Heat and pressure are not always enough to remove the wrinkles of our personalities: sometimes we need the gentle rain of the Spirit to loosen us up and smooth them out.

I’ve been doing some writing around Proverbs, and was impressed last week with the dictionary definition of noble. ‘Magnanimous, a courageous spirit, generosity of mind’. This is my goal now: to become noble. I love this definition, this word. I think my mom has shown nobility in many ways. 

I fear that the Lord is going to need to apply heat, pressure and a generous sprinkling of the Spirit to loosen up the wrinkles that impede nobility in me. Ready and willing, Lord. And slightly nervous.

Dirty Linen

‘Excuse me,’ called one of our B&B guests, interrupting me. I was finishing my quiet time and asking God what I might write in my blog today! I confess I was a little irritated by the interruption.

‘I see here that you will do a wash for us.’ I smiled. I really don’t mind. She returned a few minutes later with a very small bundle of shirts and so on.

‘I can’t bear to have the dirty laundry squashed in beside the clean clothes when travelling for three weeks,’ she explained. 

In the chaos of living out of a suitcase, dirty knickers can become confused with clean ones. There can be some question of which shirt has been worn once or twice and which is still unused. The socks are usually more obvious...

Life is a journey. It’s easy to squash down the dirty laundry – angry outbursts or critical thoughts or judgmental actions – and keep it right beside the clean linen gathered from those quiet times. But it just doesn’t do. The smell, the dirt: they can taint what is clean. 

‘OK, Lord,’ I call out, hoping I’m not interrupting Him. ‘I see here you will do a wash for me.’

Painted Nails

So there I was trying to settle into a serious spiritual conversation with God as we prepared for communion this morning. Moments of contemplation between the sermon and the sacraments.

I was asking God to help me clean up my act, and to show me specifics of what was on his mind about the state of my life this morning. For no apparent reason I started thinking about putting nail polish on my toe nails. This is something I do a couple of times a year, if I’m travelling somewhere warm. Then I leave it on until it’s chipped and scraped and my feet are always in wool socks anyway.

I thought about how the bright colours can cover over the imperfections – perhaps a purple/black splodge where I banged my toe on a door, or a white spot which may or may not be a bit of some weird kind of fungus. Once the colour’s on, imperfections are gone and the game is on. I can pretend that I am – or at least my toenails are –perfect. I can deny that I am hiding anything from God or the world. Red toenails signal that I am good with things, that things are good with me. 

When of course I’m not. When of course there are always hurts and fears and sins which, if covered over and not healed from within, will fester and spread into other areas of my life. Message received, Lord, even if a little weird in the metaphor.

So here I am; my toenails currently being unadorned, I’m open for that healing touch, Lord, when you’re ready. 

(And then how about a little sunshine and another round of polish?)