Merry Christmas

An unused nappy lies on the couch. A pair of sheepskin slippers for a baby tumble together with various cars and toy animals on the floor. Family beginning to come ‘home’ to the ‘hillock for the holidays.

The Mighty One has done great things for me, Mary sang. I sing the same song.

For ten days we have struggled to get our central heating fixed. Unfortunately, we had ‘O’Reilly’ (Fawlty Towers fans will understand) out to fix it. Only because he was available, and we didn’t know. Now we know. Yesterday we had a new man come who has got it going, though it isn’t completely fixed yet.

Preparations for the family’s arrival in full swing, last night the element in the main oven broke. At other times of the year, this doesn’t matter. Don and I can get by. But with family, with a rare moment of gathering together, with babies and toddlers, not to mention an outsized turkey thawing for tomorrow, timing is not right.

The temptation is to ask, why us? Why now? We’ve had a challenging year, so why not end 2019 with a challenge?

So, as Don heads to Aberdeen to try to find a new element for an old oven, and we start talking through contingency plans, it is good to read these words and hang with them, and let them hang with me. The Mighty One has done great things for me. And as the angel assured Mary, ‘nothing is impossible with God’.

In a day when folk are flooded and burnt out of their homes, refugees are in peril on the roads and seas fleeing from violence, homeless folk huddle in doorways and others struggle with pain and illness, a broken oven is ‘small potatoes’. Whatever happens, we will manage.

It will be a memorable Christmas. What more does anyone want?

Whatever your Christmas is looking like, it is good to reflect on the great things the Mighty One has done for you this year. It restores perspective.

Grace and peace today and always, and may Immanuel reveal himself in us more fully every day. Merry Christmas.

Kinsman Redeemer

Kinsman Redeemer. The Bible’s Ruth’s (she who ‘stood in tears amid the alien corn’) protector, Boaz, moved forward as an act of kindness. He knew of Ruth’s plight, of the vulnerability of her and her mother-in-law Naomi, and he shielded her from harm and gave her dignity as she gleaned from his fields. And, soon, they lived ‘happily ever after’.

Of course that cliché story-ending never happens in life, because no matter how much in love a couple is, at some point one of them will die and there will be separation and sorrow.

Thanks to Jesus, who is our Kinsman Redeemer, that story-ending does happen when we fall in love and give our allegiance to him as our saviour and Lord. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. Nothing.

As Christmas approaches, a time of intense joy for some, intense loneliness and heartbrokenness for others, we can all be grateful – hugely grateful – for the gift of Jesus. With him we are never alone. In him we will live happily ever after. Amen.

An apple tree

I was encouraged by an analogy I read again this morning: an apple tree is always an apple tree. Even when it is immature and produces no fruit, it is still an apple tree. Even in a season of drought when it produces no fruit, it is still an apple tree. Even when sickness prevents it from bearing apples, it is still an apple tree. Denying it is an apple tree would be a lie.

God says I am a child of God. Even when I mess up and do not feel very Godly, I am a child of God. Even when there is no fruit encouraging the faith of anyone else, I am still a child of God. Even when doubts arise, I am still a child of God. A daughter of the King. To deny that is to call God a liar.

Jesus came to live and die for this world he created, so that we could become children of God. ‘To all who believed him and accepted him, Jesus gave the right to become children of God. They are reborn, not with a physical birth resulting from human passion or plan, but a birth that comes from God.’ John 1:12-13

Be encouraged today, whatever you are feeling. Who we are does not depend on our feelings. It depends on God’s word.

A tiger loop

A tiger loop.

A tiger loop caused our central heating boiler to pack it in. After three days of shivering, the heating engineer thinks he has fixed it – well, it’s working at the moment, anyway.

Apparently a tiger loop regulates – or maybe removes? – the air from the pipe as oil is drawn into the boiler from the tank. Too much air makes for lukewarm heat, or even none at all.

Too much air. Jesus advised we use our words carefully. James echoed that with his teaching on taming the tongue.

I’m embarking on a negativity fast, again, with a particular awareness towards any tendency to criticise or judge anyone. I’ve a feeling I should do this every year.

Peace and Safety

Still thinking about the broken branch.

