Prowling round Heaven's Gates

 

The geriatric cat, Indy, pads purposefully past the prayer window. She doesn’t notice me, but I know she is looking for a way back into the house.

Briefly, she pauses at the front window, then reappears, circling back towards the back door. Her old ears have lost their acuity, and often she fails to respond when we stand at the open door and call her name repeatedly.

This morning, Don went outside, trailed behind her, calling her name, accompanied by that ‘psst psst’ which he considers his private language with his cat – but which, I am pretty sure, she never hears anymore. With delight (I imagine), Indy saw him coming and sped up to follow him back into the house.

I came across some old diaries in my tidying the other day, and was surprised to read an entry from 1974 where I poured out my spiritual thirst and talked about a few of the wrong houses I was prowling around in my quest for truth. In amongst the spiritual theories I had, Jesus came out on top, though it was my own limited understanding of who he is. There I was, prowling around ‘heaven’, searching for a way in, and deaf to the calls of my Saviour.

More than that, as I looked for a way ‘in’ to spiritual truth, Truth stood at the door of my deaf heart and knocked, waiting for me to invite him in.

And when I finally did, in 1979, he came in power and love and mercy and peace.

For years I was deaf to his ‘psst psst’ and his gentle calling of my name. Just like the story Jesus told, of the shepherd who leaves the 99 to go to find the one which is lost, he came for me himself, depositing his Holy Spirit as a foretaste of eternal life and a counsellor and enabler in this present world.

This lost sheep has been brought home.

Praise God.

Life in its fullness

 

In looking at a black-and-white snapshot of my sister Judy and me from 1959, first I noticed the circular skirts of the 50’s, the lunch boxes and the saddle shoes (yuk). But then I realised that Judy was just 10, I was 8, and yet she dwarfed me. There looks like a much bigger age gap, and as Judy grew to be nearly 6’ tall, there was always a significant difference in our bodies.

And Judy was always disappointed in hers, that it was so big.

That makes me so sad, and that sadness extends to all those who hate their bodies for their size, their appearance, their abilities or disabilities, or whatever. God loves every body and has made each one to be a temple of his Holy Spirit. Every body is made to be the resting place for God himself.

Every body is beautiful.

Every morning in Brisbane, we were awakened by a chorus of wild sounds. Kookaburras and cockatoos, Australian ibis and ‘bush turkeys’, and some weird and wonderful bird with a very distinctive cry, insects and frogs, whatever inhabits a tropical rainforest: with exuberance and joy, each one lifted its voice at the break of a new day, and sang out, whatever song it was blessed to have. It was noisy; it was wild; it was beautiful, exuberant life.

Jesus came to give us life, life to the full; exuberant, joyful life. Whatever limitations or disappointments I may feel about my body today, I am so grateful that Jesus made it to be fit for his Spirit to live in. I pray for all those who are struggling with self-image today, Lord. Please open their eyes to see their physical bodies as you see them: each one unique and beautifully crafted, prepared to receive the divine presence.

May we all embrace ourselves as we embrace you and invite you in.

Hidden ligaments with profound functions

 

Until I injured the muscle across the top of my chest, I didn’t know it was there. I mean, I know about glutes and biceps and triceps and six packs and so on, but a muscle across the bony top of my chest? It went unnoticed.

Now, however. Now I am reminded of it as I turn over in bed, as I try to raise my arms or perform other unremarkable moves. Ouch!

I’ve just been reading Ephesians 4. Thinking about unity in the body of Christ, and that led me to think about the unseen, unnoticed ligaments and muscles that hold each of our churches together. I prayed for the teams of junior church, of property managers, of those on rotas, but as I sat with God, I was drawn to pray for the invisible cohort who literally strengthen and hold together the lungs of the church: all those who pray for hearts to be open to the Saviour. All those who pray on teams and alone. Known and unknown. Now and over millennia, silently and noisily calling out to God to pour out his Spirit on Banchory and this beautiful area. To fill hearts and lungs with the powerful Holy Spirit of God. To turn lives round to Jesus.

