White Elephant

Don drew open the bedroom curtains. I heard his sharp intake of breath and looked out.

A white elephant lay on its shoulder in the strawberry patch, dead legs stretched heavenwards. We’d been aware of the wild winds and the pounding rain the night before. Don had been into the attic with a tub to catch a persistent drip we heard slipping through a cracked slate on the roof. We’d unplugged computer, wifi, telephones, having been burned, literally, in previous years when thunder and lightning struck. We had taken precautions the night before.

But we’d forgotten the marquee. A tented shelter we use most summers when we have barbecues, usually to protect folk from the rains of a Scottish summer, but this year to provide some respite from the hot summer sun. Distracted by the other concerns, we’d forgotten it was still sitting, vulnerable, out in the wind and rain. We’d forgotten to anchor it to the ground with tent stakes. We thought it was secure. It looked secure. But it wasn’t.

Abide in me, Jesus advises. Sink your anchor deep into the love of God. Link your heart with his. Live in the shadow of his wings. Find shelter in the rock of ages. Tethered to God, no storms of life can tear away his protective, loving arms.

Storms hit us all. When the next one hits me, I will remember the sight of that upturned marquee in the garden, canvas impaled on one of the sturdy fence posts, reinforced apex split from the strain of a violent assault. Hollow, heavy steel poles reaching towards the skies, towering over us as we clambered through the strawberries releasing clips, unscrewing nuts and bolts. Everything about that marquee was sound, except its foundation. It sat precariously on the parched lawn, unanchored, ready to somersault into disaster when the strong winds rose.

It’s no good anchoring the marquee in the midst of high winds though. The stakes needed to be hammered in before the storm hit. Day by day, living in the presence of the Lord, reading his word, praising and worshipping, I am pounding in those stakes. I want to be ready.

Winter-weary world

Winds whistle and whip the cold drops of rain in all directions. This is what my cousin calls horizontal rain, and I’m sure it happens in places other than Scotland but certainly, it does happen here.

The news is full of reports of the beleaguered folk in the southwest of England, some of whom have been living in a moated village for a month now since the flooding first began. Prince Charles paid them a visit yesterday, arriving in a tractor and wearing welly boots. His visit no doubt encouraged some people and raised the morale, but after a couple of hours, he left again. 

This morning the winds down there have uprooted trees from the soggy ground, sending them crashing across power lines and knocking out the electricity supplies, adding yet another layer of misery to people who have had too much water. And their royal visitor has gone.

So often in the Bible weariness is equated with dry, parched desert conditions, but a daily regime of grey skies overhead and flood waters underfoot is another recipe for creating weariness in people. 

Times of refreshment which the Bible promises the Lord will send may not always look like a bubbling brook. In our case, they look like clear blue skies and a powerful sun bringing warmth to a winter-weary world.

It’s hopeless to depend on the weather for refreshment from life. The Bible promises that ‘times of refreshment will come from the presence of the Lord’. 

Wherever you are today, may you experience the presence of the Lord, and the refreshment that only Jesus can bring.

Wild Winds of Autumn

The colder winds of autumn are blowing here this morning, harbinger of what’s to come, I’m afraid. Wind is one aspect of the weather which I definitely don’t like. So often, here, it carries a damp edge to it which cuts right through the layers of clothing and chills the bones. 

It’s not that severe today, thankfully, being only early September. But it is a nudge to the complacent soul who was hoping that summer would last forever. Wish I’d finished tying up the raspberry canes the other day when the sun beat warm on my face. Sigh.

When I’m in a right grumpy mood about the wind, I’ve been heard to complain that there’s no point in it. It uproots trees, brings down power cables, lifts off roofs, and even injures and kills people, in its most severe form. It can ruin whole fields of crops and slaughter the raspberry canes. 

And it messes up my hair. (That’s a joke – my hair is generally a little messed up anyway!)

But of course I know that it does do some good things. When I see birds soaring on the thermals, higher and higher, effortlessly, I know they appreciate the free ride. When I see seed balls broken and tumbling along in the wind, I understand this is one of nature’s ways of procreation. When the clouds heavy with rain hang overhead, I positively pray that a wind would come and shift them along to the next venue.