Not all shrubs and trees leaf and bloom at the same time, or even in the same season. We can’t look around the church and judge who is still connected to the root of Life and who isn’t. Being fruitful at different times knits us together as a body, so that we can feed our sisters and brothers with the plenty we have when they are in a season of dryness and drought, and so they can feed us.

Dwelling. Abiding. Such words of peace and safety. Jesus is the ultimate home, the true place of peace and safety.

He left the peace and safety of his own glory to enter into the brokenness and stress of this world. To bring us himself as our refuge and home. He opened his arms to us.

Thanks be to God for his incomprehensible sacrifice for me, a sinner.

Just Hang on

The bare branches of the rowan tree toss in the wind, and I notice one which has broken off yet clings still to the larger branches. Without leaves, I almost didn’t notice it had broken off. It will only become apparent that it is no longer connected to the trunk and roots of the tree when spring comes. When the other branches begin to leaf, begin to flourish and bear fruit, this disconnected branch will remain bare, will die.

Sometimes people continue to attend Sunday morning worship, Bible study even, moving in Christian circles, even saying the ‘right’ things. But without remaining connected to the root, Jesus, they will never flourish or bear fruit.

Abide in me, Jesus advises. Dwell in him. Stay connected. Those quiet moments nourishing the relationship between us are so important.

He is our Victory

The detritus of my conscious day emerged in a disturbing, confused and very vivid dream, culminating in a threatening phone call. In the dream, I concluded this call was devilish itself and commanded that the caller ‘Go! In the name of Jesus!’

Not the first time I’ve had such a dream. But this time, after demanding that the caller Go!, I was awoken by the very real sound, I thought, of tinkling glass. Poor Don. Sound asleep, until I shook him urgently saying, ‘Someone’s breaking in! I heard glass breaking!’

We crept about the dark house and found no sign of intruders or, indeed, broken glass. Such is the reality of some dreams.

Sitting in the prayer window on this glorious morning, watching the mist disappear, and the pheasants parade, I suddenly was aware of the fly spots on the dirty pane. Life flicks fly spots on our perspectives, and our inner vision can be drawn to staring at the fly spots rather than seeing beyond to the beauty of Jesus, the beauty of the life we have been given so graciously, so generously. My dream earlier this morning focused on the fly spots, a hodgepodge of stuff that can suck the joy out of the day (or night).

So this morning I am saying to those fly spots, those nasty voices whispering lies and slanders, ‘Go! In the name of Jesus!’

Not hearing any more breaking glass so far, but my aim today is to focus my eyes on Jesus. Yeshua. Another word for Victory, I just read.

He is our Victory.

Light in the Darkness

Today I overflow with thanks as I worship with https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Sjc37QPwLw

Ours is an amazing God. He is always working. He is always good. Always love. Always truth. Always peace. Always forgiveness. Always light in the darkness. Always hope. Always joy.

For days a grey mist has hung over this area of the world. This afternoon the blanket broke, striped with streaks of gold and pink, revealing a blue sky beyond. So much to thank God for. The grey mist may hang for a day or a month or a year, but God has the last word. The blanket will break and the light will shine and the world will worship with a thankful heart. Every knee will bow and every 

tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

Jesus Christ is Lord. Amen.

Shotgun!

He took the corner wide and fast, perhaps distracted by the three vehicles behind him, certainly not focused on what might be coming in the other direction.

We were. We were coming in the other direction.

My neighbour and I were on our way to the pool, not anticipating an Aberdeenshire council highways maintenance truck to be careering round the corner, on the wrong side, at speed. The driver reacted just in time, pulling his big truck over towards the Mill while we took evasive action. I waved my arms at him in futility, and then we parted ways, carrying on with our journeys as if nothing had happened. As if a near-miss collision had never occurred.

It could have been different. A few seconds either way, and perhaps tragedy might not have been averted. As it was, Mary and I went swimming, and he went to work.

How many times has my life been preserved by a few milliseconds? Years ago, Mhairi skied down a slope in Andorra, oblivious that an avalanche was virtually following her. She only discovered the near-miss when she reached the bottom and was told that a café halfway down the hill had been buried in snow. It could have been her.

