Meaning

Splashes of colours and shapes covered the huge canvas. Abstract design: abstract thoughts, or cohering through the viewer’s perceptions? I gazed for several minutes and began to see things. A bridge. A lighthouse. A cityscape. The shape of a face.

It drew me in. Perhaps in a way that a more realistic painting wouldn’t. I’m not sure I’m a fan. But for the first time I began to see a point to the abstract.

The paintings lack titles, so the viewer is not conformed to the artist’s imagination but is free to explore her own.

Issues. Maybe we are too conformed to what we’re being told about the political scene. It looks a mess. The environmental crisis is a mess. On so many levels, our world appears to be in a mess.

We need a visionary who can step outside of the rhetoric and imagine. Someone who can perceive a path through the confusion.

God didn’t get angry when things were going wrong in Noah’s day. He grieved, grieved for his creation, and extended the time in case people could turn things round.

May he enlighten us in our days, so that we can step into the high calling he has for us all. May he call forth leaders in our day, leaders with humble hearts and open ears and compassionate souls, who long for justice and truth to prevail.

May we, through our prayers, be part of the solution.

The Wanderer

Sitting in my prayer window this morning, I suddenly realised there was a cow on her own in the harvested barley field. As yet unperturbed by separation from her calf and the other mums across the road, she grazed happily along the verge of the field. A few of her friends bellowed, but she ignored them.

As I got up to call the farmer, he arrived, on his own. I saw him park the tractor in a strategic place, but still. Somehow he had to entice or usher the stray out of the wrong field and through the open gate of the right field, without losing the rest of the herd. I quickly put on shoes and jacket so I could give him a hand, but by the time I was ready, the cow was back where she belonged.

Over the years, we have participated in many a round-up, doing our best to help farmers with their errant herds. We have discovered our own ineptness. It takes skill and experience to move a herd, or even a single cow.

Jesus told stories of lost sheep rather than roaming cows, but the symbolism is the same. It is comforting to know that he is that skilled, experienced, loving ‘farmer’ who can seek out the one who has wandered off, without losing any of the rest of the herd.

I am the good shepherd, he declared. Today I’m praying for those I know who have strayed. He doesn’t need my help to restore them, but he graciously responds to our prayers.

Ice Cream

Felicity and Phoebe rushed back to us, princess crowns bobbing on top of braids and ponytails. They waved silver plastic wands with a star at the end and asked what we wished for.

‘Ice cream.’

A variety of flavours were chosen and, in this fun game, duly provided. (I wish it were a little more tangible than it was…)

We were on repeat with this and eventually I thought I’d shake up the wish list a bit.

‘I wish I could sing really well. And I wish I could play the piano really well, too,’ I said.

Our fairy princesses looked stunned. Lost for words (unusual for Flick!) until Phoebe piped up, ‘We don’t have those wishes.’

We went back to ice cream.

Our heavenly Father is no fairy princess. He who created the Milky Way is well able to answer any of our prayerful wishes. Sometimes he gives us just what we ask for. Other times, though, it feels like an emptiness rather than a YES. It feels like there’s a divine deafness to our persistent request. Maybe even a powerlessness to provide. Or, even worse, an unwillingness on God’s part to step in and say YES.

Not true. Our God is a good, good God. Jesus suffered unspeakably because he thought you were worth it. He thought I was worth it. He can give us ice cream; he can give me the voice of a nightingale and the skills of a concert pianist. He gives me what is best for me, even when I don’t see it, when I don’t recognise it. Even when it seems the ice cream is melting and I’m singing like a frog and playing chopsticks on the piano. And when the silence is prolonged and the pain is profound, he is wrapping his arms around me, his tears mingling with mine.

Never does God say to us, ‘I don’t have those wishes.’

Hang on. Keep praying.

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.

You are not alone

You are not alone.

Just back from a short walk along the familiar paths near my home. I didn’t meet anyone. The road was empty, even of cars. The first part of the pathway, though, was lined with neon-golden gorse and broom, branches drooping towards me.

I thought of children’s races and matches which I’ve attended over the years, where I would be standing on the sidelines shouting encouragement to my kids. Sometimes my exuberance may have been very un-Scottish but at least my kids knew I was supporting them. Maybe my words exploded like golden neon into the air.

You are not alone. Walking along that part of the path, with the neon blossom on either side, I felt encouraged, supported. Not alone.

