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.

The world waits...

Outside in a bucket of water, our Christmas tree waits. Swaddled in plastic netting, the green branches will probably need awhile to open out once we unwrap it.

In many windows, already the coloured lights twinkle and wink, tinsel shines and baubles bob. Still we wait.

Anticipation rises as we look forward to welcoming Mhairi home for Christmas. She flies in through Iceland on Wednesday. A new route, booked at the last minute: we’re all excited to have her here for the holidays.

Joy to the world. The Lord has come...is coming again. He is here, but he will be here in glory one day. He will reign. Peace will prevail.

Still the world waits. Waiting is hard. 

Joy. It isn’t unalloyed happiness but rather a deep well of hope, sure and certain hope, that however the world looks today, however my circumstances look and however much I am grieving or lonely, I know that this is not all there is. 

Soon we will unswaddle the Christmas tree and decorate it, hearts full of joy and sorrow in equal measure, but the joy is everlasting, the sorrow is here for a night.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. He is faithful.

Easter morning ... the waiting is over

Waiting

For hours Dusty has been waiting. I had to bake cookies and a cake in the top oven because the bottom one is broken. That seemed to take hours. Well, it did.

Then I made asparagus soup, just to have to fill the gaps of anyone who doesn’t eat enough hot cross buns tomorrow. 

Now I am here, but there...she’s just walked through the room again, looking at me with reproach, with longing, with hope and expectation.

Waiting is never easy for any of us.

Holy Saturday...Easter Saturday...a day of waiting. The Passover...the Sabbath. Nobody stirred, certainly not to go and defile oneself by washing and anointing a dead body. 

But the women could hardly wait until dawn on Sunday to get to that tomb and do their last act of service – or so they thought – for their Lord. The Marys, Salome, Joanna. They’d watched where Joseph of Arimathea had laid the body and they ran at dawn, wondering aloud how they would move that huge stone blocking the opening of the tomb.

Their time of waiting ended wonderfully, beyond all their imagining – despite Jesus’ teaching of what would happen to him. 

An empty tomb. Jesus himself, alive and risen. And then the rush back to the men, who didn’t really believe them. 

Then more waiting for him to show himself to the disciples, to the others, and finally, for him to send the Holy Spirit once he’d returned to heaven.

A lot of waiting, with hope and expectation.

May your waiting be full of hope and expectation, and may it end in joy and celebration.

Happy Easter.

Treading Water

I am not at ease in the water. 

It took me two weeks to trust the swimming instructor, who assured me that it was safe to take both feet off the bottom of the pool, especially when I was still clinging to the floatation device!  I did eventually learn to swim, and even swim sometimes recreationally and for exercise, but water will never be a medium in which I am relaxed.

So. Treading water. It is supposed to be a relaxing way to bob along and catch your breath, renewing your strength for the next spurt of swimming. Not for me. I just don’t quite believe that if I stop flailing energetically I will remain afloat.

Just before Jesus returned to heaven, he told his friends to go back into Jerusalem and wait until he sent the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, he told them, would give them the power to go out and show and tell others about the Kingdom of God. The Spirit within them would be a miracle-working power who would draw non-believers’ attention to Jesus. 

So they waited. They tread water. Not desperately trying to stay afloat, but thoughtfully, prayerfully. They all prayed together – about 120 of them – and then Peter stood up and suggested they find a replacement for Judas Iscariot, someone who had been with them, in the outer circle, for the three years of Jesus’ public ministry. They prayed, suggested two men, and then drew lots.

They trusted that God was in the drawing of the lots. Matthias was chosen. 

They continued to tread water, waiting. 

I wonder if any of them felt slightly desperate. I wonder if any of them flailed and kicked, or if they all just rested in prayer, trusting that Jesus would do something soon. They hadn’t a clue what he would do. But already they knew him well enough to trust he would do something. He said he would, and he would.

There are unfulfilled promises in my life, as in everyone’s. Lord, help me today, to tread water peacefully. Not hopelessly. Not panic-stricken. But quietly, prayerfully, expectantly.

Just wait!

Don was away early this morning, and as soon as he was gone, Dusty sneaked through to lay, expectantly, outside our bedroom door. 

I also was up early, to make breakfast for one guest at 7 am. Dusty went to the back  door and waited outside awhile; then I heard the gentle scratch which is her knock, asking to come back in. She looked at me, expectantly. 

Tony left for work, but still Kevin wasn’t up. I heard his alarm ring, as I do every day, a full hour before I hear his feet hit the floor and stumble through to the shower.

But with Don not here to make Kevin’s brekkie if he broke with habit and popped down earlier, I couldn’t just abandon the kitchen to walk the dog, as I normally do. She looked at me with that intense and meaningful gaze. 

“I know what you’re saying,” I told her. “But you have to wait.”

I cleaned out the fridge, discarding the jars of out-of-date condiments. I washed it down. Dusty looked at me reproachfully and silently asked to go back out.

At the usual time, Kevin appeared for his fry-up and tea. Dusty scratched to come back in. 

“Not yet,” I told her.

Finally he drove away. Dusty lined up at the door. Out she went again, expecting me to be right behind her.

But first I had dishes to finish, and beds to tidy, and a bathroom to clean. 

At last I emerged from the house and she was off, trotting down the drive gleefully, no doubt dreaming of that half-eaten road-kill deer still sprawled on the verge. But before we reached it, we detoured round through the woods, as is our wont. 

She paused at every bush to sniff, no doubt identifying familiar canines which also pass this way, and maybe picking up enticing odours of rabbits, pheasant and deer. Mmm. Tempting.

More than once I had to stop and wait, whistling, calling her. She was so eager to get out here and walk, but then she is so easily distracted and delayed.

A bit like me, with the Lord. Last night, someone pointed out a line from the book of James, chapter 5, verse 14. “Be patient, then, brothers, until the Lord’s coming.” 

I often gaze at the Lord (metaphorically!), longing for him to come in power in our community. I shift my position. I remind him of Scripture. I plead with him to come. I give him a meaningful look. I sigh. I shift again. He seems to be long in coming. 

“Be patient,” Scripture says. 

I’m trying. I’m asking him for patience. 

And while I wait, I’m praying that when he does come, I won’t be easily distracted and delayed, but will keep pace with him.