Teamwork

I looked up from chopping squash for the soup, to see a wee bird pop out of one of the bird houses and her partner to go in. Teamwork, getting food or hatching the eggs: I’m not sure which stage this little family has reached.

Mhairi did our grocery shopping today, and now the lock down seems even more complete. She doesn’t want us getting Covid-19, but frankly, I’d rather get it than have her – or any of the younger generation – contract it. They are carving careers and raising families while we have done that. As much as I don’t want to meet my Maker quite yet, if it were to happen, I would be ready. But I don’t want any younger lives cut short.

So, it has been a struggle. A struggle to be the shielded rather than the shield. For awhile I’ve referred to myself as older, not old. I’ve been relieved that I am not yet 70…quite. Having taken care of family and others who need a hand for so long, it is hard to restrain the urge to keep doing that.

Mhairi returned with everything on the list. As I cleaned out the fridge, washed everything that came in (well, most everything), and made the soup, I checked my impatience at doing these housekeeping tasks when really I’d planned to do some other things. As she has now gone to work upstairs, I can take care of her by preparing nice food. Teamwork.

May God give me the grace to accept changing seasons, and restricted activities, with patience and joy.

Better than porridge!

One of my favourite books as a child was about an old woman who had a magic pot that produced porridge. I don’t remember much about the story except that one day the pot went mad for some reason and would not stop. Porridge overflowed from the pot, filled the house, splashed out of the windows and doors and flooded the streets and other houses in the village.

I have just read Romans 5:1-5 in The Message, and it reminded me of this book! (I know I have a weird sort of way of thinking). To paraphrase a paraphrase, the writer is saying that as we shout our praise to God even in times of trouble, the troubles develop passionate patience in us which forges the tempered steel of virtue, ‘keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling short-changed. Quite the contrary – we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!’

Wow! I am praying that during these days we can all be like this, alert for whatever God is going to do next as we overflow with the Holy Spirit. May his Spirit overflow through our lives, through our homes and families, out the doors and windows and flood our streets and villages and cities. I am excited to see what God will do next.

He is with us. And he has a plan.

Support?

‘Don’t you want a support, Michele?’ the yoga teacher asked. Well yes I do, but my back doesn’t arch high enough to get that blinking brick underneath it. ‘Yes, it does,’ she counters, padding over to ‘help’ me arch a little higher. And discovers that actually, I was right. My back doesn’t arch a little higher, so she fashioned a lower support on which I could rest. Whew.

Forgive, Jesus says. Some folk have been hurt so deeply that actually, they just can’t. They may be trying, but they just can’t. I was trying to arch my back more, but I just couldn’t. But maybe with practice, a bit of flexibility and strength will come.

Jesus came to carry our pain. He understands when we just can’t live the life which is best for us, and that’s why he’s given us his Holy Spirit. To support us. To enable us to let go of the hurt, resentment, anger, whatever, bit by bit, however long it takes. 

He is our support. He has infinite patience, and love for every one of us, especially those wounded and limping through life. He will never break a bruised reed, and underneath are his everlasting arms. So we can go ahead, give it a try, and know that even if we can’t quite do it, he’s there for us, keeping us safe, loving us.

Free speech, deliberate love

The sun rose on another lovely, cold autumn day. It will rise again tomorrow, whatever the day is like. Day follows night and will until Jesus winds things up and we have a new heaven, a new earth. 

So how to live in the present? Jesus gave us a good clue: stay alert. If ever we needed to live life deliberately, and with consideration, now is the time. We need to be ready to speak out and step forward and watch out for the vulnerable. To make our voices heard. 

Long may we enjoy free speech but whatever happens, we always have access to freedom of spirit. I pray that all followers of Jesus, and all those of integrity, will show patience, kindness, self-control, gentleness, and love during these days. Through the power of the Spirit, may God’s love prevail.

The Cross is Everywhere

Channel 4 television in the UK has an identifier which involves a camera focused on a series of lines – be they power cables, telephone wires, whatever – until suddenly they coalesce to form a recognisable ‘4’. From what initially looks like just a spaghetti junction of lines emerges something with a meaning.

I looked out the window this morning at the bare branches of a tree and saw a Cross. As my gaze panned round the view, crosses were evident everywhere. 

The news these days is bleak, but when we pause and prayerfully take a closer look, we can sometimes glimpse a cross amongst the wreckage of lives and property. A selfless act of courage. A kind gesture. A humble word.

