Times of Refreshment

Our 24 hours of refreshment came at the right moment. Both Don and I, pretty weary from months of activity and various emotional highs and lows, are feeling better for a wee breather courtesy of our fabulous kids.

The Bield offers a perfect place to step out of the rat-race and think of other things. I have been there twice before and had big plans for a deep connection with God and fanning into flames the glowing embers of faith. But I found I was almost too tired to receive. The Labyrinth, an ancient practice involving a simple grass-cut path on which the seeker ‘journeys’ with God, has yielded rewarding results in the past but yesterday, I seemed to be listening to the wind. 

The Spiritual MOT I had planned to work through ‘religiously’ was too daunting and instead we opted for an early night. I confess I felt disappointed, a failure. But as I awoke this morning, God gave me a little picture, clear and comforting. A forearm – His forearm – was washing the glass of a small round window, something like a dormer or velux window at the top of a house, but round. 

Meaningless to some perhaps but to me it communicated reassurance, that Jesus himself is cleaning the dirty glass of my brain and my spirit, so that His light can more fully enter into me. It’s not about me cleaning it. It’s about allowing Him to clean it. 

What a comfort.  What a relief. What a compassionate Lord we have.  

Apple Butter

OK, this is going to be a weird one.

Just had to re-boil the apple butter I made, because I didn’t boil it long enough yesterday for it to thicken to a spreading consistency, and instead it was still runny.

I hate that, because it involves re-washing and sterilizing everything, re-boiling, re-testing, and so on. Got it now – I hope! Won’t know until it’s cooled down.

One thing I do know now though is that it yielded one less jar than yesterday. Boiling it down concentrates the taste, removes some of the moisture, and reduces the yield.

It got me thinking. I’ve been so busy recently, spread thin. A bit of this, a bit of that, hard to remember everything I’m responsible to do.  

By doing so much, maybe I’m not as ‘tasty’ as I would be if I did less. If I were to spend more time contemplating God and studying my Bible, maybe my Christ-like fragrance (to mix a metaphor) would be more noticeable to others.  Maybe, when I meet others, they would be able to ‘taste’ the Lord in me, and see that He is good.

Well, tomorrow Don and I are escaping to the Bield, a retreat centre  just outside of Perth. Twenty-four hours of heaven, a gift from our wonderful kids for birthdays long since past.

We’ll become human beings again, rather than human doings.

 My yield may be less for this week, but my flavour may be sweeter.

Storing up for Tomorrow

Sounds of autumn in farm country: roaring engines of huge tractors and JCBs as they rearrange hundreds of straw rolls into what one little piggy might once have called a house – and probably a few mice will call home over the winter months. It’s a huge, probably tedious task, shifting bales, two by two. 

The sky is shades of grey, nearly purple, and white, and the trees are in glorious states of preparation for the final drop. We dug up the last few tatties this afternoon, and the crop of rather stumpy carrots. Sigh. Was it worth it?

Brambles are few and far between this autumn, for some reason, but the Bramley apples are plentiful. Lots of crumbles, pies, cakes, sauce, and even apple butter coming up – but not without effort. Having trouble with my hands so the peeling will be a joint effort, Don having valiantly volunteered. Just wait til he discovers how tedious apple-peeling can be!

Preparing, storing up, for the onslaught to come. I’m reminded that I must make an effort, yet again, to store up divine truths that will feed my spirit during any tough times that may lie ahead. 

You just never know.

Soaring

Unresolved responsibilities were preying on my mind, and decisions eluded me. I walked along the road, gazing up at the sky, where I noticed a buzzard or other such bird of prey circling. Rising on the thermals, dropping at heart-stopping speed, and rising once again. Tipping wings first one way, then the next, rising, rising.

Then I noticed the second, and the third, and finally a fourth buzzard. My own anxieties receded as I watched, transfixed, as these four birds rose to dizzying heights with scarcely a flap of wing. 

It looked amazing. It looked fun. Imagine the perspective they had on all that lay beneath. I thought of the legendary vision of such birds of prey – eagle-eyed we say, if someone has the ability to see minute movement from a fantastic distance.

Into my mind popped the wonderful promise in Isaiah 40: “ ...those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

Mentally I handed my worries to the Lord, put my hope in him, and felt myself rising, without the desperate flapping which had so disturbed my thoughts before. 

We don’t have to flap. We can soar on wings like eagles. Or buzzards, here in the northeast.

Of Family, Feasts, and Fatigue

The weekend was a social whirl, as we gathered various dear friends round tables laden with food.

Friday was fun, as we entertained a younger crowd, right down to a lovely wee 2 year old. Five year old Elizabeth was a delight, as she kept going back to the German musical toy cupboard, studying it intently and coming to show me yet another detail which, I admit, I’d never noticed. It was fun sharing a meal with two young mums who we’ve known since they were 1 and 3 years old, and who, with their husbands, played such a big part in making Doug and Joey’s wedding blessing so meaningful. We loved having Doug and Joey with us, too (of course!), and always marvel at how blessed we are to have such wonderful children. 

As they went out the door, a B&B family rolled up and came in, so on went the hot chocolate and teapot. A nice family, who enjoyed the full breakfast which seemed to involve every pot we have in the kitchen. 

Cleaned up, scones baked, cakes cut, table set, and Don was off to collect a couple of dear old ladies for afternoon tea. The other invitees all drove themselves here, and we settled down to hear stories of wartime Britain, travelling to the Continent in 1946 and being shocked at the twisted wreckage of Calais, coming back from Switzerland with silk stockings and elastic braces, both highly prized articles of wear in the 40’s and unavailable in the UK. 

Rolled on into Sunday, wonderful church service followed by a tea party for new members, which I attended as Team Leader for Communications & Outreach. What a brilliant church family we have. 

And then I slipped by here to pick up Don and head to Maggie’s for her birthday celebration.  More cake. More laughter. More reminiscences.

One of our old ladies on Saturday loaned me a book by Michele Guinness on celebrations. She, a Jewish believer in Jesus, regrets the way the church has lost the joyful sense of celebration, usually involving food, which is the Jewish tradition. 

I think maybe we went some way to recapture that this weekend. It was wonderful – and I am shattered!