We are not always saved from tragic – difficult – situations; but whatever the outcome, we have a faithful God who is always with us, weeping when we weep, rejoicing when we rejoice.

I don’t need any other reason to be giving thanks as Thanksgiving is celebrated, though I have dozens of reasons to be thankful. But mainly I am thankful to the Lord who rides shotgun with me through life, whatever happens.

Thank you, Lord.

Mouldering leaves

Weeks ago, the leaves drifted and dropped from the trees, many landing on the tarmac driveway. Much has been happening in my life lately, and it was only today that I thought I might bag a few to compost.

I wielded the heavy outdoor brush, pushing and pulling, shoving and dragging, and partially cleared about 10 square feet of driveway. Heavy rains have saturated the leaves, making them heavy and sticking them to the ground. In under half an hour, I had over-filled a black (sorry, plastic…) bag with so many leaves I could barely lift it.

Things drift into our lives. They drop from messy situations, fly from difficult encounters, blow down during the storms that periodically hit us all. We can tidy them up, bag them and wait for them to decompose into rich fertiliser to inform our lives. Or we can leave them to lie, mouldering and growing heavier.

Jesus invites us to bring our mouldering leaves to him. He advises us to focus our eyes on him, not on circumstances, not on ourselves, not on others. It is in the focusing on him that we are relieved and our burdens are lightened.

The theory is divine. The practicing of it is difficult, oh, so difficult.

That’s why he gives us his Spirit, to help us. Jesus did it all, because of his love. That’s the kind of love I want to grow in my life. That is the real gift of Christmas. His love, in us, with us, for us. All of us.

Foretaste of heaven

A foretaste of heaven. Great worship at church; a new worship song written by our own talented Stuart Fyvie; brilliant prayers; a sermon that spoke to my heart. Home by the fire with Judy Garland crooning out Over the Rainbow. Tonight back to church for Worship and Waffles.

Nothing more to say except a big Thank You to God for the oases in our lives, when we can slip out of the fast lane and into His comforting presence, drawn in close to his heartbeat, safe in his arms and aware of his love for the world, and for me.

I pray everyone reading this will be blessed by such oases this week. Thanksgiving indeed.

Swimming in the Matrix

I struck off across the width of the pool. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Only the deep end was open to swimmers as the shallow end was taken up with a parent/child swimming class. So no lane swimming. Whew. Only widths. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I am not a confident swimmer. I have always struggled to really believe I am not going to sink. I have signed up for lessons, determined now, as I approach my four score and ten, that I will conquer the fear and learn to trust. Trust that my body is buoyant. Trust that a few simple movements are enough to keep me afloat. I don’t need to flail. Flailing exhausts me and stalls my progress.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Forty times in as many minutes. Back and forth and over and out.

Next week I will seek to increase that number. But for now, forty widths is good. I am getting stronger.

I am learning to trust.

Commit your way to the Lord, the Psalmist advises. Trust in him.

It is the Lord who keeps me afloat. The Lord who directs my steps. The Lord who gives me breath and blesses me in a thousand ways every single day.

Swimming in the matrix of the Lord, I will not sink. He will help me to persevere; he will transform my mind and soften my heart; he will enlighten and inspire me by his Holy Spirit.

I am so grateful.

Take Care

We headed down the road for our early morning walk, stepping a little tentatively on the white-fringed leaves and glassy puddles. Frost picked out the bare branches and sparkled on the lacy webs. A hush prevailed.

We walked slower, more carefully, than usual, yet still, at the halfway point Mary slipped and nearly went down. Reluctantly, we turned back, not wanting to risk a broken wrist or ankle. The results of one misstep can take weeks or even months or years to rectify.

Some situations in life require care. A word blurted in frustration or anger can take weeks, months or even years to heal. Only in Christ can some words be healed.

Note to self.

Never Alone

Today the rain sweeps across the field in waves, like an endless stream of people on the march. How the Australians must long for such precipitation in New South Wales and Queensland, where fires blaze out of control! Father, send your rain.

God speaks in every season, in every circumstance, in every language and in the silence. He speaks in my plenty and he speaks in my pain. He never leaves me nor forsakes me. In the sprint when trouble strikes out of nowhere and is quickly resolved, he is there. In the marathon where challenges stretch to the farthest horizon, he is there.