My elderly mother lives alone thousands of miles away from me. I can’t do what I long to do – drop by with her shopping, take her to the movies, organise a weekend away. I can’t even pick up her daily newspaper which is thrown onto the grass about 4 am each day and put it on her front porch.

But someone on her street can. And has been. Two women, one whom my mother has never even met, try to make sure they put her paper up near the front door for easy access. 

These women are answers to my prayers that she would have people round her looking out for her. I have never met either one of them. Linda and Michelle. 

When I look at the potential for violence in the big city where Mom lives; when I think of the severe drought affecting that area and the obvious ramifications which that could mean for peaceful co-existence; when I am tempted to tread the anxious hallways of the mind which all open from the central point of ‘what if...?’; I remember the acts of kindness shown by these two neighbourly women who don’t really know my mother very well and who don’t expect any kind of reward for their thoughtfulness.

There are others in Mom’s life with whom she shares deep and loving relationships, and who also go extra miles to bring her a smile or an ice cream. When I look at Mom, I see crosses all around. Love. Service. Kindness. Gentleness. Patience. Protection. Advice. Friendship. Love. 

The cross of Jesus trumps every evil, real or potential.

God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world. I will not be anxious, but will trust him to do more than I can ask or imagine in the lives of those I pray for today.

Patience

Snow in the morning. Sun sporadically throughout the day. I’m told that the warmer temperatures in the arctic regions have caused the jet stream to sink lower than usual, globally speaking, thus allowing these icy winter winds to carry on. And on. And on.

We’re all longing for that jet stream to shift upwards, protecting us from the frigid blasts and allowing the warm air from the south to move in. 

We can’t do anything about it, but wait.

We went to a dinner party the other night where we got more than we expected. Just about everyone there was exposed to a virulent virus which is nasty and tenacious and has laid us all out for days on end. 

We can complain. Drink weak tea and eat homemade chicken soup made by a dear friend. 

We can’t do anything more than that. Just wait.

What comes out of situations like these? Greater empathy for those who suffer long-term. Hopefully, more patience. One of the virtues God admires. 

Well, as I go to curl up again by the fire and try to keep my lunch down, I pray that the Lord will give me patience and a special word during this time. May my ears be more attentive to his voice, as I rest and recover.

Just wait!

Don was away early this morning, and as soon as he was gone, Dusty sneaked through to lay, expectantly, outside our bedroom door. 

I also was up early, to make breakfast for one guest at 7 am. Dusty went to the back  door and waited outside awhile; then I heard the gentle scratch which is her knock, asking to come back in. She looked at me, expectantly. 

Tony left for work, but still Kevin wasn’t up. I heard his alarm ring, as I do every day, a full hour before I hear his feet hit the floor and stumble through to the shower.

But with Don not here to make Kevin’s brekkie if he broke with habit and popped down earlier, I couldn’t just abandon the kitchen to walk the dog, as I normally do. She looked at me with that intense and meaningful gaze. 

“I know what you’re saying,” I told her. “But you have to wait.”

I cleaned out the fridge, discarding the jars of out-of-date condiments. I washed it down. Dusty looked at me reproachfully and silently asked to go back out.

At the usual time, Kevin appeared for his fry-up and tea. Dusty scratched to come back in. 

“Not yet,” I told her.

Finally he drove away. Dusty lined up at the door. Out she went again, expecting me to be right behind her.

But first I had dishes to finish, and beds to tidy, and a bathroom to clean. 

At last I emerged from the house and she was off, trotting down the drive gleefully, no doubt dreaming of that half-eaten road-kill deer still sprawled on the verge. But before we reached it, we detoured round through the woods, as is our wont. 

She paused at every bush to sniff, no doubt identifying familiar canines which also pass this way, and maybe picking up enticing odours of rabbits, pheasant and deer. Mmm. Tempting.

More than once I had to stop and wait, whistling, calling her. She was so eager to get out here and walk, but then she is so easily distracted and delayed.

A bit like me, with the Lord. Last night, someone pointed out a line from the book of James, chapter 5, verse 14. “Be patient, then, brothers, until the Lord’s coming.” 

I often gaze at the Lord (metaphorically!), longing for him to come in power in our community. I shift my position. I remind him of Scripture. I plead with him to come. I give him a meaningful look. I sigh. I shift again. He seems to be long in coming. 

“Be patient,” Scripture says. 

I’m trying. I’m asking him for patience. 

And while I wait, I’m praying that when he does come, I won’t be easily distracted and delayed, but will keep pace with him.