A Beautiful Morning

The glow of a golden dawn tinged the delicate pink blooms of the flowering cherry tree, giving them a richness and depth. The cherry tree was a gift from a friend thirty-four years ago when my sister died. The colour is a beautiful reminder of the gentle touch of the Father on our deepest griefs; his love doesn’t take away the pain but reminds us that whatever challenges we face, we never walk through them alone.

Sitting in the prayer window, I watch as a pair of geese fly low over the field. In silence. Usually I hear them coming, but this pair were perhaps just enjoying the beauty of the awakening spring morning. Aware of each other’s companionship.

Our precious daughter is on the flight from LA this morning, on her way to London. Tomorrow she should be making her way home to Scotland. Thanks be to God. It’s a beautiful morning.

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.