I am grateful for such a faithful Father. I am never alone.

Water, water everywhere

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My Dad used to quote that line from Coleridge’s Rime of the  Ancient Mariner, and it always echoes in my mind when the rain falls as it has here over the last few days, puddling and flooding fields all around us.

As we approach Thanksgiving, though, I think with gratitude that yes, there is water everywhere here, and there is lots of clean water to drink.

The basis of life, denied to so many across the globe where fires rage in drought-stricken lands, or where annual rainfall has reduced and whole populations ration what water there is.

I will give you water that bubbles up from within, Jesus said to the woman at the well, a woman whose life was parched in more than a physical way. Jesus saw her deep need for soul-drenching refreshment. He sees our deep need for the same thing, whether we are richly blessed with rainfall or not. The drought of our souls does not reflect the amount of water in reservoirs or wells. It is consequent to the frenetic pace, the immersion in a materialist world, the pressure to achieve and acquire.

You will never thirst, Jesus promises. All we have to do is come to the source of the water and drink deeply.

Fingerprints

We followed the path winding through the customs hall, eventually being directed to an empty station where we could enter our passports and declare we had nothing proscribed. Being the US passport holder, I went first, followed by Don who, not being a US citizen, had to position his right hand on the ‘reader’ so his fingerprints could be taken.

It happens every time. Missing a couple of fingertips, he has to repeat the exercise three times, after which he is instructed to use his left hand. Thankfully it is intact and we can then progress through the customs hall and out into the bright California sunshine.

Thanks to Jesus, our real citizenship is in heaven. We are all aliens here on earth, and when we transition from earth to heaven, we won’t have to pass a fingerprint test nor have a passport which is in date and from the ‘right’ country.

We only have to love Jesus, and we’re in, living with him forever. Oh, so grateful.

Eternal Roots

Back in the prayer window, gazing southwest across the valley. Most of the orange and yellow leaves have dropped from the Norwegian elm, blown off by winds and pelted off by rain while we were away. Scolty Hill is clearly visible again through the bare branches. Nobbles on the tree trunk, unique and beautiful, are revealed.

My dear Mom. Many of the traits I associate with her have dropped now, in her 96^th year. But clearly visible is her grateful, loving heart, her deep faith, the beauty of her soul.

Autumn is a beautiful season. Poignant and heart-breaking as it is to watch familiar traits disappear, when the trunk is sound and strongly attached to the roots of the Lord, the beauty is achingly awesome.

I am so grateful that whatever the future holds, we will always be connected through those eternal roots.

Mirror, mirror

Cal framed his smiling wee face with the linked plastic fences of one of his toys.

‘I’m a mirror,’ he said.

‘So,’ I replied, ‘when I look at you I’m looking into a mirror, and I’m seeing myself as you, rather than me.’

As we look at those we love, we become like them.

So important to spend the majority of time looking at God. It’s the only way to become like him. All the rule-following only makes me grumpy. As I look at God, I am changed.

So easy. So difficult.

Choices

Pheasants in the garden, nabbing the berries and last insects of autumn I guess. Flaming trees and glorious shades of berries. Yesterday’s torrential rain has segued into today’s grey skies, the sun playing peek-a-boo.

Soon heading off to LA, where the 14-day-forecast is for constant sunshine and high temperatures.

I love both, sunshine and warmth, autumnal and changeable.

Feeling so blessed to have change, to have choice. Praying for those caught in situations for which there seems to be no way out. Especially thinking of the Kurds in Syria.

May God make a way.

Squirrelling

It’s that time of year.

When Dusty was alive, I would always carry a bag with me on our walks. I would gather pine cones and twigs to use for lighting fires once the winter set in. I felt like a squirrel, busy storing nuts for those cold winter days.

Summer doesn’t last forever. So important to store up for the days which may be bitter and cold. Nourishment from a storehouse is never so tasty as that freshly picked, but nevertheless, it is nourishment, and it can sustain life.

