A heart that grows two sizes in a breath

Oh, the thoughts I have as I look out my prayer window! This morning I realised that the bushes I trimmed a few weeks back are now throwing up new shoots, and the whole body of the bush is growing up as well. The view has shrunk by about a quarter. It led me to think how easily I can let shoots of thought – many of them selfish, critical, or negative – to grow up and restrict the God-given perspective Jesus wants me to have. It’s easiest to trim out those shoots one by one as they appear, rather than wait until they strengthen into wooden branches of unhelpful thinking.

Having read books for years to my four kids and now some grandchildren, I thought of one favourite – How the Grinch Stole Christmas. While the self-centred Grinch punched the air rejoicing in his presumed success at stealing Christmas from the Whos in Whoville, he was interrupted by the sound of sweet singing where he expected to hear heartbroken wailing. He had assumed that Christmas came in gifts – all of which he had stolen, rather than understanding that it is a Gift, and that Gift is love. And ‘his heart grew two sizes that day’.

The errant branches were pruned away and the Grinch could see clearly. The vision was breath-taking, transformative and life-giving.

May I recognise the errant branches in my mind today and prune them off as soon as they tempt me to think selfishly, critically, or negatively. Scripture declares we have the mind of Christ – but only as we work with the Holy Spirit to develop it. I long for his perspective, not my own, for in him only do we have fullness of life and are we set free from thoughts which rob us of our peace, compassion and love.

Beauty for ashes

Regal plumage distinguishes the beautiful male pheasants which fatten themselves up at the foot of the bird table, picking up the crumbs dropped by the other birds. They may have ‘bird brains’, but during the cold winter months one of them isn’t daft: he has developed a habit of starting his day warming his feet on a pile of rotting manure at the side of the house. When I open the bedroom curtains, this is what I see.

Life can throw undesirables our way. My back has flared again, result of a badly-placed puppet curtain which required me to operate my two puppets at a very odd angle indeed. A moment’s lack of foresight resulting in weeks of discomfort. I might just think of the resulting back pain in the same terms as a pile of manure. 

And yet, the discomfort has led to a couple of massages which enable random chats with a physio friend I don’t see much of at the moment, and Don, chats facilitated by the fact that we can’t rush off and do something else because basically I need the comfort of that warm hand rubbing in the deep heat cream. 

Beauty and the beast. A crown of beauty for ashes. 

Sometimes suffering nourishes green shoots of compassion, nurtures relationships and encourages us to dig deeper into our faith. 

A bad back is a pile of manure, no doubt about it. But I’m open to the possibilities of what can come from it.

Soup and Prayer

The smell of homemade soup simmering on the hob drifts through to the living room where I am writing this. Most of the trees are denuded by now and although it is still and the sky is blotched with clouds, the forecast is for a storm. Abigail. The weather man made a joke about that last night. A big gale. Not sure it’s a joking matter.

Anyway, simmering soup speaks of winter. As I write this, I think of that snaking line of refugees trudging their way across Europe. Winter is coming and there is no soup simmering on any stove for them. Sitting snug and comfy in my home, I cry out to God on their behalf. How can we be so cruel to each other? First a brutal civil war with no holds barred on the types of weapons used against fellow citizens, while a cruel collection of reprobates in the neighbouring lands spreads terror and destruction in its quest to establish a sovereign state from hell. These horrors spawn the migration as families grab what they can and flee to foreign lands, hoping to find a warm welcome. A pot of soup perhaps. For many, so far, the fences are up, the gates are closed, the pots are empty.

Last Saturday a group of young mums with their babies strapped onto them held a sale of what they had – baby clothes and toys, women’s clothes – while supported by others in the church providing coffees and cakes. They raised about £1800 to send to Christian Aid to help provide some pots of soup, some nappies and milk and the necessities of life. Compassion inspires most of us to want to reach out and help, but we don’t know what to do.

There is a story in the Bible about a king whose lands are surrounded by a powerful enemy. He and his countrymen are rigid with fear and feel they are on the brink of defeat. What they do is go to God. The king leads his people in a time of prayer, laying out the situation and then crying out to God that although they don’t know what to do, their eyes are on God to do something. Backs against the wall, they cry out to God in desperate hope that he will act.

He does. We make the messes in the world, and then we need God to sort them out. We can open our homes and send money and help, but what we really want is peace. Peace in the middle east so these poor people can go home and rebuild the lives which have been devastated.

