Goldfinch amongst the Weeds

 

We stood at a bedroom window, looking out at the vegetable garden beyond. In the foreground, between the blackcurrant bush and the plum tree, weeds abound. Some are long grasses, but others are the type which poke a yellow flower skyward, which then matures into feathery white fluff, similar to a dandelion flower.

We agreed: every day each one of us looks out that window and thinks, ‘I’ve got to get out there and yank those weeds out.’

Yesterday, though, as we voiced that thought to each other, suddenly a glorious goldfinch landed lightly on a golden twig of weed, and began feeding on the seeds inside those feathery pods, discarding the gossamer down this way and that.

Oh, we agreed, surprised and delighted that our neglectful gardening resulted in a meal for a beautiful bird. The weeds will stay.

As a Christian, I try to live as Jesus lived, observant, responsive, compassionate and generous. I don’t always succeed. There are weeds in my patch, I know.

But I am thinking of the advice Jesus gave in one of his parables, to leave the weeds among the tares lest in yanking out the bad ones, the good ones came out inadvertently.

I am not saying we should leave our sins to flower and not examine ourselves daily with the Holy Spirit so that we can repent and cease to sin in that way. But perhaps instead of beating ourselves up over those besetting sins that just keep sprouting, we might entrust them to Jesus to turn them into a meal that will feed the faith of someone else.

‘All things work to good for those who love God.’

Today I offer myself, the whole garden, weeds and all, to the One who can bring beauty out of ashes.

Blessed Interruptions

 

A car flashed past the window where I sat working on my laptop.

‘Somebody’s here!’ I called out to Don, upstairs, hoping he would pop down and handle the interruption.

No sound of movement.

The doorbell rang twice, loud and insistent. I sighed.

‘Hello,’ Oleksi greeted me. A new neighbour who has moved in to the area. ‘Is it a good time for me to strim the grass round the side?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I enthused, suddenly grateful for the interruption from this very kind and generous new friend. The grass is as high as an elephant’s thigh, and I long to see it trimmed and neat.

Then Don appeared and out they went to discuss. Soon the sound of a strimmer buzzed loud; joyfully, I sat back down at the laptop.

Lord, how often do I miss your blessings, sidestepping interruptions which are actually gifts sent from you? Forgive me for being so myopic, so focused on my own self-importance and feelings that the to-do list is long and demanding that I miss the gentle interruptions which come with grace and blessing.

May you bless anyone who brings God-ordained interruptions to me today. May I greet those interruptions with expectation and joy, curious to see what you have for me. And may I have the gift of discernment to recognise when an interruption is nothing more than a distraction. I know that not every interruption is from you.

Be still. Peace.

 

Connections.

Relationships.

Details.

I was given a tiny gift yesterday. A gift which will keep on giving, because it is a gift of love, earthed in Jesus. Hand-made in love, rich in detail: tiny squiggles and drawings reminiscent of my home, my prayer window, my relationship with Jesus. And hers – the giver’s.

The words she printed are from Psalm 63, the psalm of comfort and strength on which I relied after my sister Judy died, 40 years ago. Elaine remembered – or the Lord reminded her.

Be still. Summer is a season of busy activity. Bees buzzing. Flowers opening. Fruits and vegetables ripening. People travelling. Going places. Doing things.

In the midst of it all, Jesus invites us. Be still.

Be still and know.

Be still and know that I am God.

He loves us in our postures of relaxation. Of exhaustion. Of rest.

He doesn’t say, be busy.

He says, Be still.

May your Monday be fashioned with moments of meditative calm and peace. May you sit in his presence, and know that He is God.

Faithful, full of grace and truth and love.

Peace.

 

Recalculating ... Again

 

Ah, the joys of the open road! I remember that was Mr Toad’s refrain when he first saw a motor car and began to dream of driving abroad.

We had been on a road trip for a few days, and were heading home, led by the lady of the satnav. I was at the helm, Don in the navigator’s seat as we neared Birmingham (I think…). We decided to opt out of the toll road, with its unknown fare structure, and stay on the free ways instead.

Easier said than done. We approached a round-about. ‘Take the fifth exit’, she who must be obeyed intoned confidently. There were five lanes filled with lorries and cars of all sizes. Everyone else seemed to know which exit they needed.

Some of the earlier exits seemed like they might be the one we wanted. We hesitated and went around again. There were a few horns honking. A truck looming too large in my rear-view mirror.

The fifth exit said M6 Toll. No, we didn’t want the toll. We went around again.