Heading off soon for two weeks of busyness and emotional challenge, moving Mom again. Mostly I will be drawing on the nuggets of wisdom and encouragement gathered now.  Living close to others, there is little privacy to draw near to God and listen. Only during the nights, when jet lag will probably enable me to snuggle in to my heavenly Father and know his love and peace.

Perspective. I will keep the cross in full view. All else then retains its correct proportion.

I lift my eyes

The dampness clamped right down to the ground. A watery sun suggested itself beyond the mist, hints of better things to come.

Meanwhile, we shivered as we walked, admiring the beauty of spider webs stretching between spiny thorns on the gorse lining the road. Starlings lined up on the overhead wires or swooped in synchronised exactitude above the harvested fields. Cows occasionally broke the stillness with their autumnal braying. What’s that all about?

Beneath our feet, leaves mouldered in soggy piles or shrivelled in crispy isolation. Pine cones brought down by Saturday’s wind sprinkled across the tarmac.

The nights are drawing in. A light frost shimmered on the grass yesterday morning. Autumn is here.

When engaged in unpleasant tasks, I find it so helpful to focus on the glories of this beautiful world God has given us to live in. I am so grateful to live in peace. So grateful to have friendly neighbours. So grateful for loving family, the NHS, good health, abundant food, flowers in a vase in front of me.

I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help is in the name of the Lord, who has made heaven and earth. Praise him.

A miracle

Jesus did it all. All to him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain; he washed it white as snow.

My carbon footprint is huge. My aim is to reduce it. To drive less; fly less; eat less meat; use less plastic. But I find circumstances necessitate me driving more, flying more. The meat and the plastic are in my control, but when other pressures bear down, it’s often the easy option I choose. Not the ones that will have less of a negative impact on our planet.

I have to give this to Jesus, too. If he could wipe out the crimson stain of my sin, he can negate my carbon footprint. As I trust in him, he can guide my choices. He can influence my thinking. He can inspire my activism. He can change me.

It feels as if we are in a race to the bottom, spiralling out of control politically, as nation rises against nation. Some of our leaders are delusional, yet there seem to be no people of integrity and courage, of noble character, willing to stand up and depose them. Their actions and careless words bring death and loss, suffering and anguish, and still they speak. Still they sit in positions of power.

In the Bible, God looks down and cries out: is there nobody to stand against the evil?

He sent his son. Jesus.

The world is crying out. Peace, peace, but there is no peace. No real peace outside of Jesus.

Jesus is our prince of peace. He is the source of deep peace, peace beyond intellectual understanding, peace in the midst of turmoil.

He wipes away my sin. He guides me into responsible living choices. He heals my wounds. He mends relationships. He makes me brave. In the thick of things, he inspires my heart as I look to him. Peace. All to him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain; he washed it white as snow.

A miracle.

Thank God for Jesus

Backdrop: the Pacific Ocean. Foreground: a cluster of old people. Some I recognise. Most I don’t.

Fifty years ago, and more, I saw these people every day. We pondered geometry proofs together. We ploughed through Plato and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. We sweat through the subjunctive under the beady eye of Mr Bibiloni. We soared through the exquisite notes of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet under Mr Pappone’s baton.

In June, 1969, we donned caps and gowns, all 1200 of us, and as the rousing, emotive notes of Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance played on a loop, we marched into the stadium on a balmy California summer evening. We marched in as friends, and out into the world, most of us never to rub shoulders again.

We marched out into a world writhing with pain: some graduating that night would soon die in the jungles of Vietnam. Most wanted to make love, not war. Flower power was at its height. We were determined to sort out the world and leave it in better shape than our parents did.

Well. We watch and wail as climate change wreaks havoc, mostly on the poorer nations of the world, so far. We meddle in wars and make them worse, or don’t meddle and make them worse. We have no more wisdom than did our parents. Our legacy is not one of which to be proud.

We are in dire need of a Saviour.

And now we are old. Or at least, they are. I wasn’t in the picture, living on the other side of the world for most of those fifty years. But anyway, apart from my friend who has stuck close through the miles and the years, if I’ve not seen them in all this time, how can we possibly have anything to talk about? Or, conversely, with so much to talk about, how can we ever stop talking again?

Summer is over. The rowan leaves have browned and dropped. But the berries are red, deep and vibrant red. Different. Still beautiful.

