Take a breath

 

The Avis coach driver, with a friendly smile, helped lift one of my bags onto the bus. I joined the handful of others going to pick up rental cars. As the driver inched away from the curb and into the turbulent traffic at LAX, her radio was at high volume and tuned to a Christian radio station. The two men on the program were discussing anger management, suggesting that Jesus, by writing in the dirt when confronted with the men accusing the woman caught in adultery, modelled for us how to step aside, take a breath, when anger threatens to overwhelm us. They suggested Jesus was infuriated by the injustice of the accusers only bringing the woman for judgment, and not the man as well.

‘No, no, no!’ my bus driver shouted at a dithering driver in front of her, drowning out the speakers on the talk show. She gestured wildly at a car in front which was weaving in and out of slowing traffic. ‘Keep going, keep going – move over!’

Traffic bubbled and boiled as does a river when encountering a rocky descent. Skilfully, she pulled the bus into the space vacated by the probably terrified driver in front, muttering to herself.

‘Not supposed to be stopping here. Can’t read the signs?’

The men on the broadcast continued to discuss the rage in society today.

Honk! The driver slammed her hand down on the horn, again and again.

‘What are you doin’?’ she demanded of another driver in a luxury car in front of the bus. ‘Careful with that rental car you’re drivin’, mister. Bet you don’t have one of those at home. Come on!’

A light changed to red and the bus stopped. A lost pedestrian gestured to her from the other side of the street, and she opened her window. He shouted a question for directions, and she shouted instructions back to him as the light changed to green. She sounded kind, helpful. But then she pulled away, shaking her head.

‘Ain’t nobody s’posed to be walkin’ round this airport. That’s why the buses are free!’

As tired as I was after getting up at 3.30 am, and just off an 11-hour flight, I couldn’t help smiling at the timing of it all.

It’s pretty easy to slip into critical thoughts or words even against a background of praise music or an encouraging message. Life itself can drive us up the wall, where we give way to our baser instincts, to rage.

At the start of what will be a challenging day, I want to remember to pause, to ‘write in the dirt’ before giving a response, whatever situation I may be in.

Inadequate Tribute

 

The day dawns grey, windy and almost autumnal, yet it is August 4^th, which in my mind is the height of summer and the birthday of two amazing humans in my family, my mom and our son Jamie.

Jamie lost his ‘Birthday Buddy’ on Sunday when, just shy of her 102^nd birthday, dear Mom slipped out of this world and into the waiting arms of Jesus. Mom was always in my corner, and she bore the heavy loss of my sister Judy, and the death of my Dad, and the sadness of geographic separation from me and her grandchildren with grace and fortitude. She loved fiercely and she loved well. I know that she prayed me into the Kingdom, and the way she has walked through these last years of diminished health and mobility with such dignity, courage and even humor has been inspirational.

I was so blessed by my Mom, blessings I don’t deserve, and once I navigate the busyness of the final steps of walking her home, I know the grief will really hit. But the grief is cushioned by the joy of knowing that she is with the Saviour she loved since she was 7 years old, and with all those dear ones who have gone before.

My world has dimmed as her light has gone out, but I am forever grateful to God for the wonderful Mom he blessed me with.

 

Relationships

 

Distracted from my sorting through old prayer journals: I took my senior year high school annual from the bookshelf and sat back, slipping into a time in the far distant past. Remembering friends and fellow students who walked with me through those often turbulent teenage years, trying to discover our identities, feeling our ways forward into further education at colleges and universities scattered across the country. Having been connected with this large group of people my age, some for 12 years, we graduated and scattered, lost touch, lived our lives. Some – many – have already died.

The custom was to sign one another’s annuals and I was amused with how similar most entries were: wishing me well, wishing me luck, saying I deserved it, saying kind things about me. A few stood out; one in particular, because since I was eight years old, Jenny has been a friend.

A friend. The kind of friend who knows your good and bad traits and sticks with you anyway. She wrote a page, recalling memories of moments together, shared times as we struggled to make sense of our world, to figure out relationships, to live well during times of uncertainty – the war in Vietnam, which affected the boys in our graduating class as instantly they became eligible for the draft unless they had a good reason to defer. Nuclear annihilation was always a possibility. Racial injustices and civil disobedience. The hippy phenomena. A turbulent time to step out as a fledgling adult.

Jenny and I had more memories to make together. Memories made in each others’ universities when we visited one another; memories made in Europe when we both did a year studying overseas, Jenny in Bordeaux, me in Stirling. Memories made after university, each others’ weddings, letters and now emails and lunches every time I go back.

And now. Her husband is growing frail; things are difficult. Across the miles, we try to encourage one another.

Life is a gift from God, and part of that gift is friendship which stays the course.  Friendship which lasts through a lifetime, across the miles.