Lord, strengthen and bless this crucial ligament so that the body of Christ may act justly, love mercy and walk humbly before the Lord here in Banchory and Deeside, and across the world.

And Father, my eyes are still focused on the continuing conflagration in Los Angeles. Lord, I continue to pray for destructive winds to cease and refreshing, restoring rains to come. I also continue to pray for spiritual rain to fall across the Southland, that lives which are tinder-dry would be watered from above and filled from within with your refreshing, everlasting water of life. I continue to cry out for the City of Angels, my city. Have mercy, Lord. May spiritual smoke alarms be beeping now in the hearts of many who recognise the precarious tinder-dryness of their lives. May many turn to you in these dreadful days. Douse the physical fires, and may the purifying fire of your Spirit consume the dry kindling of empty lives and hearts. Lord, nearly half a century ago, your Spirit kindled a fire within my dry and desperate heart, cleansing and filling me and inspiring me to open the door of my life to Jesus, to invite him to come in and sit and eat with me. Work this miracle of salvation in hundreds, thousands of hearts now, Lord.

May my prayer join the prayers of that invisible ligament of pray-ers, enabling spiritual lungs to be filled with the very breath of God.

Raging Fires

 

Fires continue to ravage my home-town, Los Angeles. I may not have lived there for fifty years, but it still has my heart. Pacific Palisades: one of my dad’s cousins lived there. I’ve lost touch. Are any of his sons still there? The sister of a friend lives there: they’ve evacuated, and don’t yet know if they have a home to return to. Malibu: the site of the dream house I never owned, overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean. A place of wild beauty. Sunset Boulevard. Oh, my goodness.

Today I am praying Isaiah 61:1-3 over those affected by these devastating conflagrations. I am praying the Lord will provide beauty for ashes; that any who might have been possessed by their possessions, will be released and set free into a new reality. May your light shine, Lord, in the lives of believers, offering hope and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

Sing, Choirs of Angels today. Sing over the City of Angels. Comfort and bind up the broken-hearted. Bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes. Jesus, walk among the broken-hearted.

I was told there was a picture of a desperate firefighter scooping water from a puddle into his helmet and flinging it on the fire. A shortage of water hampered the efforts to douse the flames. The woman at the well (John 4) didn’t recognise that Jesus was the source of the water of life. She drew water from a puddle rather than from the divine source. May those directly affected by this tragedy be drawn to the water of life. Revive and refresh them today, Lord, those who have lost ‘everything’, and those who have battled to save what they could. In their loss of everything, may they find the one thing that matters. You.

Come to the water of life. Our own spirits can dry up in this world of brutal events, making us vulnerable to the danger of conflagration. May we drink daily from the presence of the Word of God, keeping us supple, green and alive. All around us is dry stubble; at any time, it could explode into a consuming fire. Keep us drinking from the water of life. Every day.

I am reminded of another friend whose house was surrounded by a wildfire a few years ago. Every house in the neighbourhood near Santa Barbara burned to the ground, except theirs. In the aftermath, Kerry and Carter offered fresh lemonade to their devastated neighbours, sifting through the ashes of what had been their homes. May I offer lemonade today, the divine lemonade of life, to all those I meet who are weary, thirsty and in despair. Come to me, Jesus invites us. May your Spirit in me be a portal into eternal refreshment for all who are dry and hopeless today.

Jesus is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow, and he is all we need. May his grace and mercy and love pour out over Los Angeles today.

Take Care!

 

The sun shone in a cloudless sky yesterday afternoon; ice crystals twinkled across the fields and along the road on which I walked. Ever cautious, I had donned snowtrax galoshes over my hiking boots so that I wouldn’t end up at an overcrowded A&E with a broken limb.

