Grace and Mercy

The sun glistened and shimmered on the sea, and this week, the wind had dropped. The clifftop walk from Stonehaven to Dunnottar was not precipitous, but an easy stroll along breathtakingly-beautiful scenery. What a birthday gift! Where Don and I had cautiously gone last week, this week Mhairi, Don and I strode out with a gaggle of other walkers enjoying the hint of spring warmth in that sunshine.

The same scenery but a completely different feel to the day. Both days, we walked the same path, and we walked with God, but the sense of safety differed vastly.

Do not be afraid, God advises. The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Deut 31:8 This was a word I read in my daily readings yesterday, and one that sustained me years ago when I was a new and very homesick Christian. Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight. Prov 3:5-6

I head into my second three-score-and-ten years, leaning in and hoping to grow in trust and obedience. Grateful to so many well-wishers yesterday who enrich my life; grateful to the Lord who is full of grace and mercy. Amen. 

Gratitude

The spring sunshine blazes forth from the blue sky, making the newly fallen snow twinkle and shimmer on the cars and the grass verges. April in Scotland.

It is my 70^th birthday and I am feeling overwhelmed with gratitude to God for blessing me with mercy and grace and love, pressed down and overflowing. To be able to head out for a walk with loved ones, feeling strong and able and nursing no pain, is a blessing not everyone has. To be able to count so many friends and family in my life who are so precious and special, who have shown me grace and love and who have walked with me through the good and the bad times, is a blessing I am very aware of and grateful for. To be part of a rich community of believers, to be part of the family of Jesus-followers the world over: does it get any better?

Yes, I am continuing the gratitude exercise but there is no effort in feeling gratitude today. Thank you to all of you who have modelled Jesus to me in so many ways through the years. Thank you to all of you who have helped grow my patience. Thank you to all of you who have opened my eyes to the magic of the creator and the created. Thank you to all of you who have held my hand, hugged me, dried my tears, cried with me, laughed with me and made me laugh.

Blessed beyond measure. May I, in turn, share these myriad blessings, today and every day. Thank you, God. 

Gratitude

 

The sun is up early and there is no whining wind squeezing through the window gaps this morning. The conservatory is already warming up. The sweet peas have sprouted and are shooting upwards.

Yesterday I speed-read a book suggesting a plan for practicing gratitude. Before reading it, I might have thought I was a pretty grateful person. Now, however, I recognise that although I have frequent moments of gratitude, my over-all attitude can reflect a negative thought-pattern which is indicative of complaint and even self-pity.

So, today I have started her 28-day plan of practicing gratitude every day until it is truly embedded in my life. I hope that others will notice a difference. Already, I noticed a difference, having started the day by counting ten blessings, saying why I was grateful for them, and thanking God for each one three times. That is a daily routine so I will be looking in depth at the blessings in my life. Instead of rushing back to my room to have a quiet time with God, after breakfast I spent half an hour with one of my blessings, Felicity, making an aqua-beads unicorn with her. I seized the moment before they left to meet up with friends (outside, socially distanced, masked, etc etc).

Then when I read the account of the walk on the road to Emmaus, I thought about Jesus walking alongside me always, and how often I don’t recognise him or even acknowledge him. Although that is a story about a walk, I thought about the marathon we’ve all been running during this pandemic. I know I have been flagging, and I sense that has been coming through in what I’ve posted.

Today, I have been given a second wind. That wind is the breath of God, without which I would have no hope. What am I thankful for? A million things, but most of all, our loving God.

I’ve never been a runner, but maybe even I can sprint now…

Hope

 

Blossom is opening on the flowering cherry tree. Despite freezing temperatures, snow and icy, gale-force winds, the tender pink flowers are beginning to display.

Hope that spring is on the way. Faith that it will come. The lovely blossom provides nectar for the pollinators who are starting to hatch and search for food.

We are all inter-connected. A gloomy face signals despair. This is the day the Lord has made. This is the day. Jesus is alive. When I connect with him, the gloom lifts, the sun shines and hope brings smiles and laughter.

He has risen indeed.

Still we wait

 

Out of a spring sky, snow flurries are whisked along by a brisk wind. They land lightly, twinkling on the bowed daffodil trumpets, glinting on primroses, melting on pavements. The showers pass, the sky clears and a watery sun shines through, its warmth penetrating the conservatory windows and raising the temperature, gradually, in that small room.

Springtime. It is the season for warmer weather. All creation waits in this northern country, waits for the tender touch of sunbeams on skin. As a second year of pandemic commences, the world waits wearily for the tender touch of loved ones, for family gatherings, for congregational worship and cultural events.

It is the season, but … still, we wait.

Peace to you, Jesus said as his friends gathered fearfully in a closed upper room. Peace to you, he says to us today wherever we are, as we wait, as we wait. Peace to you.

Milestones

 

Milestones.

We took a day out to celebrate Don’s birthday. Parking at Stonehaven harbour, we hiked the mile on the coastal cliffs down to Dunnottar Castle. Sometimes the path was protected from the 50 mph gale-force winds by hillocks or humps of land. More frequently, though, we battled through the full force of the strong winds, either straining not to be lifted off the cliff from behind, or pushing into the headwinds, holding hands.

Sometimes the sun shone, sparkling on the white horses and crashing surf below. At other times, we watched as a wall of misty black sky swarmed across the sea, throwing snow and sleet and hail into the spring surf.

The rat-runs of neural pathways which have bedded into our brains during the pandemic’s lockdown were broken as our thoughts were drawn elsewhere. The bitter winds blew off the cobwebs of routine; it lifted thoughts into different paths, new realms.

Back in Stonehaven, we found a coffee shop serving take-away food and got a cup of rich French onion soup, which we ate sheltering in the car. Then we headed south to St Cyrus beach, a nature reserve we’d never visited, and explored the dunes awhile.

‘He has risen from the dead,’ the angel told the disciples, promising them that they would see him. We saw him in the wind and the waves, in the sun and the snow, in the eyes of each other.

Thank you, Lord, for the milestones which lift us from ordinary routine and give us space and a moment to consider, to breathe in your love, to just be.

How long?

 

Gathered to worship. Gathered together, a few of us, socially distanced, masked. I didn’t expect to react with such emotion, but tears sprang to my eyes as soon as we approached the church for this Holy Week service.

It’s hard to wipe away the tears when the mask is just below the eyes, I found.

Greeted inside by Mike, by Mary, and the tears were harder to hold back. How long, Lord, I felt myself groaning inwardly. It’s been a year, but now, how long? How long until we can see each other’s welcoming smiles, hug our friends, sing our praises to God?

Bill greeted us and advised we were to hum along to the hymns, not sing. But dear Sandy, mid-90’s, didn’t quite catch the instruction, and his strong voice rang out through his mask as the piano led us in ‘Beneath the cross of Jesus’. More tears. Precious faith in one so old: I had feared we might never worship with him again, and here we were, hearing his voice declaring his love for Jesus. A golden moment.

Reflections on the last words Jesus spoke from the cross. Reflecting on the love of Jesus for us. His courage. His forgiveness. His faithfulness. His compassion. His agony. More tears.

Final song which came too soon. ‘Thine be the glory’. Humming, in time to Sandy’s singing, longing to stand and belt it out. Instead, my hands raised high, as did my heart.

And then it was over. The gathered people of God began to scatter, ushered out in a socially-distanced fashion, everyone reluctant to leave. More tears.

How long, dear Lord, until you pronounce over this pandemic, ‘It is finished’. How long?