Feel the Father's Embrace

A blustery wind ruffles my lengthening hair as I patrol the garden, checking the condition of spinach and rhubarb, peas and beans, apple trees and blueberry bushes. I particularly note the flowers opening on the strawberry plants.

It is still cold in this corner of Scotland. Colder than May should be. Dry and sunny many days, overcast and dry other days, but cold. One thinks that plants flower because they are teased into activity by a warm sun, a balmy breath of wind.

But no. The strawberries are in bloom despite the chill. It’s part of their DNA. Hopefully as the blossom transforms into strawberries, a warm sun will bring a sweetness to the fruit which is borne.

Paul wrote to the people in a town in Asia Minor (Turkey), a town called Colossae, and told them that he was praying for their endurance and perseverance, patience and joy, during tough times, so that they might bear fruit.

During these chill days of lockdown and pandemic fear, may I endure and persevere patiently and with joy, allowing the flowers of kindness, peace, love, joy, patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control to form and be expressed through my words and my actions. In due season, may these flowers become fruit to nourish those who have yet to give their lives to Jesus. May eyes be opened as the fruit of the Spirit is seen and tasted.

May we be more eager than ever to share the reason for our hope during these days when many are sinking into despair. It is in our DNA as Christians. God is good. In the world there is plenty of trouble, but we can take heart because Jesus has overcome the world. And he has gifted us with the indwelling Holy Spirit, and it is this wonderful Spirit who grows the fruit in us as we abide in Jesus.

Feel the Father’s embrace today, and be thankful. xx

Home

The wind wails slow and low through the inevitable gaps in windows and doors. Yes, back in Scotland. Behind me is the perfect weather of Southern California. The congested freeways confirm that many millions agree that the weather is perfect. But the congested freeways confirm to me that perfect weather is not enough.

And anyway, what is perfect weather? Though the wind wails a lonely sound, from my prayer window I see a lovely landscape. Now that the trees have dropped their leaves, the horizon has expanded. There are no wildfires spewing brown smoke into the air. Only clouds zipping in from the west, bringing, according to Don, snow by the weekend.

As we took off from LAX a couple of days ago, we headed west over the Pacific before turning back east. The plane was remarkably empty and I was blessed with three seats on which to lounge for the ten hour flight. So I slid over from the aisle to the window and admired the view of LA, which, with all its shortcomings, will always feel like home. Millions, billions of lights shimmered like divine gems against the dark sky. All the usual lights, plus the plethora of Christmas decorations proliferating in residential and business districts alike. Conflicted: I found the lights breathtaking, in spite of my deep concern that we reduce our detrimental footprint on the world and become more responsible caretakers of it.

Many prayers were answered as my flights were wonderful, and I made the short connection time in London, as did my bag. Greeted by my soul-mate in his unique green knitted tam, welcomed in with flowers and a roaring fire: it’s good to be home.

If home is where the heart is, mine shall always be wherever he is (inevitably Scotland!), as well as LA. But my real heart, and my real home, is in God, whose presence and guidance and comforting hugs were so evident over these last weeks, especially. And that home will never be marred with congested freeways nor wildfires out of control; neither will it be marked with howling northerly winds and the prospect of freezing temps and snow. When we move on into God’s dwelling, there will be no more tears or death or crying or pain or goodbyes, because he will have made everything new. And then, we will really be home.

Tough Transitions

The grain stands ready for the combine, but the grey skies are full of moisture today. Where did that old sun go? As the trees begin to change colour, we are truly in transition mode.

Back to school weeks across Scotland mean excited wee folk, slightly scared, putting on their uniforms and heading off for P1. Even smaller, even more excited wee folk prepare for that first morning or afternoon at play group or nursery, and for them, there could be tears and tantrums at partings. So hard, transitions.

Teachers returning to work, after a summer of well-earned rest or headed back after maternity leave. A new regime, new stresses, new pressures. So hard, transitions.

I can remember after a three-month summer in the California sun, where my feet never wore anything more substantial than a t-strap sandal, to suddenly have to put on those new school shoes. My mother had a phobia of foot problems so we wore what they call in America ‘saddle shoes’, which my sister and I loathed. Lace-up shoes, sometimes two-toned, needing a polish every week and looking so clunky next to friends’ shoes which might have buckles and bows. So hard, the pinching shoes, transitions.

