Divine Palette

 

I’ve been painting new plasterboard with a watered-down emulsion paint, to seal it before applying the colour. Some marks and plaster tapes still show through the weak wash, making the job tedious and unsatisfying. After it’s dry, the cover is slightly better, but during the application it looks scrappy and patchy.

I’m thinking about a line from Philemon, where the writer prays that the reader will ‘put into action the generosity that comes from your faith as you understand and experience all the good things we have in Christ.’

How well do I understand and experience all the good things I have in Christ, I wonder? Is my life like the plasterboard I’ve been painting, washed with a basic understanding of my faith, but missing colour? Am I vibrant, popping with colour, revealing Jesus through action and conversation? Or …

Painting the sealing coat onto plasterboard, I kept wondering if it was fully covered, or if I needed to go over it again, do more.

The Holy Spirit is our seal; we don’t need to wonder if we can do any more to earn acceptance. We’ve been prepped for the colours God has in mind for us. As we understand and experience all the good things we have in Christ, he uses the infinite colours of his palette to reveal his love and grace to a monochrome world.

Neighbours

 

Last time I saw this lady, she was adopting her grandsons, who were 5. In the post-vaccine recovery area yesterday, where we all waited in case we had adverse reactions, all masked and socially distanced, somehow she recognised me. Her grandsons are now 16. We caught up on the eleven years…

Then I noticed another woman, a mum of kids who were at primary school with my younger ones. We shared our experiences of navigating the covid lock-downs. I hadn’t seen her in ten years at least. Along came her brother and sister-in-law, who I know through my sister-in-law. I hadn’t seen them for yonks, as they say. And so it went. A couple of women from church and Bible study groups, from food bank.

A host of Crathes-area 70-year-olds, eager for their second injections so life can open up again. These people are near-neighbours; friends from past days, not seen for years.

Today I am grateful for being settled in this area for so long, being part of the community. I am grateful for so many kind and caring people. I am grateful for the NHS, and their care in ensuring this vaccine would be safe (probably!) for me, given my conditions. I am full of gratitude to the God who is faithful, and so I bring him the burdens on my heart, too, this morning, for situations other friends are enduring. I make my petitions to him, with thanksgiving in anticipation for what he will do.

God is love; he is good and his mercy never fails.

Reservoirs

 

Today, clouds overhead are leaking a fine mist of rain over the earth, falling onto the thirsty ground.

The sweet peas we planted a few weeks ago sprouted and grew quickly in the warmth of the conservatory, so the other day, I moved them out to the cooler greenhouse. It’s too cold yet to plant them outside. I also potted the dahlias which were sheltering inside over winter, and put them into the greenhouse to sprout. They all need water.

Watering is something I struggle to remember. Having lived for years in a land where the clouds usually provide enough moisture for everything that grows, I just forget. If I don’t get out there and water the dahlias and sweet peas, though, they will wither and die.

Spending time in God’s presence is a little like standing in a fine mist of rain. It is especially noticeable when I am struggling with issues or tasks; when I remember to stand or sit in his presence, the fine mist of his Spirit revives my spirit and restores my soul, strengthening me to keep going and to experience the fragrance of his flowers and the fruitfulness of his life all around me.

I love the deep watering that comes from gathered worship, from challenging sermons and encouraging scripture. But the deep watering, as saturating as it feels, evaporates, and I need to spend daily time letting his presence sprinkle life and grow love, peace, joy, kindness, patience, gentleness and self-control in me.

It’s my number one priority, because I’ve learned the hard way, that without his water sprinkling down, there is no reservoir of water springing up within me.

Our eyes are on You

 

We take a newspaper once a week: we like struggling to do the Saturday Times crossword. It takes us most the week and we don’t always finish. We marvel at the people who whip out the answers during a morning commute on the Tube. Better brains than ours.

Of course we do more than just engage with the crossword. We read the news, and these last three weeks I have been shocked by stories of the ‘rape culture’ in schools. Other stories have saddened me, but these stories lead me to conclude that the days are evil.

Lord, we don’t know what to do, but our eyes are on you.

I remember this morning two tiny events which God used to open up the life I have been blessed to live. First, the way I met Don, being directed by the hotel receptionist to ask my question of the handsome young man in the kilt, coming down the stairs at that moment. I did ask him my question, and I’ve been married to him now for over 45 years.