When the disciples were tossed in the tempest on the Sea of Galilee, fearing for their lives as the night wore on without respite from the storm, Jesus came to them walking on the water, unperturbed by wind or waves. He was a picture of perfect peace, unafraid despite the wild waves and strong wind. 

Peter leapt out of the boat, eager to do what he saw his friend and master doing. And he did it successfully, as long as he kept his eyes fixed on the Lord Jesus. When he lost that self-discipline, though, and allowed his attention to stray to the tossing waves and the howling gale, fear caused his faith to falter and his feet got wet as he began to sink. Of course Jesus reached out and helped him back into the boat, and the storm subsided.

If the wind is in your face today, and the waves are splashing your feet, call out to Jesus. He always hears a cry for help, and always responds. The storm doesn’t always subside immediately, but with your focus on him, you will be able to walk through it fearlessly and arrive, exhilarated, on the farther shore.

Distractions

Middle of May and five layers still when I walk Dusty. Vest, t-shirt, sweater, fleece and windbreaker, plus a woolly hat pulled down over my ears. Gloved hands jammed into my pockets for extra warmth.

Amongst the tired green of the evergreens in the forest, the new growth on larch and beech is fresh and beautiful. Above the forest soars a bird of prey. Echoing through the woods I hear the tap-tapping of the woodpeckers, and the occasional crazy call of the cuckoo.

I round the corner and the wind blasts me in the face and I jam my hands down more firmly, muttering something grumpy. I find myself praying that the Lord would send a warmer sun and divert this biting wind. 

Dusty is happy, trotting ahead and sniffing the air greedily.

We round another corner and there is the wild and restless mooing of cows and calves. I see the farmer’s tractor, a bale of hay stabbed onto its upturned prong, stopped near the field and wonder if the herd is being moved. Dare I continue my walk, or will we find ourselves in the middle of a stampede?

Walking on, I see the herd is clustered at the gate, mooing their dissatisfaction. We rejoin the road and head for home, and soon the farmer overtakes us. Shutting off the tractor’s engine, he stops for a wee ‘news’. 

Yes, the cows are impatient for grass. And in this cold weather, the grass just isn’t growing. (Why did I have to cut ours yesterday, then, I wonder? Maybe I should have invited the cows in...) So he’s having to give them hay, which he’d hoped to hold on to awhile longer for some reason.

I shiver. Another car comes; the tractor starts up and the farmer moves on, and so do we. The house is back in sight, with its tree-lined drive. Each tree is now bursting out in its spring finery. The colours are lovely. 

I am so easily distracted by the cold wind, and lose sight of the bigger picture. To God I probably sound like one of those miserable cows. Yucks. May I retain focus on what is important today, Lord, expecting to see you work in wonderful ways.

Winter Winds

There’s an amber warning out in Scotland. Winds gusting to 90 mph in some areas. The lights flicker occasionally and we make sure we know where the torches are. 

Inside the fire crackles in the grate. The dog and cats snuggle in as close as they can get. Christmas detritus litters the room – the odd bit of a cracker that contained some chocolates a few days ago. Ripped envelopes from the last cards which arrived today. Christmas table mats and wine glasses, streaked with the remainders of the Rioja enjoyed with dinner. A wreath dying slowly on the sideboard. 

The affianced couple sitting across from me, agonizing over the wedding guest list. How do you judge who you are closest to? Which of your parents’ friends should be jettisoned? Which of your colleagues can stay home on the day?

Relationships. The essence of Christmas – Jesus coming to reconcile humanity to God. To reconcile humanity with humanity. Prince of Peace. And yet at Christmas, so many relationships under strain, breaking down. So many broken relationships, the pain highlighted at this time of year. Intensified. 

So many people with a cheerful veneer covering up broken hearts, broken lives. Desperately needing the healing touch of Christ, but not even recognizing that. Lost in darkness with no idea where the torch is.

Who the torch is.

Winter winds.  Longing for the gentle breeze of summer.