Feel the Father's Embrace

A blustery wind ruffles my lengthening hair as I patrol the garden, checking the condition of spinach and rhubarb, peas and beans, apple trees and blueberry bushes. I particularly note the flowers opening on the strawberry plants.

It is still cold in this corner of Scotland. Colder than May should be. Dry and sunny many days, overcast and dry other days, but cold. One thinks that plants flower because they are teased into activity by a warm sun, a balmy breath of wind.

But no. The strawberries are in bloom despite the chill. It’s part of their DNA. Hopefully as the blossom transforms into strawberries, a warm sun will bring a sweetness to the fruit which is borne.

Paul wrote to the people in a town in Asia Minor (Turkey), a town called Colossae, and told them that he was praying for their endurance and perseverance, patience and joy, during tough times, so that they might bear fruit.

During these chill days of lockdown and pandemic fear, may I endure and persevere patiently and with joy, allowing the flowers of kindness, peace, love, joy, patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control to form and be expressed through my words and my actions. In due season, may these flowers become fruit to nourish those who have yet to give their lives to Jesus. May eyes be opened as the fruit of the Spirit is seen and tasted.

May we be more eager than ever to share the reason for our hope during these days when many are sinking into despair. It is in our DNA as Christians. God is good. In the world there is plenty of trouble, but we can take heart because Jesus has overcome the world. And he has gifted us with the indwelling Holy Spirit, and it is this wonderful Spirit who grows the fruit in us as we abide in Jesus.

Feel the Father’s embrace today, and be thankful. xx

Umbrellas in the Sun and Rain

I hoped to bring a few strawberries in from the garden for breakfast. In fact, I found only one that was red enough, and not nibbled by snails or pecked by birds. In the sodden garden, the strawberries look soggy, unripe and unappetising. They are crying out for the warmth of the summer sun.

Last year, we had a rare summer with little precipitation and armfuls of sunshine. The berries grew ripe and sweet, but we did have to water them ourselves.

We need a balance of sun and moisture to produce a big, sweet crop.

There lurks within my heart a kernel of a seed. I envision it like an unexploded popcorn kernel. It is hard and useless. Over my heart I have positioned an umbrella of self. I readily see my own needs. I readily see the inadequacies of others in serving those needs. I deflect the softening moisture of the Spirit, defensively repositioning the umbrella when his whispers correct me.

Today with his help I take that umbrella down. I open myself to the Spirit’s life-giving rain, to the Son’s life-giving warmth and light. May that kernel within me pop, or grow, and provide for others this day. And may he keep me from seeking to open up that umbrella ever again. I can only do this by his grace. May his grace overrule my rebellious heart this day and forever more. Amen.

Strawberries

Just in from a bit of light weeding round the strawberry plants. I didn’t finish though, because when I flicked over a plastic tray which I’d positioned to help keep the ripening fruit off the ground a couple of months ago, I was horrified to see a fat slug and several well-fed snails snuggled within. (Actually that makes them sound cuter than they are: they don’t really snuggle, do they?)

So there I’d put a prop to keep the ripening fruit from their voracious jaws, and all I did was give them a leg up! (so to speak...) Straw from the neighbouring farm would have been effective and obvious and taken just a little more time to get than grabbing that plastic tray from the greenhouse. 

But I didn’t have the time, nor the inclination, so took what I thought was the quick solution. No wonder some of the beautiful berries had been nibbled and gnawed by the time I went to pick.

Life happens. We see good things, fruit, growing in our friendships, in our families, in our work situations, and it is easy to be so busy that we don’t protect those tender fruits in the proper way. We know what we should do – maybe a phone call or an email, a card or a coffee shared. Time spent praying for them. We lose perspective on where the sweet fruit is in our lives.

Joy and sorrow met in our family during this last week, and as I drove out of Glasgow on Thursday afternoon, the grey, lowering clouds broke and a rainbow blob beamed out. I didn’t need the full arch to be reminded of God’s goodness and love, even in the desert places. The sweet fruit comes from time with God, is found in each other, and is nurtured in us. No short cuts. No making do with inappropriate substitutes. Time with God is the source of the sweetness that enables us to help each other get through.