May God bless and deepen friendships; may he restore relationships which may have grown cold, distant or broken; may he deepen relationships in the high-tech generation who connect through the devices rather than over an ice cream.

May he deepen our relationships with him, the trinity being the epitome of what relationship can be, in him.

Spring Barley

 

The spring barley planted in the field surrounding our house ripens, imperceptibly, day by day. Suddenly, we notice how golden it is, and we know that soon the farmer will be busy with his combine harvester bringing in the crop.

He planted the seed, but God has grown it. God has provided the sunshine and warmth to tease that seed into a sprout and into further growth; he has provided the rain to nourish and refresh it. And he has provided time, one day following another, for that crop to mature and ripen.

And so with us. We have opened the door of our heart to the loving reign of the Lord Jesus Christ, and invited him in. As we live in him, day by day, he teases that tiny seed of faith into growth. His love nourishes and his faithfulness refreshes us, during storms as well as sunny days. Imperceptibly, our faith matures and the Spirit transforms and renews our minds so that we love him more dearly, understand him more clearly, and trust him more fully with those things we don’t understand.

In my constant decluttering, I have been glancing through years of prayer journals. I always give thanks for God’s provision for us, but in re-reading some of the entries, some of the desperate cries over the years for financial worries, for relationship issues, for wisdom in raising a family, I have been struck by the number of times God has quietly reassured me that he would provide.

Now, in the autumn of our lives, I see how lavishly he has kept that promise. Whatever is lacking in my life, in your life, God is able and willing to provide. He always answers the cries of our hearts.

Even after all these years, I sometimes need to be reminded of the vastness of his love, the limitless expanse of his resources, and the creative and beautiful imagination with which he answers our prayers and blesses us.

What a Saviour.

A Nest of Vipers

 

It resembled a nest of multi-coloured vipers.

The collection of neckties lay in a tangle on the end of the bed. Don had moved them from the now disused trouser press, which is part of the on-going decluttering operation. The ties, obviously, were part of that operation. Who wears neckties these days, except to funerals?

Overnight, some slipped onto the floor, leaving a pile of black fibres resembling dirt. Where did those come from? On further inspection, he discovered his Morrison tartan wool tie had been thoroughly munched by invading moths. None of the silk or polyester ties had been touched.

Jesus warned about accumulating things which rust and moths will destroy. Things of value, hoarded, become worthless.

The enemy’s attacks are precisely aimed at those things we treasure most. We need to be alert and active in prayer. Above all, we are advised in Proverbs 4, guard your heart – your thoughts – because out of it springs your whole life. Your heart is the wellspring of life. Your thoughts determine your actions and words.

Your heart is the tartan tie the moths of life have a voracious appetite for. Today I ensure I have the breastplate of the righteousness of Jesus and the helmet of his salvation firmly fastened, so that I can recognise attacks when they come and repel them in the name of Jesus. May my thoughts and feelings, the wellspring of life, never be soured by pride, greed, or any of the other temptations to which I am vulnerable.

Lord, rid my mind of tangled thoughts which obscure the truth, and fill my heart and mind today with love, joy, mercy, hope and peace as I live the one precious life you have so graciously given me. Thank you, Jesus, for your awesome power and love.  

Spread love like a wildfire

A haze hung over the fields; a smell of burning met my nostrils. As the day wore on, the smoke thickened and the sun turned red.

Eighty miles away, wildfires tore through a national park. Strong winds whipped up the fire and blew the smoke and smells our way.

What happens in one part of the world has surprisingly far-reaching repercussions.

It’s not just bad things that have wide-ranging consequences. A kind word, a friendly text, a little money, a helping hand: Jesus fed thousands on the gift of one little boy’s lunch.

Every day offers fresh opportunities to share the love and peace of God in creative ways.

God knows how badly this world needs his love and peace, and he’s counting on us to share it. 

Out of the stillness

 

The scruffy wee robin perched on the chair back, tilting her head this way and that. She flitted onto the shaky wooden bannister of the children’s playhouse. Her head continued to incline, first one way, then another.

We thought she was interacting with us. But no. She swooped down, onto the grass lying in the shade of the canopy, and with her beak, flicked up an enormous worm.

For the next few minutes, we watched as she seemed to flick it around. It looked far too big for her to eat, but perhaps she ate it one bite at a time. She didn’t swallow it in one giant gulp.

Even in the pressure of having to eat her body-weight (or something like that) every day, she knew the value of stillness. Of observation. Of expectation even. And she was rewarded with a generous meal.

I remember the title of a book: Too busy not to pray. May I live by that maxim, Lord, aware that it’s in the quiet, reflective moments that I am fed the most nourishing, life-sustaining truths.