What are you marinating in?

Had a dinner party last night with friends old and new. Just six of us, sharing laughter, memories, ideas, and, of course, food.

I did my sure-fire stand-by winner – a pork loin roast marinated for 24 hours in an unlikely concoction of ingredients. It’s easy; it’s tender; and it’s delicious.

It got me thinking about marinating as I walked Dusty. The sky to the north is aubergine – just beautiful. The wind is rising and the paler shades of cloud are flashing through the air. Every morning I marinate for half an hour in the stunning scenery around my home. The sights, the sounds, the smells tenderise my inner eye and relax my tense muscles and refreshingly distract my mind from its often fruitless preoccupations.

The Bible says to meditate on God’s word day and night. Marinate in it, in other words. Not be submerged in it, as that has a connotation of drowning. Not soak in it, as that raises images in my mind of flappy skin from lolling too long in a hot bath. Marinate, to tenderise the inner hardness and to impart a flavour that is delicious to others.

We are all marinating in the world we inhabit. Like sponges, we absorb the ‘vibes’ in which we live – if we work in tension and under pressure, that imparts a flavour to our personalities that we may want to counteract. We are marinating in our culture’s values, and it’s very easy then to become tenderised to things which are really unacceptable by God’s standards.

Not only was the pork marinated last night. Our deep friendship marinated each of us in a sense of well-being and love.

I’m heading for my Bible now, and hope to spend a few hours today marinating in the amazing Word of God, creator of the universe and yet incredibly, the father of us all who just wants us to know how much he loves us. I hope to hear something fresh from him today.

Random Ramblings on Relationship

Relationships define me.

I was just reflecting on that as I walked Dusty. She’s put a rhythm in my life which wouldn’t be there without my relationship with her. Not always a welcome rhythm, I do confess, but this morning the sky is gloriously blue and largely cloudless (though I’ve lived in Scotland long enough to know that the rising wind will carry something with it). The dying grass sways golden in the sunlight; the fields are sprinkled with straw bales strewn round the stubble, and peace prevails. After a morning of frying eggs for bed and breakfast guests, re-cooking jam which didn’t set yesterday, and making desserts for a dinner party tonight, I was ready for peace to prevail and allow me to gather my random thoughts.

And that’s what made me think about relationships. We have always been a busy household, with lots of people coming and going. For a loner like me, it doesn’t seem a good fit. I’m happy with my own company, never at a loss for things to do, and often frustrated that I don’t have more time to read or write. Perhaps one could conclude I don’t really need people.

But oh, I do. Without a hospitable husband frequently inviting folks round – without four ‘kids’ and all their friends and busyness – without a vibrant church family who pop in and out for Bible study, prayer, or tea, I would not be the woman I am today. I would be much more narrow-minded, much less forgiving, much more critical, much less loving.

Difficult relationships shave off the sharp corners in my personality, and easy relationships feed my soul. And those in between remind me none of us is perfect! Least of all me.

Relationships have enriched my life. And I am so grateful.  Even if it has given me less time to sit alone and write, when I do get the time, perhaps I might have something more valuable to actually say.

Autumn Chorus Line

Swallows chatter busily, balanced on the swaying overhead power cable. Some preen and fluff their feathers, and suddenly one lifts off the line, lifting and dropping in a whimsical aerial dance. The rest follow in an unchoreographed overhead ballet, sometimes pausing in a treetop or two, and eventually resettling onto the wire.

Summer is fading into autumn – more like exploding into autumn, really, in a vibrant final display of colour.  I love this time of year, for its oranges and russets, honeys and browns, and for the sense of fulfilment as the farmers harvest the fields and we gather in our tatties and apples. The nip in the air overnight is a harbinger of frosts to come, but as yet there is enough heat in the sun that, if it shows its face, there is power there to burn.

It’s a glorious season. Almost a triumphant season.

But it doesn’t last.

It gets messy, as the trees disrobe and fall colours fade into slimy piles of decaying browns and blacks.  Bonfires raise a stench and a pall of smoke; swallows desert us and follow the sun; geese squawk overhead, keeping their v-shape as they migrate. Winter is on the way.

 I’m talking about more than just the earth’s seasons here.

Carpe diem.

Dragging my Baggage to the Finish Line

The morning after the tenth anniversary of 9/11 and my brain has a permanent imprint of the image of the collapse of the twin towers. My spirit sags under the weight of the whole thing and its tragic repercussions round the world. It’s been a sad decade.

Lying awake in bed last night, thinking of other, more personal, sad imprints on my mind’s eye. Events stretching back through my lifetime. Moments of tension and angst in relationships. Personal failures. Grief still raw after all these years. Disappointment in the fears which inhibit my risk-taking.

And I see them as so much baggage dragging behind me, like the tin cans tied onto newly-weds’ cars. Clanging and jarring, distracting me. Inhibiting my ability to think clearly, to move forward courageously.

The writer to the Hebrews wrote, ‘Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.’

So today, with God’s help, I am going to throw off the negative carbuncles that impede my progress. I don’t want to stumble over old baggage and I don’t want to focus on the sins and sadness. Instead, face forwards, eyes upwards, I am going to run towards the Son, for as long as I draw breath. So help me God.

Dusty's Cross

One of my sons is moving into a new house.

Well, I say a new house but in fact this house is very old. So old, it has a newspaper from 1902 stuffed into a gap in the wall. So old it stinks of damp and mildew.  But it’s got potential. Bags of potential. And a couple of apple trees in the walled garden.

It’s about an hour and a half from my house. So Dusty and I went down there today, taking lunch to the workers ripping out the old walls and floorboards. We perched on beams balanced on breeze blocks, munching chicken sandwiches and laughing. Dusty meanwhile squatted behind us, ready for more. Ready for the walk that always comes when she goes somewhere in the car.

So eventually off we went. My youngest son and his wife, and Dusty. We dodged traffic for awhile on a very narrow country road, before we got to the path leading to the top of the hill. The muddy path. Which paralleled the waterfall. To Dusty, it doesn’t get any better than this.

Throwing sticks into the water for her enthusiastic retrieval, she brought out a cross – two sticks fastened together to form a cross. And we all laughed as she took up her cross and trotted in front of us, joyfully exuberant.

Then it got too heavy for her, and she left it behind on the path. We encountered a couple of horses in a field, through which we had to walk, and they wanted to come with us. One of them even seemed to know how to work the country gate, which gets pushed to the corner, lets the walker through, then gets pushed back the other way. Whoa. We didn’t think the owner would be too chuffed.

Dusty grabbed her cross again on the way down. But again, it grew too heavy for her to carry very far.

I know there’s a meaning in here for me.