All I have needed

 

Glorious abundance can look messy. Certainly in our garden, it does! (Don loves No-Mow-May so much that he starts it in April!)

This crabapple tree is heavily laden with beautiful pale pink blossom, which will transform into vibrant red balls as the season progresses. Full of promise, and yet…one year I toiled to pick and cook them into a jelly which – nobody ate. Never again.

Hollow promise.

I started to reflect that I am no longer in the springtime of my life, but the Lord gave me pause. In him, all things are possible. I am in a different season for sure, but that season still can blossom with blessings which can transform into sweet fruit which others will eat and be refreshed. With God’s help.

New every morning. Great is your faithfulness, dear Lord. May my life blossom with promise today, promises of the Kingdom, promises which encourage and console and strengthen others as they look to you, Jesus. Those in seemingly impossible positions for whom I pray this morning, intervene with power, Lord, and surprise and amaze with blessings only you provide. In Christ alone.

All I have needed

 

All I have needed thy hand hast provided…

Monday morning, and as I run my eye over the diary of the upcoming week, this encouraging line echoes through my mind and awakens the truth we talked about in Bible study last week, from Ephesians, that in Christ we have all spiritual blessings.

However full the week looks, however demanding the expectations on us, however daunting the path ahead appears, in Christ we are more than conquerors and in Him, we can do it.

Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

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.