He is our Victory

The detritus of my conscious day emerged in a disturbing, confused and very vivid dream, culminating in a threatening phone call. In the dream, I concluded this call was devilish itself and commanded that the caller ‘Go! In the name of Jesus!’

Not the first time I’ve had such a dream. But this time, after demanding that the caller Go!, I was awoken by the very real sound, I thought, of tinkling glass. Poor Don. Sound asleep, until I shook him urgently saying, ‘Someone’s breaking in! I heard glass breaking!’

We crept about the dark house and found no sign of intruders or, indeed, broken glass. Such is the reality of some dreams.

Sitting in the prayer window on this glorious morning, watching the mist disappear, and the pheasants parade, I suddenly was aware of the fly spots on the dirty pane. Life flicks fly spots on our perspectives, and our inner vision can be drawn to staring at the fly spots rather than seeing beyond to the beauty of Jesus, the beauty of the life we have been given so graciously, so generously. My dream earlier this morning focused on the fly spots, a hodgepodge of stuff that can suck the joy out of the day (or night).

So this morning I am saying to those fly spots, those nasty voices whispering lies and slanders, ‘Go! In the name of Jesus!’

Not hearing any more breaking glass so far, but my aim today is to focus my eyes on Jesus. Yeshua. Another word for Victory, I just read.

He is our Victory.

The Wet Towel Version

The wet towel version. Who can resist such a challenge?

There is such a heaviness in a load of wet towels: it can nearly do your back in just to carry them outside to hang. The towelling is perfectly designed to absorb liquid, and it takes a stiff breeze and – if you’re lucky – a warm sun to get them fully dry again.

Sometimes, situations in life seem to soak me, and I grow increasingly heavy, like a wet towel. I absorb anxieties of those I love; I get soaked by the spray of injustices and sprinkled with effluent from the global stage. I crumple into the hamper, damp and heavy with concerns.

That’s when I need to be tossed into the prayer window, where God can give me a good scrub and then hang me out to dry in the wind of the Spirit, warmed by the Son. Only when I am dry am I going to be of any use to anyone.

Just like a towel.

A heart that grows two sizes in a breath

Oh, the thoughts I have as I look out my prayer window! This morning I realised that the bushes I trimmed a few weeks back are now throwing up new shoots, and the whole body of the bush is growing up as well. The view has shrunk by about a quarter. It led me to think how easily I can let shoots of thought – many of them selfish, critical, or negative – to grow up and restrict the God-given perspective Jesus wants me to have. It’s easiest to trim out those shoots one by one as they appear, rather than wait until they strengthen into wooden branches of unhelpful thinking.

Having read books for years to my four kids and now some grandchildren, I thought of one favourite – How the Grinch Stole Christmas. While the self-centred Grinch punched the air rejoicing in his presumed success at stealing Christmas from the Whos in Whoville, he was interrupted by the sound of sweet singing where he expected to hear heartbroken wailing. He had assumed that Christmas came in gifts – all of which he had stolen, rather than understanding that it is a Gift, and that Gift is love. And ‘his heart grew two sizes that day’.

The errant branches were pruned away and the Grinch could see clearly. The vision was breath-taking, transformative and life-giving.

May I recognise the errant branches in my mind today and prune them off as soon as they tempt me to think selfishly, critically, or negatively. Scripture declares we have the mind of Christ – but only as we work with the Holy Spirit to develop it. I long for his perspective, not my own, for in him only do we have fullness of life and are we set free from thoughts which rob us of our peace, compassion and love.

Flash Drive

Flash drive. Memory stick. Whatever. I spent a few hours last night transferring data and photos from my old, to my new, laptop. All the data I wanted to transfer, all my writing, accounts, everything, fit on the flash drive in one go.

Then I got to the photos. Four trips between laptops later, and I still can’t fit some wedding pictures onto the flash drive to transfer. I’ll have another go later.

A picture is worth a thousand words. That was the expression, and it certainly seems true in terms of megabytes.

God is for us. When I sit in my prayer window, I ask him to plug his flash drive into my spirit and download his Spirit, reawaken my sensitivities and encourage me to walk into this day, hearing his voice, sensing his presence, trusting him in everything. Sometimes he speaks to me in pictures; sometimes in words; sometimes in sensation of his presence; sometimes through Scripture.

God doesn’t unplug his flash drive when I get up and move into my day. His flash drive is plugged into me 24/7, not just when I sit in my prayer window. The exciting challenge for me is to grow ever more sensitive to his communications throughout the busyness of every day. And be thankful in it all.

Seasonal Splendour

Calendar on one side of the laptop. Notepad on the other side, reminding me who I need to contact and why. Life can become  a list of what to do and when to do it, and even when we choose the activities, it can become a bit claustrophobic and confining.

Jesus says that if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. So, much as the ‘be still in the midst’ idea, I need to embrace a busy life with joy and freedom. How can I do that? I know the answer as I ask the question.

Retreat into my prayer window, stop, and stare. Absorb the beauty of the season displayed in front of me...at the moment hay bales lie carelessly scattered across the stubbly field where once there grew a crop of barley. The wind is tickling the drooping branches of the larch, and the trees are beginning to colour up with vibrant shades of russet, orange and yellow. Pheasants peck their way in small flocks across the landscape, while in the blue skies above, swallows and house martins practice their moves before fleeing south. Clouds coloured gradations of grey and white crawl past, driven by the fickle winds.

I lift my eyes to the hills. Life is so beautiful. It is such a gift – every season, every life. The splendour of the King is visible all around me and in my precious life. I am in a season of gratitude, as I should always be.