Sunset Song

Maybe I would love the sky anywhere, because it is kind of a window on God’s grandiose creation. 

Mhairi reported back that the Saharan sunsets were superb and that yes, indeed, African skies are magnificent. I’ve heard that about Montana skies too. And southern California coastal sunsets are breathtaking.

But there is something about the daily grandeur of a Scottish sky which fascinates me. This week the dawn and dusk of the days have been pretty awe-inspiring.

Through it all, when life is tough in the wider world and tough on the home front, I lift my eyes to the sky and, to borrow a phrase from my family’s favourite psalm, ‘from where does my help come? My help is in the name of the Lord.’ 

Yes indeed. Thank you Father for your love letter – in the sky and in the book.

Turn it down!

This will immediately give my age away. We went to a ceilidh (Scottish country dances) on the weekend, and the music was just too loud.

It was a good band, and if we had been able to dance perhaps I’d not have noticed. But with Don’s recent leg surgery, we were confined to the table with the other non-dancers, who all seemed to feel a need to keep up a conversation. Which is fine, if you can hear each other.

The conversations were interesting. I think. But I couldn’t hear everything that was being said. And my own throat began to hurt with the strain of shouting into another person’s ear.

At least there was a woman there who is younger than me, who had to flee the noise because of a headache developing.

Life in the twenty-first century is just too loud. Have you noticed that? Many people don’t feel comfortable unless there is music playing in their ears; when they walk in the fields and forests, they do so accompanied by the sounds of their favourite bands rather than the birds and bees. 

If you can’t even hear the birds and bees, how on earth do you ever think you’ll be able to hear God?

We walked out of the hall into the cool evening. The stars were out. And as we drove into the silence, we both breathed a sigh of relief. 

Now I can hear, if only I will listen.

Family Blessings

A house full of family. Not everyone is here, but many are, and from afar. There is a lot of laughter, some expectations, a lot of food and teasing. You have to have a thick skin to survive in this family. 

Tennis is on in front of me; the anticipation of watching Murray, the great Scottish-British hope, storm through is enough to make you think he’s bound to fail. At the moment though Federer is powering through to victory.  Until the rain stops play.

It’s the Fourth of July. I have a scrapbook of memories in my memory bank of past Fourths. Homemade ice cream – the rock salt, the taking turns at cranking it, the ice cream so cold it gave you a brain freeze. Heat, sunshine, fireworks in the evening. It got dark by 8 in California. Can’t have fireworks in a place where it doesn’t get dark til 11, unless you have it at midnight.  My memories here are fun, too. BBQ, usually cooked in the garage, someone racing back to the house through the rain with the cooked food. Flags flapping in the moist air. Friends coming round to celebrate.

We’ll do it today again, later. We’d all love it to be hot and sunny – it has been some years (including last year) – but we’ll enjoy ourselves whatever the weather.

My heart is full of gratitude to God, for such a family. For such love and laughter. I don’t take it for granted.