The Back of Beyond

Dusty has led me a merry chase across field and through woods today, having loped off after a deer (which she hasn’t a hope in catching, but she makes the effort). We ended up in a snow-covered marsh, trying to ascertain where the solid ground was and not always determining that very successfully. 

In the midst of our exertions, as I chatted to my four-legged friend, I suddenly noticed a man coming the other way, ducking and diving under the trees. We were in the back of beyond, and he was as surprised as I was to encounter anyone at all.

Turned out to be a sort of neighbour, father of one of our son’s friends, who’s lived down the road for thirty years and this is probably the third time I’ve spoken to him. We had a pleasant chat as we retraced steps through the snowy marshland.

Now we’re home, the dog smelling of ditchwater and me requiring a shower as well. But both of us feeling pleasantly satisfied from the physical effort. 

It was the solid ground – or lack thereof – that caught my attention this afternoon. A tentative step onto a tuft of grass might meet with firm resistance and a good place to put my foot, while a carpet of snow often gave way to a puddle of rank water. How often in life do I step gingerly, fearfully even, expecting to sink – and yet if I am stepping where God has led me to step, there is always a foundation on which to stand? Other times I plough on stubbornly, certain that I have chosen a good path, when suddenly I find myself up to my knees in smelly water. 

My Word is a lamp to your feet, God tells me. I need to remember that, even in the midst of the quagmire of life.

Temptation

She’s almost twelve years old now. In dog years that figures out to about 84. Dusty should know by now, that she doesn’t run off after deer. 

Now there was a period in her early years when she might chase off after anything that ran in the woods or field, and be gone for ten hours or more. A happy but exhausted dog would slink in, tail between her legs. She knew she’d been naughty but oh, it was so much fun.

Then we had an interlude of about 8 years where she might be tempted, might tentatively start to go, but then obeyed the call not to. We seem to be slipping into doggy dementia now, though, where she is once again happy to ignore the order and keep on running.

Mind you, at her age it’s pretty good that she can still keep on running. 

It’s hard to be mad at her when she comes back. She’s so satisfied and happily exhausted. And so right now she is lying near the fire, soaking wet above and below (where has she been?), at peace.

I guess I should take warning. I had those early years in my youth, when temptation often got the better of me. Then there has been an interlude where I’ve tried to behave myself and live as Jesus wants me to live. No major infractions so far, though plenty of minor ones.

But I’m certainly headed towards my latter years now, and I hope that Dusty’s increasing disobedience isn’t a harbinger of things to come for me, too. 

Help me, Lord, to run the long race in the same direction, not to veer to left or right but to keep my eyes fixed on you, planting my feet firmly in your footsteps. Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil. Amen.

Mothering

Commercialism makes our world go round, but none of us mothers were ever in it for the cards.

Or the flowers. Or the delicious meals cooked for us. Or yummy cakes baked for us.

Not that we haven’t enjoyed all of the above, and been blessed by such sincere shows of gratitude.

Children – yes, even when they are a challenge – fill a mother’s heart with joy every single day. Those eager eyes; the heads thrown back, abandoned to spontaneous laughter and fun; the tired heads slumped forward onto my chest; the daily joys of discovering new surprises in this amazing world we inhabit. The tiny hand slipped into mine. The cuddles on the couch. 

And that’s just when they are little.

Now, when my children are old enough to have children of their own, my pleasures in them are different. Joy, again, as I see each developing along his/her own individual pathway. Each blossoming and bearing fruit in gifting and talents unique to him or her. Each giving back to the world in which he or she lives – making people laugh, helping them forgive, eat, survive, stimulating spiritual growth and demonstrating abandonment to God, interacting in Godly ways in office and at church, sharing generously with others. 

My inclination is to say how proud of them I am, which is true, but my pride is overshadowed by my gratitude to the faithful, loving heavenly Father who has enabled them all to be all that they were created to be. 

To God be the glory. My heart sings for joy to the God who loaned me four beautiful human beings to nurture and raise, and who made up for the ‘years the locust ate’ (eg, all my poor parenting efforts). Gratitude to the God who has widened the door of my home in order to accommodate wonderful Godly partners for them. 

I can’t send you a card today, my heavenly Father, nor a dinner nor flowers nor a cake. 

But what I can do is give you my heart and soul in everlasting gratitude. 

You’ve got it. I’m yours.

Blond curls in the sunshine

Sometimes when I’m praying, I close my eyes and there is an immediate and unexpected picture revealed in my mind. Today, a rather grey and grisly one here at Barehillock, I saw the upturned face of a 2-year-old child, blond curls shining in the hot sunshine beaming down on a typical American back porch.

I knew it was my sister, though I didn’t really know her in any sentient way when she was 2 as I had just been born. I knew her – was I seeing the memory of a forgotten picture from a photo album of my parents’? – though I can’t say there was instant facial recognition. Just a deep inner sense that I knew. This was Judy. 

She was laughing and playful, full of fun and life. 

Full of life. Judy passed away 25 years ago, when she was still young. Too young. This picture I saw this morning was a gift, a reminder that life does not cease when the body dies. Praise God for that. She is still laughing, full of fun, somewhere else in this vast universe, or as close as my breath. Who knows. But the promise is a promise. Life goes on. It just keeps getting better.

With that awesome promise encouraging me, I will press on with the tasks at hand, still missing her like crazy, but knowing, deep down, that separation isn’t forever.

Life is.

Slow to catch fire

The fire was set well. Rolled newspapers surmounted with kindling wood, and a few bits of coal to get it going.

The paper caught but then fizzled. The wood didn’t even sizzle. I did the trick which often works – create a draft by stretching a newspaper across the top of the opening to the fireplace, funnelling the air underneath and acting as a blower. Yes, dangerous.

This time the newspaper I used caught fire and I had to stuff it all in on top of the wood, where it acted like a blanket.

Now I’ve spent an hour nursing this pathetic flame to life. It is finally showing some signs of having caught, but it has made me think.

Why does some wood – which is supposed to be easily lit – need so much help to catch fire? Why does it not catch despite newspaper all around it blazing away?

Why do some people – even those sitting in church – need so much help to catch fire? Why don’t they blaze into flame when they are so close to others who are on fire for God? 

Sometimes perhaps they are dampened down by the residual ash of previous experiences. Memories of spiritual highs which went bad maybe hinder their flammability. Maybe they’ve been dampened by the world’s ideas and expectations. Faith has grown cold. Hope has died. Cynicism and worldliness have killed the fire.

Maybe those around them are not hot enough. Maybe they aren’t fanning into flame the hope planted within them, the fire of the Holy Spirit. Maybe, having met with negative reactions or rejection, they’ve decided to keep the Spirit just about alive but not ‘hot’ enough to be noticed, rather than be mocked or ignored any more. 

Paul writes to Timothy, ‘fan into flame the gift of God’. The fire in my grate is beginning to catch. I’m going to fan into flame the gift God has given me – his Holy Spirit. How about you?