Grace and Peace

 

A short walk before dinner.

That last stretch before the road end is always littered with throw-away coffee cups, empty plastic water bottles and discarded fizzy drink cans. Hands full with this detritus, I distribute it in the bins at the road-end and consider that the distance between the fast-food outlets in Westhill and this road-end, a mile from the paint-ball grounds, can probably be measured in the time it takes to drink several ounces of liquids.

Why do so many people thoughtlessly throw their trash onto the verge in the otherwise beautiful countryside? I’m afraid you won’t find the answer here. I don’t know.

What I do know is that Jesus invites me to throw my trash, the rubbish of my worries and the smear of my sins, onto him. Unlike the countryside, which is besmirched by such profligate littering, Jesus accepts and absorbs and transforms all of the ugly stuff I give him and turns it into something beautiful, something holy even.

That is grace. Grace which invites us to live in God’s favour though we clearly don’t deserve that privilege. Grace which welcomes us with open arms, tattered and filthy as we are, enfolding us in divine love and forgiveness.

Grace which leads to the peace that passes all understanding; as we sink into the reality of his grace, we experience the peace which informs our very beings so that we can enter the minutiae of this day expecting to see Jesus transform all trash into treasure.

Grace and peace.

He never forgets

 

Gazing out the window, God drew my attention to one of the many gorse bushes glowing gold in the spring sunshine. It sits along the roadside, flanked by a couple of wild cherry trees, also resplendent in the pale pink of their spring bloom.

Nothing special about any of it. Gorse and ‘geen’ trees sprout in generous abundance across my field of vision, but for some reason I was drawn to contemplate these particular trees and bush.

Our house sits a mile or two from a hill where a famous battle was once fought, the Battle of Corrichie. It involved the rather infamous Mary Queen of Scots’ troops, against the Duke of Gordon. I imagine none of this land looked as it does now. Certainly our house was not standing. So I found myself wondering if, after this bloody confrontation, this field outside my window was a scene of devastation, scattered with the injured and dying and dead as they fled the scene. I wondered if, beneath the glorious golden gorse, there lay the now-decomposed body of a fallen fighter.

All speculation of course, but through this flight of imagination I heard the Lord assuring me that he never forgets anyone. Whoever may have fallen and lain forgotten, has never been forgotten by him. He counts the hairs on each of our heads, and he loves with an everlasting love, and he never forgets. We are all special to him, our Father.

Those loved and lost in my own life and yours: he has not forgotten. None are lost. His love is everlasting.

Spring Song

 

The birdsong in spring is glorious, the variety rising in harmonious singing that brings joy to my heart and lifts the spirits. How beautiful when varieties and differences come together and sing out to the God of creation.

May I raise my voice today in praise of our wonderful God and awesome creator, and may my voice harmonise with those of all different backgrounds and voices who are also singing to the true God.

Whatever the state of the world, it is God’s world, and he will bring healing and wholeness, peace and contentment. May he bless those in authority today with his presence, opening eyes and ears to the Truth and blending those voices now raised in anger and aggression into voices of humility and peace.

If even the stars sing out their praises, may our broken world begin to heal as we raise our voices to Jesus.

Distractions

 

‘Listen,’ I sensed Him saying as I sat for a few minutes in silence. ‘What do you hear?’

The refrigerator humming its constant monotone. And?

You don’t usually even notice it, I sensed Him going on. You get on with your day without being distracted by that background, unimportant constant.

True.

I can struggle to define my priorities for the day. All around me stands a house that could use a clean and a tidy-up, even some licks of paint, and a garden crying out for weeding, tidying, pruning, planting… Then there is the daily duo lingo … this blog … someone coming for dinner … even, today, someone coming for coffee … Mom’s affairs …

And then there’s the news. The political scene globally.

Refrigerator hums. Distractions.

I have four writing projects underway, all at different stages of development. That’s where my heart is, and yet I can be so easily drawn away from them. Easily distracted, as most of my children’s school reports used to read.

Today I pray for the Holy Spirit’s gift of self-discipline. I give this beautiful day to the Lord, and ask that he would help me to order it as he would.

Still sparking

 

Don turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.

Dead battery.

Out came the charger, and after a few hours charging, the car revved into life. He then drove it into Aberdeen to purchase a new battery, and the drive itself was enough to recharge the old one. The car hadn’t been driven for a few days, and with an old battery, that was enough to steal its spark.

It’s such an obvious metaphor for the spiritual life. I find that when I am active in faith-related activities, my spirit is full and firing, and I bubble with excitement over who the Lord is and what he is doing. When I don’t take the time to plug myself into the Lord, both through individual time with him and also sharing study and time with others, I soon find my spiritual battery losing its spark.

It doesn’t require serious study or silent contemplation to recharge my spiritual battery. Tomorrow night we are hosting a young intern for dinner between his commitments with the youth work, and I know that spending time with another believer over a meal time offers just such a recharge to faith.

I want to finish my race well, (wherever that finish line is) without letting anything steal my spark.

Blush of new life

 

We awoke to overcast skies and a gentle rain. The field which encircles our house like a skirt has lain ploughed and brown for the last few weeks. This morning, after the rains, a blush of green has spread over the land. New shoots have sprouted. New life.

Full of promise. Beautiful.

Prayers can fall like gentle rain on the arid and parched situations in life. No prayer cried out to our loving God is ever forgotten, ignored or dismissed. It may seem a long time before those green shoots sprout, but sprout they will, though the plants which spring up may not be exactly those we had imagined and asked for. But in the wisdom of God, they will be the best, the ones which will grow, mature, and bear fruit for the world.

Lord, keep me constant in prayer. May I pray in the assurance that you are listening, that you are wise and loving and that at just the right time, new growth will spring up in those situations which seem arid and dry.

All that glitters

 

A few days away in Aberfeldy, with most of the family. The fourteen of us headed off for a hike to see the waterfall at the Birks of Aberfeldy. It wasn’t that long a walk, but it did involve a steeper climb than Don and I usually do these days.

Eliott and Callan are into rocks and stones, noticing their shapes, their colours, and particularly the glints of minerals that convince them of their value. Before long, Eliott (8) picked up a heavy cube of stone. He could not be persuaded to put it down; he could not persuade anyone else to carry it for him, so with grit and determination he carried it all the way up, and all the way down, to take home later. He was sure of its value.

What am I carrying today which glitters like Fool’s Gold, distracting me and slowing me down in my spiritual quest to live for Jesus only? Like Eliott, I have trouble discerning values, and don’t always listen to other people’s advice.

Lord, on this beautiful spring morning, please help me to abandon the burdens which are not mine to bear. I want to run my race with joy, not with grumbling. Thank you for the cross, where I can lay my sins and burdens down. And thank you for you loving invitation to be yoked with you, so that those burdens which are mine to bear are lightened through the sharing of the load with you.

As the finishing line comes ever nearer, I want to be running my best race for Jesus, radiating his love and grace, mercy and forgiveness, into the dark chaos of the world today.