Connective Tissue Disorder

Connective tissue disorder. One of the descriptors for a syndrome I have. Sufficiently vague for me to ignore unless my joints flare up and cause pain. Then I think I understand what it is.

Families can suffer from connective tissue disorder, maybe more so now as so many connect with others through some sort of device, rather than over a cup of coffee on a couch or at a table. It isn’t necessarily anger or an incident that creates dissonance in a family. It may be down to a simple lack of communication, a failure to hang out and high-five each other, watch the birds at the feeder together, or cook a meal together. Failure to connect. 

There is a wonderful woman in church whose quiet, behind-the-scenes work prevents connective tissue disorder from developing there. Faithful to serve at Friday coffees, always the first there getting things underway. Faithful to choir practice before a service. Faithful to take care of the communion dishes and what goes in them. She gets on with her work quietly, without fanfare. She lives her life quietly, without fanfare. She puts no detergents down the drain but rather washes everything in a basin, which is emptied in the yard. When her time is up, she will have left the smallest of detrimental footprints on God’s beautiful creation. I think she will be at the top table in God’s Kingdom. She was never the big joint getting things done, moving places, changing things, but quietly and unobtrusively has kept the body working together. 

Our nation – the world – suffers from connective tissue disorder. What we need is someone to keep us connected, keep us communicating. A peacemaker. The Prince of Peace – for the time being, he is reaching out to others through you and me. Shalom.

Of pottery and wood

Thrown by an expert potter, the communion set Amy has just received is beautiful, both aesthetically and in a profoundly moving way. Isaiah said, ‘you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.’ We, too, have been ‘thrown’ by an expert potter. This communion set will contain the reminders that Jesus gave his body, let his blood be spilled, because of love. As sick people receive the bread and wine, there before them are physical reminders that the Father so loved the people he created that he chose to suffer so we could enjoy his company forever. 

I thought maybe Tony would be envious of such a lovely communion set, but no. Turning to his beautifully carved wooden chalice and plate, he drew attention to their simple beauty. Jesus was a carpenter before he was a preacher. His expert hands would have chiselled and shaped, sanded and smoothed furniture both beautiful and functional. He gave himself so that we can be both beautiful and functional. 

Wow.

Support?

‘Don’t you want a support, Michele?’ the yoga teacher asked. Well yes I do, but my back doesn’t arch high enough to get that blinking brick underneath it. ‘Yes, it does,’ she counters, padding over to ‘help’ me arch a little higher. And discovers that actually, I was right. My back doesn’t arch a little higher, so she fashioned a lower support on which I could rest. Whew.

Forgive, Jesus says. Some folk have been hurt so deeply that actually, they just can’t. They may be trying, but they just can’t. I was trying to arch my back more, but I just couldn’t. But maybe with practice, a bit of flexibility and strength will come.

Jesus came to carry our pain. He understands when we just can’t live the life which is best for us, and that’s why he’s given us his Holy Spirit. To support us. To enable us to let go of the hurt, resentment, anger, whatever, bit by bit, however long it takes. 

He is our support. He has infinite patience, and love for every one of us, especially those wounded and limping through life. He will never break a bruised reed, and underneath are his everlasting arms. So we can go ahead, give it a try, and know that even if we can’t quite do it, he’s there for us, keeping us safe, loving us.

Terra Infirma

Recently it was explained to me that the earth’s crust undulates, pulled this way and that by pressures exerted on it. Contrary to my assumption that terra firma really was terra firma (apart from tectonic plate shifts causing earthquakes), it seems it is terra in-firma. Changing all the time, sometimes subtly shifting, sometimes spectacularly shaking. Not, then, to be fully trusted. 

I hear the news, and my emotions are pulled this way and that. I find tears come readily when I hear stories of Syria. My heart bleeds when I hear of another mass shooting in a school in the US, and the response of some people in power. My heart breaks when I see a picture of the face of a shell-shocked Marine during the Vietnam War. My generation. And then my spirit soars when I celebrate a family birthday, when I play goofy games with a three-year-old precious granddaughter, or build blocks with a couple of one-year-old grandsons. My heart swells when my kids get involved in making this a better world through lobbying, through praying, through helping the poor, through loving in spite of everything. 

Jesus said to be alert to the signs of the times. Perhaps every generation since Jesus has seen the wars and atrocities, the violence and abuse and injustice, and reckoned the end was coming soon. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t. 

My job today isn’t to worry about what’s happening tomorrow, but to love without ceasing, drawing on the Spirit to inspire and fuel that love. To walk in the Light, towards the light, shattering the darkness and bringing reconciliation. As He enables me, I can speak shalom.

Perhaps the world is terra infirma, but God isn’t. He is faithful, and he is love. And he never changes.

Tiny Roses

The bouquet of tiny roses the guest brought was big enough to divide between two vases. Most went in a trumpet vase with plenty of water. A few went in a slender necked vase. 

This morning I noticed the roses in the slender necked vase drooped morbidly. Stretch though they would, their stem ends did not touch the evaporating pool of water below them. Close, but no cigar. Or no water, in this case.

The other roses remain perky, immersed as they are in abundant water.

It’s so important to stay watered.

That Pesky Tooth!

Round back, by the compost bin, snowdrops have silently appeared, as if overnight. Everywhere there is a carpet of delicate white bells, tinged with the springiest of greens, heralding the warmer weather to come. No fanfare. They just responded to the stimuli and grew, blossoming smiles all around.

On the other hand, that pesky tooth. The dentist has expended Herculean efforts to eradicate the infection, but still today it nags on, reminding me it’s there. 

 

Wait for the Lord, I read. Be strong and take heart and wait. He is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation. 

Seek his face. He usually won’t announce himself with a fanfare; neither does he nag. In the busyness of life he can be overlooked, forgotten. Today, I will seek his face in the minutiae of the day. I am filled with expectancy and joy at the prospect of an encounter with the Almighty God, the lover of my soul.