Prayers to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ are powerful. Come on, church, let’s focus. 

Let’s pray as if we trust that God is listening and is the God of love we celebrate. Let’s pray with the hope that the Holy Spirit puts into our hearts. Let’s pray with excited expectation that we are going to see miracles. Something wild. Something unexpected but beautiful.

Let’s pray.

Peas in a Pod

Hurricane winds have calmed and, though the temps have cooled and it feels as if summer is on the wane, it is pleasant enough to get out into the veggie patch and bring in some of the harvest.

Yesterday I scooped up peas, spinach, lettuce, rasps and blueberries (any wonder my back was sore?) but there is more out there just waiting to be brought in and dealt with. 

It’s so wonderful having food fresh from the garden, free of any sorts of chemicals or sprays, but ... It is a lot of work. Because I haven’t been out there checking daily, many of the peas I brought in were swollen against each other in the pods, coming out nearly square in shape because they had run out of room to grow. They are still delicious to eat, but not as delicious as the smaller, sweeter ones.

Jesus looked out at a field and declared to his friends that the fields were ready to be harvested but there were too few workers. (sounds familiar...) He, of course, wasn’t talking about the wheat or grain harvest but the spiritual harvest.

We look round our world today, in such throes of agony and despair, and see so much need. People in trouble don’t need a sermon, they need a hand. They need a listening ear and a compassionate heart and then some practical help. 

Peas only grow in the pod during the short (in Scotland) growing season before the plant begins to brown and wither. Then, whatever the size of the pea, the pod begins to wrinkle and dry up and the peas inside grow inedible.

The fields are ripe. Where can I be productive today in a practical way?

No Other Name

Global storms sweep the continents. Environmental disasters seem to be on the increase as our profligate use of the planet begins to cost us the earth. Political unrest flares into violence and wars rage in flashpoints round the world. Religious extremism demands that others conform on the pain of death. 

Meriam defied her persecutors and in the moment of decision, she didn’t blink. She faced a wall of hatred and refused to bow to their demands. She stood by Jesus.

He has vindicated her courageous stand. A global outcry on her behalf may be the world’s understanding for the quashing of her sentence and her release from prison, but much of that global outcry was initiated in the name of Jesus. 

Christians round the world, as well as other right-thinking people, stood by Meriam and now she is released. One continues to pray that she and her family will be given asylum in the USA. 

Christians claim that there is no other name by which we might be saved. That the powerful name of Jesus is the way to everlasting life. Believing that does not sanction violence or force of any kind. We are called to love others into the Kingdom. To walk the way of peace, holding on to the powerful name of Jesus.

There is no other name by which we might be saved, than the powerful name of Jesus. May you know his power and compassion and love in your life today.

Spit in the Eye

I’ve been researching and writing an article on maternal deaths worldwide. I’ve just finished the article after numerous drafts, a mountain of statistics, phone calls and emails and google searches. 

It’s kind of overwhelmed me. I’d no idea just how bad it is for thousands – no, millions of women in the developing world who face childbirth unaided. 

And I guess I feel like Jesus has just spat in my eyes. I don’t mean that in any offensive way. I’m looking at Mark 8:22. A blind man was begging in Bethsaida, and his friends brought him to Jesus to be healed. Surprisingly – even shockingly – Jesus spat on his eyes. He regained partial vision, but not yet clear. It took a second time of Jesus touching his eyes for him to be able to see with clarity.

I can see clearly now. And that makes me think of the story in Matthew 25 about the sheep and the goats. The sheep were the ones who – even unwittingly – were a blessing to others through their compassion and helpfulness. The goats were the ones who – again, even unwittingly – didn’t help.

I actually love the fact that the ‘sheep’ and the ‘goats’ in Jesus’ parable weren’t aware of the high priority God gives to compassion, justice and mercy, even going so far as to identify himself with those suffering in a myriad of ways. They didn’t act – or not act – out of a sense of duty. The sheep reached out because they were impelled to by love and compassion.

I have been moved. I want to help. I don’t want to be numbered with the goats – not because I’m fearful of consequences, but because I’m heartbroken to think of women just like me (well, a little younger...) going through such needless pain, trauma and tragedy. 

The article will be printed in Woman Alive in December’s issue.