Squirrelling

It’s that time of year.

When Dusty was alive, I would always carry a bag with me on our walks. I would gather pine cones and twigs to use for lighting fires once the winter set in. I felt like a squirrel, busy storing nuts for those cold winter days.

Summer doesn’t last forever. So important to store up for the days which may be bitter and cold. Nourishment from a storehouse is never so tasty as that freshly picked, but nevertheless, it is nourishment, and it can sustain life.

Heading off soon for two weeks of busyness and emotional challenge, moving Mom again. Mostly I will be drawing on the nuggets of wisdom and encouragement gathered now.  Living close to others, there is little privacy to draw near to God and listen. Only during the nights, when jet lag will probably enable me to snuggle in to my heavenly Father and know his love and peace.

Perspective. I will keep the cross in full view. All else then retains its correct proportion.

The Blueberries and the Frog

Two blueberry bushes in the garden have been there for two years. Previously there were never any berries ripening to maturity because I didn’t cover them, and the fat birds had a feast. This year I reckoned it was my turn for a feast. So I stretched a green plastic netting over the top to allow them to ripen in the sunshine.

Last week Don found a bird dead in the netting, strangled. We hated that, but I was still eager to bring in a berry harvest so left the netting on.

Today I went out to bring in what might be ready and noticed something which I took to be a mushroom having grown up through the netting. It’s been wet on and off the last few days. I flicked the netting up and realized how heavy this brown blob was, and then it started to flail about.

To my horror I recognized a wee frog entangled in the plastic netting. I zipped into the house for scissors and spent a quarter of an hour gently snipping green plastic, first freeing his feet, then his body. Poor wee thing was desperate to escape and began trying to hop, which made me fear for its safety as it too might have strangled itself.

Nothing else for it. I had to gently cradle the frog’s body in my left hand and snip away at the tangled mess under its heaving chest, finally releasing the last bit of plastic gripping his neck. And he was free. 

I was delighted to see him hop away, first rather tentatively. Maybe he was just exhausted. Who knows how long he had struggled in the trap of mesh. Once he’d regained his breath, or his strength, he clambered off into the undergrowth fringe of weeds. 

Our heavenly father often finds us trapped in sin, strangling as we struggle to escape. We must look a bit like frogs (in other words, not exceptionally beautiful!) but our father gently picks us up (without garden gloves, too!) and tenderly disentangles us, bit by bit, until we can stagger off to live another day.

I’m still enjoying the sense of success from freeing the trapped frog. I hope that our heavenly father has a moment now and then to savour the sense of satisfaction from freeing another of his children from the grip of sin. 

We are so blessed. And I am thankful.

Vital Statistics

The cycle of life. I heard of some deaths this week. Some elderly, long awaiting the call, went home. Others taken in untimely ways. Murder. Car accidents. Civil unrest. Accident at work. Sorrow and grief.

I also heard of some new life this week. A couple of new babies born. Pictures received of twin girls born to a couple who long waited for this blessing. Lots of pictures. New babies expected – longed-for babies. Delight and rejoicing.

I’ve been in the garden again, tentatively because of my bad back. Cutting away last year’s withered and dead flowers. Picking up crunchy leaves littering the flower beds and revealing lilies of the valley (I thought I weeded all of them out! – but now that they are about to flower, I haven’t the heart...)

The dead make way for the living. 

As in our spirits. Time to cut away all that is dead and dying within our spirits – or to ask the Gardener to do it, our heavenly Father. If we let it lie on, it will stunt new and healthy growth and prevent flowering. It will kill off what might one day bear fruit in our lives.

Time to spend time with the Gardener. You too?

Drink Deep

Those little gems I wrote about last week – the carnations with flower heads sprouting frequently up the slender stalks: they’re still going strong. 

I’ve just been reflecting on the short life of a lovely young woman, Stari, who passed away just before Christmas. Her strong faith in Jesus lives on in the blog she left behind and in the comfort her assurance gave to those who loved her. Looking at pictures of her through her life, I noticed how like her mother she had grown in looks; a picture of her being cradled in her mum’s arms shortly after birth startled me into thinking just how short life is.

I’m still struggling to come out from the effects of this nasty virus, trying to overcome the pounding headache which seems to be its legacy. I look in the mirror and feel that I’ve aged almost beyond my own recognition! It’s amazing how fast it goes.