There’s a movie out now called Into the Woods, which is a sort of weird compilation of fairy tales with the same menacing undertones and threats. The denouement includes a chorus the few survivors sing to each other, the main words of which are ‘You are not alone!’ Given the run-ins they’ve all just had with giants and witches and wolves, I’m not sure I would have found such a mantra very encouraging. 

What I heard, though, was a desperate yearning to know that in this big bad universe, we are not alone. Someone must be on our side. This movie’s conclusion suggested we aren’t alone because we are there for each other – as one by one our numbers diminish, those who are left will stand by us.

Not much consolation or hope, if you ask me. I’d prefer to rely on the promises Jesus made to his followers: I will never leave you. I will never forsake you. The writer to the Hebrews also reminded his readers that they are surrounded by a crowd of witnesses who are cheering them on. 

We aren’t alone. That’s true. And the one who is with us, Jesus, is powerful. He is mighty to save. He loves us so much he died for us. He loves us with an everlasting love. He forgives and he sends his Holy Spirit to live in us and remind us who we are, and who Jesus is. 

Jesus is always with us, through the good times and the bad. And we are surrounded by others who love and pray for us, prayers which are efficacious. 

Whatever is facing you today, remember that in the best of ways, you are not alone.

Stop and Stare

Gazing from the kitchen window at the colourful collection of birds pecking at the bread strewn on the ground, the peanuts and seeds and fat balls, is therapeutic I’m sure. As I stood this morning, watching a wee bird (blue tit?) checking out one of our bird houses for nesting possibilities, I was reminded of a poem our daughter printed out beautifully for us as a gift several years ago. It’s a famous one, about having the time to stop and stare.

I do take the time to stop and stare. When I’m praying. When I’m waiting for the bacon to cook or the eggs to fry for a B&B guest. When I’m trying to fashion the next sentence in my writing. 

But I suddenly realised that poor bird couldn’t afford such a luxury. He plunged his head into the hole of the nesting box, then pulled it out quickly. His head darted right, left, up, down, as he checked for predators and then he once more plunged it into the box. I’d have thought it safer to just jump right in, check it out, and then emerge without putting oneself at risk of surprise attack from behind or above. But then, I’m not a bird, and I don’t have their instincts.

It struck me that having the time to stop and stare is a privilege afforded those who dwell in relative safety. The stopping and staring of people under threat from invasion or attack is a desperate scanning of the horizon for any sign of the enemy. The stopping and staring of those hunkered down in refugee camps is an empty look which may not register anything – a look focused more on the empty canvas of despair. The stopping and staring of the elderly sitting side by side in old folks’ homes is the sad scanning of the landscape of memory, pulling up random moments of joy and sorrow, often in a muddle of recollection.

Jesus instructed his disciples not to be anxious about anything but instead to trust the heavenly Father, who tenderly loves the birds but even moreso, tenderly loves individuals. That is challenging enough when I’m standing secure in my warm kitchen gazing out at the birds in springtime; my prayers are with those whose challenges are vicious and brutal, whose losses are staggering, and whose memories are flickering like an old time 16MM movie. 

Good to know that Jesus’ prayers are with them, too.

Choices and Responsibilities

For over thirty-five years – more than half my life – I’ve lived in Scotland. With some Scottish blood running in my veins as well (my mother’s side of the family emigrated to Wisconsin from Perthshire in the 1850’s), you’d think I might feel Scottish by now.

But it’s a funny thing, I still feel, at heart, American. Although to be fair, my perspective on world affairs and politics is much more European now, and when I go ‘home’ I feel foreign there, too.

These thoughts have arisen because today I received my official sample ballot for overseas voters for the presidential primary election taking place in June in California. I still have the right to vote for President, and the ballot also has the candidates running in the primary election for California state senator. I never vote for anything but President, though, because I don’t know enough about the myriad of candidates running for other offices and don’t feel it’s right for me to vote people in who may affect residents by raising or lowering taxes etc, when I personally remain unaffected.

President is different though, because the President affects more than just the US, and I am so aware of the sacrifices women suffragettes made to gain the vote for us that I feel it a responsibility to vote when I am informed and can. And also, I still have to file a federal income tax return every year, so that legitimizes my right to vote.

So, I open the papers and see that as a Democrat, my choice of Democratic candidates for president has narrowed to – one. This is normal, because the incumbent president nearly always seeks a second term, and his party normally endorses him.

So basically I don’t have a choice, and there is no point in voting until November when the choice will be between Obama and the Republican candidate. 

But I do have a responsibility, as a Christian, to be praying for the right man or woman to win the election, and then to be praying for that person to be making decisions which are good for the nation and the world.

I need to take that responsibility seriously.