Other changes all around. Folk retiring. Folk starting new jobs. Folk being made redundant. New marriages. Bereavements.  So hard, transitions.

God is the only one who never changes. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. He is our rock and our refuge. Especially in the tough transitions.

So grateful

I’ve heard it said that thankfulness is the Christian form of mindfulness. As I begin to count my blessings this morning, I feel myself slowing down. My perspective on life shifts. I muffle the shriek of the urgent as I contemplate the bounty of my life. 

I give thanks for my health. The blips I have are compassionately and skilfully handled by our amazing NHS, as I said in my last post. That blog gained a much bigger readership than normal which reveals the appreciation we share for the wonderful health service we enjoy here. 

I give thanks for my family. I am so grateful for a loving husband, always kind and caring, with a heart of compassion and a zeal to work against injustice of all kinds. I am grateful for four amazing ‘kids’ who live out their faith in various significant ways, each with his/her own stamp of personality on whatever they do. I rejoice in five beautiful grandchildren, one still on the way, one already with Jesus, and three lovely wee ones with joy bursting from each one of them. I am blessed to still have my dear Mother at the end of the phone, still knowing who I am and still up and healthy and living a full life. 

I give thanks for my church family. Amazing people of all ages and walks of life, coming together to do life together, passionate for Jesus and for being his hands and feet in our hurting community and world. So grateful.

I rejoice to see a bit of sun this morning, holding out the hope that tomorrow’s BBQ may not be under canvas or in the garage as we dodge bullets of rain from on high! But if we do dodge rain, we will laugh and enjoy each other just as much.

There is so much to be grateful for here in this beautiful country of Scotland, where peace reigns and we have plenty of food and water (!!). So grateful to live in the UK, even with all its growing pains and struggles. 

Praying that in all I do and say today I will be an ambassador for Jesus, bringing a bit of light into the dark places.

FREEDOM!

FREEDOM! Mel Gibson cried out in Braveheart.

FREEDOM! The founding fathers thought as they crafted the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776. 

FREEDOM! Jesus offered when he declared, ‘If the Son sets you free, you’ll be free indeed.’

My 4^th of July memories hover round Josie Avenue, where the July sun was hot and the sidewalk baking as we set off the ‘snakes’ and other small fireworks, saving the big display til after dark. The day started with a trip to the icehouse to buy cracked ice while my Mom mixed up the extremely rich batter for homemade ice cream. Thirteen eggs, a quart of thick cream, a bottle of vanilla. Or something like that. Then, my sister Judy and I stood in the cool of the garage watching Dad layer the ice with the rock salt, and then the hand cranking began. It seemed to go on for ages and we took turns, though towards the end, as it grew stiffer, Dad finished it off while we swept the salty water away from the grass. Ice cream made, it was repacked in ice and wrapped in old towels and left until after the BBQ sometime later in the afternoon. My grandparents would come over and Grandma had an adage that you couldn’t keep homemade ice cream in the freezer, which meant we all had to get stuck in and finish the gallon in a day. Heaven. After dark fell about 7.30 pm we gathered for the fireworks, bought over the county line in Orange County because Los Angeles County banned them. Everyone along the block had their boxes and we all admired each others’ over the block walls. Oohs and aahhs at the Roman candles, the Catherine wheels, and the Piccolo Pete’s. (And the smog that fugged the air on July 5^th testified to the number of fireworks displays...)

Today’s just another day in Scotland, but I am thinking of freedom, and focusing on those who are denied it these days – the millions of victims of slavery in our world. Though Jesus referred to spiritual freedom, he cares passionately about all freedom, working through such agencies as IJM to bring it about.

So on this July 4^th, 2017, I join with others in crying out to a world caught in chains of bondage, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual: FREEDOM!

Autumn in Scotland

Never is Scotland prettier than at this time of year, as summer surrenders to autumn and the trees light up, one by one, in the glorious shades of dying embers. Fruitfulness fades into memory but so does the slavery to grass-cutting and weed-pulling. 

There is a deep sigh. Contented and satisfied. Winter may be approaching but for the moment, I will embrace the moment. 

German guests – new friends – driving off to the ferry from Newcastle and onwards to Hannover. Promises of reciprocal visits. Never too late to make new friends, to see new areas of God’s great creation.

Autumn brings with it a focus on priorities. My priorities are always God, and people. Though sometimes, I confess, I let the busyness of people marginalise God. May autumn bring a deeper wisdom to me as well.