Peter wrote, quoting from the Old Testament, that ‘all people are like grass and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever.’ 

Stari, a beautiful flower, fell before her time. Those of us who may live out a normal life span wither more slowly, less obviously perhaps, but we wither nevertheless. One day we will all fall, but how comforting and even exciting to know that as believers in Jesus we will join him and go on forever. 

Meanwhile, we want to accomplish all we are meant to do while we are blooming here on earth. I just noticed my little gems of carnations had sucked up most of the water in the vase, so I’ve filled it again with fresh, clear water. That should keep them perky and bright for awhile longer.

And while we are flowering here on earth, we need to ensure we suck up the nourishment provided by our heavenly Father through his word, which refreshes, restores, corrects and encourages us. That way, hopefully, the power and love of God will shine out through the weakness of a pounding headache – in the same way that the power and love of God shone out through the pain Stari suffered in her final illness.

I thank God for the encouragement and hope offered by this extraordinary young woman.

Father God

What word would you associate with ‘teenager’? I imagine that many of us would immediately respond ‘rebellious’. I know I would.

We raised four wonderful kids who are our best friends, but it wasn’t always like that. There were a few years in there where they chafed against restrictions, where they were moody and longing for more freedoms than we were prepared to grant, and where tension at meal times was commonplace. 

At those times, I doubt that any would have agreed that we were drawing boundaries because we loved them so much. 

Now God is our heavenly Father. He loves the world so much – everyone in it – that he gave his most precious possession, his only son, to come and live among us and make a way for us to be restored to friendship and intimacy with him. We, his children, have been acting like rebellious teenagers ever since we bit into that bit of fruit in the garden, and there was no way we could ‘hang out’ with God. 

He wanted to hang out with us, because despite our rebelliousness, he still loves us. Well, that’s not so hard to understand, as I know that despite our kids’ rebelliousness, we still loved them. (we didn’t always like them, though!) So Jesus came into the world, paid the price for our sins on the cross – took the punishment which we deserve – and there is now no condemnation for any of us who invite Jesus to be our Lord. No condemnation. Jesus paid it all.

So when we are truly sorry for our sins, there is no condemnation, no punishment. We are restored to intimacy with God without doing time first. 

A survey in the US revealed that ¾ of the participants thought of God as judgmental, scary, and distant. But one quarter recognised that God is love. And Scripture says there is no room for fear in love. He loves us. He doesn’t want to punish. He wants us to love him, but to do so freely, of our own volition, not because we are forced or coerced into it. 

He wants us to choose to love him, and when we love someone, we want to please him/her. We want to serve. We want to tell others about how wonderful that person is.

Or in this case, God.

He is. He is love. He is amazing. He loves you with an everlasting love. Wow.

Mothering

Commercialism makes our world go round, but none of us mothers were ever in it for the cards.

Or the flowers. Or the delicious meals cooked for us. Or yummy cakes baked for us.

Not that we haven’t enjoyed all of the above, and been blessed by such sincere shows of gratitude.

Children – yes, even when they are a challenge – fill a mother’s heart with joy every single day. Those eager eyes; the heads thrown back, abandoned to spontaneous laughter and fun; the tired heads slumped forward onto my chest; the daily joys of discovering new surprises in this amazing world we inhabit. The tiny hand slipped into mine. The cuddles on the couch. 

And that’s just when they are little.

Now, when my children are old enough to have children of their own, my pleasures in them are different. Joy, again, as I see each developing along his/her own individual pathway. Each blossoming and bearing fruit in gifting and talents unique to him or her. Each giving back to the world in which he or she lives – making people laugh, helping them forgive, eat, survive, stimulating spiritual growth and demonstrating abandonment to God, interacting in Godly ways in office and at church, sharing generously with others. 

My inclination is to say how proud of them I am, which is true, but my pride is overshadowed by my gratitude to the faithful, loving heavenly Father who has enabled them all to be all that they were created to be. 

To God be the glory. My heart sings for joy to the God who loaned me four beautiful human beings to nurture and raise, and who made up for the ‘years the locust ate’ (eg, all my poor parenting efforts). Gratitude to the God who has widened the door of my home in order to accommodate wonderful Godly partners for them. 

I can’t send you a card today, my heavenly Father, nor a dinner nor flowers nor a cake. 

But what I can do is give you my heart and soul in everlasting gratitude. 

You’ve got it. I’m yours.