Waiting

Yesterday I thought about being prepared. ‘Our’ farmer spent yesterday ploughing the field that surrounds our home. Up and down he drove the tractor, tedious and tiresome but still requiring attention and care. He was busy prepping the field for planting.

Now I imagine he will wait a few weeks while the manure he dug in begins to break down and enrich the soil. The field, prepared, will await the right moment for the seed to go in and germinate.

Life goes on all around the field. Small creatures scamper across it. Birds dig for worms. Cars pass on the road beside it. But still the field lies still, waiting.

Most mornings I prep for the day by sitting in my prayer window and looking at God’s word and praying it into the day. I take ideas from what I read. Ideas about who God is. Ideas about how I should live.

Then I move into my day. Most my days are busy. But deep inside, I wait. I wait for God’s ideas, for his word, to germinate, to take root and transform me.

Every day is one of preparation and waiting, of seeing transformation and of resisting the urge to be impatient and independent.

They who hope – who wait – on the Lord shall renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not be faint.

Today, trusting in that promise, I wait on the Lord.

Blue Tractor

The powerful blue tractor roared into the field of grass, lowered its sharp cutting edge and started a methodical sweep round the field surrounding our house. My little granddaughter, frightened by the noise and ferocity of the vehicle, was equally mesmerised and drawn to watch its every move...from the safety of my arms.

So we began a circuit of movement within our garden and then out onto the driveway and behind the barns in order to keep the grass-cutting tractor in sight. Felicity, cautious by nature, was happy to be carried through the nettles and thistles behind the barn in order to keep an eye on the tractor.

Safe in my arms. Trusting me to be caring for her and in trusting me, her vista was expanded and she saw much more than if she had run for the shelter of the house or tried to fight her way through the overgrowth behind the barn to see the action on her own.

God so longs for me to trust him with my safety, so that he can show me things which otherwise I cannot, or will not, see. Felicity just wanted to watch the tractor; I want to partner with God to help bring his kingdom of justice and love to the earth, as it is in heaven. To do that, I suspect I need to allow myself to be carried sometimes.

Merry Christmas Eve

Weather outside is frightful.

The winds are whipping the trees into convulsive frenzies and driving the clouds through the sky. Occasional snow flurries blacken the day and then pass on to the next location. 

People all over the country are trying to get home for Christmas. In the south of England there are floods, trees on the rail lines and roads. All making for treacherous journeys. 

And I can’t control any of it. The weather will do what it will do, occasionally altered by a fervent prayer which times in with God’s plans, but more usually probably just the result of nature.

I can control the weather inside my head, though. Yesterday was the third anniversary of my dear dad’s passing on, and I was awake in the night remembering that night. I think about my ageing mother, thousands of miles away from me, grieving still. And I recognise I could give way to a raging storm of anxiety and fear for her future.

Or, I could focus on God. Psalm 63 says ‘On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.’

I can choose to think of God in the middle of the night rather than rehearse my anxieties. It isn’t an easy choice. The mind is notoriously rebellious and difficult to control. But again, the Bible declares that believers have ‘the mind of Christ’. He didn’t worry. He spent many of his sleepless nights out on the hills being close to his Father, from whom came his help. That’s why he could sing and worship as he headed towards the cross. He was in the shadow of his father’s wings, and he knew it.

So I have spent some time this morning in my prayer alcove, resting in the shadow of my heavenly Father’s wings. I have waited for his presence to be felt, for his peace to fill my heart. I have held those about whom I have concerns up before the throne of God, and entrusted them to his care.

My soul clings to God. I pray that yours does too. That is the way to perfect peace. Trusting in his faithfulness and love.

Merry Christmas Eve.