Going around again entailed our lady taking us off a different exit, up to the next round-about, where we circled and tried once more in this spider’s web of a round-about.

A few words passed between us. Not angry, but confused. I don’t know which way to go, we both agreed. Signs gave their destinations as town-names which we didn’t recognise.

‘I think that might be in Yorkshire,’ I ventured, not at all sure. Turns out, no. Lichfield.

‘God, please help,’ I murmured, and no doubt Don concurred in that prayer.

I, who can navigate the freeways of Los Angeles, felt beaten as we re-entered that round-about for the umpteenth time. I don’t think I can keep going, I moaned.

I took a road.

The signs changed. Yes! We were on an A-grade road across country, heading towards the M6. No tolls. Slow, rather tedious with plenty more round-abouts, but just one lane each way. More my speed.

How did we do it? Hmm.

So many times in life, I confidently swing into a round-about, thinking I know where I am going, only to be flummoxed by the options. This way or that way? Which is right?

The voice I long to hear may not come, but as I pray and ask for wisdom, for guidance, I need to trust and make a decision. Knowing that Jesus is with me all the way, and even if I do make a less-than-optimal choice, he will still be riding shot-gun. He won’t abandon me.

He will recalculate. Gently. He will not be frustrated (I hope); his patience is legendary.

So, having found our way back to the ‘hillock somehow, we are revelling in the peace and quiet. No trucks looming in the rear-view mirror. No horns blaring from exasperated drivers who know where they are going and are desperate to round this confused old couple.

How faithful is our God. His mercies never fail. They are new every morning. Great is his faithfulness.

We had a lovely time. But it is always good to get home.

And now ...

 

And now…

This is the day the Lord has made. I want to open myself up to hear his voice through the glorious birdsong in the garden, in the people I meet today, in the conversations I enter into. I want to commit to obedience in faith, trusting him with all my hopes and dreams. I want to step out and live in the joy of the Lord Jesus, which is my strength today and always.

I’ve watered the pot plants and watered my spirit, drenching myself in his presence and now I trust that I won’t wilt as heat rises.

Have a great day.

On the breeze...

 

The breeze caresses my upturned face, gentle and warm. The sensation takes me back to childhood, a certain place in the strip mall near our home: the welcome breeze that seemed always to blow at that point.

A walk on this perfect evening. A long summer evening, where the sun is not due to set until after 10 pm. Warm enough for t-shirt and cut-offs. 81 degrees.

The gloaming. Perfect.

I pick up the usual drinks cups and cans which often seem to litter that particular stretch of country road. I talk to the cows who thunder across the field to stare curiously at me, their big wet noses sniffing the air, I guess picking up my scent. Beautiful faces, gentle, soft ears tuned to the sounds of this rural idyll.

Returning home, I round the corner onto the drive and instinctively look down towards the house. Indy used to wait for us there, and her absence is still sharp and painful.

Just grateful tonight, grateful for the peace and security of this bit of the world. Grateful for the incredible people in my family and friendship groups, people who live out their faith through gentle joy, persevering hope, and unshakeable love.

Grateful to the Creator God who made this beautiful world, who died for us all, and who is coming back to sort it out. Thank you, Jesus, for your faithful promises to which I cling.

Step out?

 

Years ago now, we were visiting my parents in California. It was Robbie’s birthday, and they wanted to buy him a tennis racket. We visited every sporting goods store in the area, including one the size of a big barn where they had an entire wall full of rackets. The choice was overwhelming. Dear Robbie could not make up his mind. In the end, he accepted their gift of money and bought one when we came back to Scotland, where the choice was more limited.

Don and I are wrestling with a choice. It is not an overwhelming choice in terms of lots of different ways we could go. It is just one choice. Do we say yes, step out and commit to something which carries inherent risks, or do we postpone until another time when the risks may have diminished? I’m very aware that we are not getting any younger, and such an opportunity might not present itself again.

I don’t think I ever saw the whole movie, (whose name I don’t remember), but my kids used to enjoy a John Cleese film where a knight was in search of the Holy Grail, and in order to finally reach the cave where it was rumoured to be, he had to step out into seeming nothingness over a deep chasm, trusting that as he stepped, a bridge would materialise and rise up to meet him, and he would cross safely.

That image comes back to me from time to time. When I want to ‘follow the yellow brick road’, a clearly marked path leading to a place of blessing, I instead find myself at the edge of a chasm, challenged to take that first step.

May God bless us all as we navigate the nuances of our lives. May he guide us in our decision-making.