I was thoroughly enjoying time with God, sharing my thoughts, my anxieties, my gratitude, my hopes. Listening for his voice in the beauty of my surroundings. On the way back, I paused to take a picture of the Hill of Fare, pure white against the blue sky, and share it with the family on WhatsApp.

A few steps further on, the tight, elasticated rubber of the snowtrax pulled it off the sole of one foot and onto the top, so I leaned drag it back underneath. Snap! I almost heard a muscle in my chest as it strained, or tore, or stretched too far in my exertion. Ouch.

Totally unexpected. An injury sustained in one area while I was focused on avoiding an injury in another! And while I was engaging in a prayer walk!

The injury I sustained is to connective tissue, to muscular infrastructure that holds my upper body together. Every breath I take reminds me of the injury.

And yet, God is in every breath I take. He is the air I breathe. He holds my life together: in him I live and move and have my being.

There is no injury to my relationship with God. As I lift my eyes to the hills and focus on where my help emanates from, I refuse to be distracted from my pursuit of a deeper relationship with him.

One of life’s general mishaps, or a targeted attack? I know that in life problems can arise from unexpected events. I resolve to keep my eyes on my Lord who loves me, who got me home safely, who gave me good advice through NHS 111, and who provides me with a loving, attentive husband who has a fire roaring in the grate beside me.

I am profoundly grateful this morning, and praying for all those hapless folks who are finding themselves in overcrowded hospitals today, and all those exhausted medics and nurses doing their best to help.

Keep safe today, whether on the ice or in a dry, fire-ravaged city. (Praying for the cessation of the Santa Ana winds sweeping LA, and unexpected rain.) God bless us all.

 

Bailey of Brisbane

 

One of the joys of being in Brisbane was getting to know Bailey, the long-legged mutt, part Australian cattle dog, who is very much part of the family.

After a few days of his getting used to our being there, he began to include me in his affections, nuzzling gently under my arm from behind and longing to give me a sloppy kiss (I suspect in hopes there might remain traces of something yummy I’d just eaten…).

As we start out on our journey through 2025, my desire is to rededicate my life to the Lord, to set aside and prioritise time just sitting with him. Like Bailey greeting those he loves and trusts, I want to nuzzle in to the Lord, resting in the shadow of his loving ‘wings’ and even daring a sloppy kiss, in anticipation of tasting something utterly sublime on the face of God: the taste of unconditional love.

May I resist the urgent for the important, disdaining distractions in order to marinate in the love of our Saviour and friend

 

From Tropics to Snow

 

From a tropical rainforest bubbling with exotic birdsong, insect hums and buzzes, and heat, into a silent winter landscape white and clear and fresh and popping with hungry birds taking turns at the bird feeders: half a world away in the space of twenty-four hours.

We were speaking with one of the air crew on the flight to Dubai. On learning he was Egyptian, Don used his Egyptian words still remembered from half a century ago. The steward was blown away and immediately ordered a couple of glasses of fizz, some pistachio and date pastries and delectable chocolates (no doubt ordinary fare in first class…). He shared that he lives with his family in Dubai: a clear case of taking someone from their home country, but that not equating with removing the home country from the person’s heart.

Google has just informed me that over the last year, I travelled round the globe one and a half times. I am sorry for the carbon footprint I have left, but grateful for the opportunities to be with those so dear to me.

It’s natural to be distracted by the geography in which I and my loved ones live, but having just listened to a remarkable talk by Tim Mackie ( https://youtu.be/HQIH-WfmZms?si=oXMFILPi7vASqe4J ), as a Jesus-follower my resolution for the rest of my life is to settle into the eternal geography of the one who is with, and in, all things, and to live every moment with my footprint in Paradise. The reality is as Paul wrote, that in Jesus I live and move and have my being.

May this be a new year of spiritual awakening and growth, of a deeper awareness of the reality in which I live. For those others who have listened to the Tim Mackie talk, I want the huckleberries to be staining my teeth, too …