Beginning of the Rainbow

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, my grandson Callan whispered quietly as he played with his toys. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.

We live in a time when families, institutions, nations even, have fallen off the wall. For all the claims of some leaders to have the answer for the future, it is easier to believe that nobody can fix what is going on now.

Peter declared to a discontented mob that the man they nailed to a cross was the Son of God. You don’t get any worse mistake than that. One would think that nobody could fix such a blunder.

Then he claimed that the one they had killed had been brought to life again. We are witnesses to this fact, he said. Peter didn’t risk simply being un-PC. He didn’t risk simply offending a few folk, or even offending the mob. He risked his life.

Peter and the friends of Jesus were witnesses to the fact that Jesus had risen from the dead. I am a witness to the fact that Jesus has risen from the dead. When I was at my lowest, Jesus came to me and breathed his Holy Spirit into my deepest being.

I was that Humpty Dumpty. The king’s horses and the king’s men were useless, but the King could restore, could refresh, could renew life in me.

He did it in me. He does it in everyone who comes to him. Our world is broken, but it is not beyond repair. I pray that today I might share this Great News. Jesus is alive and lives to bring life and light to the world he died for.

I don’t need to figure out how he’s going to work this miracle. I just need to trust that he will.

I looked out my prayer window. Barely discernible, especially in my photo, but there nevertheless: the start of a wonderful rainbow. My thoughts were sealed by that rainbow – the sign of the promise of God. He will never leave nor forsake any of us. He is faithful.

Jiggling

In Apple’s word processing package, Pages, when you want to move or shift a file you do something to start everything jiggling. Once the action is over, everything resumes its stationary position.

Sometimes life feels as if everything is jiggling. At times like that, I look to God to make the changes, so that we can once again settle into routines of some sort.

God is faithful. But sometimes the jiggling goes on longer than I like…

Repetitive strain...

A few weeks ago, the farmer spread the manure over the field. Today, in the winter sunshine, he is back. His tractor pulls the plough up and down, up and down, tediously repetitive and slow. But one furrow at a time, the field is being transformed from the tired green of root-bound weeds and grass into the rich brown of freshly-turned soil. One furrow at a time. 

There is a rhythm in the farmer’s life, a repetitive rhythm. Tedious or comforting in its predictability? Depends on one’s point of view, on one’s state of mind, on one’s focus.

Monday, Monday. It can sound like a lament, or like a celebration. I confess that today, having tackled a tax miscalculation and preparing to wade into another insurance confusion for Mom, the refrain was more lament than celebration. But then as I sat in the window and watched the steady progress of the farmer’s plough, there was a shift in my thoughts. 

This is the day the Lord has made. I am up and healthy, blessed with loved ones and blessed with choices. The boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places. Peaceful places. Places where I am free to roam. I will rejoice and be glad in this day, Monday, as I prepare to get my head around the intricacies of insurance. 

The farmer presses on until the whole field is ploughed. With God’s help, I will press on, too.

Vintage

Vintage Fisher Price boy, baseball cap sideways, red freckles scattered over a grumpy face, found lurking under a living room chair. That – and the sheets and towels hanging up drying – remind us of a weekend of laughter and fun as most of the family gathered. Four wee cousins together for the first time: precious. Priceless moments to be savoured.

Blessing upon blessing. By coincidence (!), our reading this morning was Isaiah 61:1-3. Verse 3 was God’s promise last year, a promise graciously fulfilled: during this year we have watched and experienced God’s loving hand on our lives, comforting all who mourn, bestowing a crown of beauty instead of ashes, anointing with the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and bedecking us all in a garment of praise as wee Eliott joins cousins Callan, Felicity and Gregor. 

God is good. As peace settles back on this rather empty home, our memories pop with moments relived, of laughter and joy, love and conversation, fun and an unspoken communion between us all. 

Happy Monday.

Root Beer Floats

I was five and my sister was seven, and we were visiting relatives in Wisconsin for a few weeks. One night, several relatives came to my aunt’s house, where we were staying. Bedtime came and we were put into a curtained alcove off the kitchen/living room (if my memory serves me right), and while we struggled to go to sleep, the adults socialised while drinking root beer floats. It was agony hearing the spoons stirring, the straws slurping, the bubbles bubbling, while trying to sleep in a hot, stuffy room.

We were promised a root beer float the next day. The next day dawned eventually, but the root beer floats never appeared. I think my aunt just forgot, and we were taught never to ask for anything so we didn’t. We never got a root beer float during our visit there, for whatever reason, and over the years it became a joke between Judy, our mom and me, but at the time it was a promise broken. We were disappointed and let down.

God doesn’t promise root beer floats, but he does promise that he will never fail or abandon us. Sometimes I have heard a promise from him, but time has passed and it has felt a little like the root beer float that never appeared. Unlike that forgotten float, though, God never forgets, and he is faithful. His timing is not the same as ours, and his answers may not be in the form we are expecting, but I am assured that he is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and what he says will happen, will indeed happen. 

I can rest in his assurance, and wait with expectancy and peace.

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.

Time to Go

Scrunching through leaves underfoot, colours fading, pliability hardening into brittle fragility. The brittle ones break; the pliable ones bend under my weight.

The larch tree is aflame with the needles which cling tenaciously to the branches. I know it’s only a matter of time until they, too, will carpet the drive and the denuded arms of the larch will stretch out, vulnerable to winter’s icy blasts ... which are surely coming.

Today, however, is yet another glorious Indian summer day. Crisp and cool as morning breaks but softening into gentle warmth. Quite amazing when I think of the number of Guy Fawkes’ bonfires I’ve huddled round with our kids, snow on the ground and breath visible.

I’m on my way to the dentist. A decade ago a tooth was pulled. That is, it was levered and pushed and pulled and hammered and broke up in bits, with some remaining hidden. How deeply hidden I had no idea but now, almost twelve years later, a big bit has finally surfaced and is causing a bit of a problem. 

Is it brittle, or is it pliable? Will he be able to wheek it out in a deft flick of the wrist or will it require something more physical? Will he leave it to continue its slow journey north, like some sort of iceberg, breaking up as it moves until at last nothing is left?

Random thoughts. Is there a theme here? Let’s see. I’m hoping the root of that long ago tooth will not cling tenaciously to my gum but will simply give up and allow itself to be removed easily. There was a time when that tooth served a noble purpose but that time is no more. It is a liability and a pain, to tell the truth. And yet, the trauma of its removal all those years ago led to an amazing intervention by God when the next tooth played up. But that’s another story.

Time to go. There is a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to cling on and a time to let go. My times are in God’s hands. Whatever the day holds, I walk into it trusting him to hold my hand. I know he is faithful and he will not let go.