Walking With ...

As the meeting ended last night, one elder offered to walk another one home. Two elders asked another for a lift. 

We were built to accompany each other. To keep one another safe. To help carry one another when the journey is hard or long. 

I love the story of the disciples trudging in dejection towards Emmaus on the first Easter day. Some of their friends were claiming that Jesus had risen from the dead, but they knew what crucifixion was and knew that there was no way he could be alive again. A mysterious stranger joined them and they had a deep discussion as they carried on to their destination, finally inviting the stranger in to stay with them. It was as he broke the bread and thanked God for the food that Jesus was recognised. Jesus was alive. He had overturned the ‘no way’ and made a way. Jesus had walked with them on the lonely, hard road, sharing truths and challenging their ideas. They hadn’t recognised him.

My mother walked with me through all my growing up years – actually, she’s walked with me metaphorically all my life. What a privilege it is now to walk the hard road with her as she trudges through her 90’s. What a blessing Skype and the internet are for easing communication and enabling stewardship of her resources even from a distance. 

During these last few difficult months of transition I’ve been very aware of the presence of Jesus, whispering encouragement and bringing peace and giving guidance. I wouldn’t say I’ve been very creative or profound but I have felt the comfort and love of our Saviour and known that he is on the lonely road with Mom and me. 

I’ve also been privileged to be aware of the physical presence and willing spirits of a few special people gathered round Mom and me on that road – Mhairi, Shirley, Mark and Son. A little further out and there are others, willing to help in a practical way where they can. Sandi, Jeb, Anne, others. And on the phone, sending cards, gifts and prayers are Don, Jamie & Chrisie, Robbie & Emma, Doug & Joey (and even wee Flick). All trudging the path with us.

Beyond that, I’ve been overwhelmed by the spiritual support of a cohort of Christian family from round the world holding Mom in prayer as she has adjusted to new circumstances. God is so good. There is nothing more precious than the family of God walking each other home, home to where there are no more tears, no more sorrow, no more separations, no more pain. 

No airports in heaven. It’s gonna be great. 

Meanwhile, that lonely path is more crowded with loving people than you might imagine. Look around and count your blessings. And see where you can join someone on their lonely path today. That’s what I’m going to do. On Food Bank duty today.

Loosen the List

Driven by accomplishments, many of us wake up each morning enslaved to the tyranny of a too-long to-do list. Time is money. We feel justified by what we do, not by who we are.

So we fly through each day anxious to check more jobs off of the list, but finding that in fact the more we check off, the more we add on. I know that personally I find it so satisfying to either score out or check off something that I hurry to do the easy jobs first just to bask in the sense of satisfaction. 

And so I arrive at late afternoon (now) aware that the important things which take a bit more time are still on the list. Feeling empty and weary from the rush of accomplishing things and needing time in life’s lay-by to refuel.

Come to me, Jesus says. I will give you rest.

We don’t need to earn that rest. We don’t need to keep moving to justify ourselves. We just need to call time out, to breathe deep, to relax, to cogitate, to stare into space or into the sky or the garden or even the middle distance. We might be thinking deep thoughts, or our minds might be a blank. 

Doesn’t matter. I should rush off and do pilates, practice my cello, study Russian (yes, really...), or skype my mother.

I'm only going to do one of those things. The one that matters.

Take a break. With or without a KitKat.

The Bigger Picture

Remember those pictures with the hidden pictures inside of them? Can’t remember what they were called, (magic eye?), but I can remember staring at one in my uncle’s house, trying to relax my eye (as he instructed irritatingly) so as to see the second image concealed within the obvious picture. 

Thinking about life this morning, and how we can become so intent on seeing the detail, the smaller pictures in our lives, that we lose sight of the bigger picture. I know I’ve been writing about perspective recently but maybe it’s just a theme in my life at the moment. 

As a mother, I want my kids’ lives to run smoothly and if there is a problem, I want to fix what I can and then watch God fix what I can’t. I do my pathetic bit and pray increasingly fervent and frustrated prayers if the problem isn’t going away. I lose sight of the bigger picture and I lose sight of the generous God who has given us life. 

This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. The first line of one of the first choruses I learned after being born again, and it comes back to me usually in the teeth of a storm. 

There is no physical storm today but in the lives of a couple I love the storm rages on. We all search the horizon for a break in the storm clouds but sometimes it seems all we see are yet more black clouds piling up. 

An Old Testament prophet, Habakkuk, wrote, ‘Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Saviour’. He wrote that not while lounging on a sun-drenched beach but when devastation and starvation loomed large. That is not easy. But today, I face neither devastation nor starvation, so how can I do any less? I will rejoice in the Lord; I will be joyful in God my Saviour. 

Jesus is the bigger picture. Today I will get lost in him. This is the day he has made. I will rejoice and be glad in him.

Water, water everywhere

Water, water everywhere ...

I think I would be telling the truth if I claim that it hasn’t rained in 24 hours. That is the longest dry spell we’ve had here in Scotland for months, I should think.

Dusty and I had a ramble round the local hill this morning, and I noticed the cascading burns are less full than the last time we went, when water gurgled and splashed its way across compacted paths and spongey green banks.

The dog waited hopefully beside the stagnant pond, and I unthinkingly threw a stick in for her to retrieve. A sour smell greeted me and I invited Dusty out of that stinky water and onwards to something sweeter.

Beside a gurgling burn, s she chewed contentedly at the bark of a stick, and I listened to the cheerful chatter of the fresh water as it tumbled over rocks and tree roots. Fresh, clean water. Delicious to drink; refreshing (I imagine) to bob around in. 

Water is wonderful, despite our moans when we seem to get it too frequently pouring on us from above. Jesus invites us to come to him so that streams of living water will flow from us. Living water, not stagnant water. 

Some Christians do go to him and drink of the stream, but then fail to allow it to flow on through them into the thirsty world round about. It stagnates then, becomes sour, and no longer carries life. In fact, some water carries death – organisms which bring disease or illness. 

I am feeling tired today. Full of hay fever and antihistamines. Emotionally drained from another hard parting with my mother and my daughter, who left yesterday to return to California. 

I am going to Jesus, where I plan to drink what he gives me, and I hope that – once more refreshed – I can be a carrier of a stream of living water for others.