Second, as we looked for a new home when we moved from Huntly, the paper on which I had pasted the possibilities I’d seen in local newspapers during the week rested on the car’s dashboard. I picked Don up from the overnight train from London on that Friday morning, a glorious morning.  As we headed out past Hazelhead Park, he rolled down his window (days before electric windows…) The paper was sucked outside, and despite our wild searching all over the vicinity, we could not find it. All we had was that day’s newspaper, and the one house that we suspected might tick our boxes. It hadn’t been lived in for three years; it was smaller than the flat we’d just sold and didn’t have a shower. It didn’t actually tick many of our boxes, but somehow, we knew it was the place for us.

We’ve lived in that house now for over 40 years, and it has enabled us to raise four kids in rural freedom, to take in refugees, to enjoy B&B guests, to welcome home family, and watch grandchildren play happily in safety. Our boundaries have fallen in pleasant places.

God is love; he is forgiving; he knows what to do. He holds so much power: he doesn’t need to do much to change the disastrous direction in which we as a ‘civilisation’ are headed.

Lord, we don’t know what to do, but our eyes are on you this morning. We desperately need your help, Father, and we put our trust in you.

Lord You have my heart

 

‘Oh, there’s my nail scissors,’ Don said, picking them off the mattress as he crawled into bed after a day that had its fair share of moments of stress. I burst out laughing.

On day 7 of our gratitude exercise, we were to transform every incipient negative thought into a positive one. We’d awoken to the news that overnight, Prince, the new-cat-on-the-block who moved in with Doug and Joey, had attacked Indy, our little scaredy-cat, and now Indy was nowhere to be found. As we spread out and searched, I sought the positive.

On our way to Aberdeen (yes! For haircuts!), Doug sent a message and picture. Found, cowering in the back of the barn, one back paw obviously injured. We all worked our way through our thoughts of how to prevent this trauma happening again, each of us coming up with different suggestions. We had honest words, loving words, deepening relationships.

This is a big house. We will keep doors shut, and designate outdoor time for one feline at a time. We all want it to work.

Other issues percolated through this film throughout the day, as each of us seeks the way forward. I think I generally managed to turn each issue to a positive. It was an eventful day, beyond just having two appointments to make.

Hence my hilarity. We might have ended the evening at A&E with a pair of nail scissors embedded in a thigh, or worse, but no, that calamity was averted. We sank onto the pillows with a sigh of success.

My God is my rock…my shield…my place of safety. Some days land softer than others, but in all of them, this is the truth. Jesus is there, picking up the pieces, whispering love and encouragement.

Today is a new day, sunny and calm. Thank you, Lord; you have my heart.

Re engagement

 

Two appointments today, after months of freedom to order my day as I determine. I’ve missed meeting up with people, true enough. But I have enjoyed the freedom of timelessness: today, I’m watching the clock.

As lock-down loosens slightly here in Scotland, I want to take forward a freedom from constructing my day on an artificial scaffolding of time-keeping. I pray that my mind will remain free of constraints, free to engage with God at a micro level. I pray that the peace of Christ might rule in my heart and mind so that as I glance at the clock and get in the car, I go out with joy.

This pandemic has been awful on so many levels. May we not discard the good lessons we’ve learned, though, when we re-engage with the world.

Mirror, mirror

 

An accidental bump broke off the passenger side mirror. A minor impact. Maybe glue it back? It can’t be that hard …

Turns out, it can. The side mirror is more than it would seem to be. There are wires and bits of plastic, necessitating the removal of the inside of the car’s door panel, some welding, some new bits.

Live without it? That compromises safety: not a good idea.

Jesus told Peter, ‘follow me’. Three times he said it, after eliciting declarations of love for him. Follow me. On that traumatic night, while Peter crouched by a fire and awaited news of his arrested Lord, he was challenged. He was charged with being with Jesus, the prisoner. No, he swore. Not me. You’ve got the wrong man.

Jesus, heading at speed towards his dreadful death, checked his mirrors. He saw that Peter, who had been following, had dropped back into a lay-by, taken a detour. And that bothered him. The author of the parable of the lost sheep came back, met Peter on the shore, and gave him another chance.

If you love me, you’ll follow me, he told him.

He’s checking his side mirrors today. He’s headed one way in my life, another way in yours, and encouraging us to follow him. Because he keeps his eyes both forward and back, he won’t lose any of us dithering cowards. He keeps his mirrors working. He knows what’s going on, and he asks each of us today: Do you love me? Follow me.

And he’s off.

I’m so grateful that if I falter by the wayside, if I (or maybe that should read, ‘when I’) stop for a picnic and am distracted by the world, Jesus will circle back and, with mercy and grace, get me back on the path. Again.