We are approaching the ‘jumping off place’. (Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Café). Some have already jumped. I am so grateful that, like a child leaping from the stairs into her daddy’s arms, when it comes my turn to jump, I am confident that my eternal daddy is ready to catch me.

We are all in dire need of a Saviour. Thank God for Jesus.

Stuck in the Mud

A voice calling at the back door (because the doorbell doesn’t work…). ‘Stuck in the mud. Help!’

Walking each other home is a lot like getting stuck in the mud sometimes. Here we are again, with inaccurate measurements on room lay-outs, trying to figure out scales and convert from inches to metric. I threw out my careful measurements of the furniture taken before the last move, so we are left trying to figure it from the floor plan…

It’s obviously a smaller room, but how much smaller, and which pieces will need to go this time?

Frustration threatens us, cat-calling from the side-lines as we struggle to stay in God’s peace. Yet his peace does continue to remain deep within me, a peace which I didn’t have with the last move.

God knows what he is doing. There is a lot of effort being expended in keeping Mom safe and happy, but God still has a plan for her here on earth or she would no longer be with us. Her days are numbered by him, and while there are more to run, his purpose for her is not yet complete.

She is a blessing still, imparting encouraging words to her granddaughter when she seeks advice. Yes, perhaps the memory is slipping, but the smile is still broad and the faith in God remains intact.

If we are stuck in the mud, repeating what we just did, there is a good reason for it. Thank God that I am not in charge.

Pin Ball Wizard

I call it a pin ball machine; Don calls it bagatelle. I think they’re the same thing.

Yesterday I felt like the ball which gets knocked upwards on the enclosed board and then ricochets from barrier to barrier until it finally comes to rest somewhere. I got up thinking I was aiming to continue trying to identify a new residence for Mom.

An email arrived, offering a home and care to Mom from someone in the wider family. Suddenly I was pinging in a new direction, thinking of all the advantages to such an arrangement and minimising the disadvantages. Discussions seeking points of view from the rest of the family resulted in my coming to one conclusion; other messages arrived from other members of the family offering a variety of points of view. Before I knew it, I was pinging off again into a different direction.

All this seesawing was in the midst of praying for guidance and direction in this situation. What initially seemed like answered prayer gradually became a red herring. Now I’m dropping like the marble back into the decisions I was arriving at before that first email. Peace.

Jesus promises that he will never leave us; that his is the still small voice of calm, whispering, ‘this is the way, walk in it’, but it is very easy to assume, presume, and head off down a wrong path.

I continue to pray that every step, every decision, every booking will be guided by God, and that the next situation Mom is in provides the love and care she so richly deserves.

God did make the little red apples

The red apple harvest from our tree in the grand-sounding ‘orchard’ is in. It is so satisfying to bite into a sweet, juicy apple, knowing no pesticides touched it, and no plastic was involved in its transportation to my kitchen.

I came back from the supermarket with many things encased in plastic. Fish from the fish counter (I should have taken my own container); a handful of nectarines; pate and hummus, orange juice. Much more.

What’s to be done? For me, a bigger investment in thoughtful shopping, planning ahead, finding alternatives. For us all, louder clamouring for options in the markets, so we can fill up our own containers and choose loose produce.  

This week, I’ve been reminded of how the Lord is intimately involved in our daily lives; he has answered two major things which I’ve been praying about in surprising, even delightful, ways. That is encouraging me to say with conviction, we should all be asking him to help us as individuals to live more sustainably, so that we make less of an impact on this wounded earth of his.

Expectantly, we should listen for his whisper. He wants to partner with us in this.

Kick the Bucket

So, I just kicked the bucket.

Not metaphorically. Seriously.

In a rare surge of energy, I have been washing windows over these last few days. I was going to leave the study window, where Don’s desk, piled high, makes it difficult to reach. Decided to make the effort and climbed onto the swivel office chair before finding a space on the desk to kneel.

The swivel chair is on rollers, which jerked to the left ... kicking over the full bucket, which is bad enough even without the pile of Important Papers stacked on the floor. I spent the next hour separating out each paper so they will dry and still be legible, then vaxing up the puddle on the carpet.

The ramifications of kicking the bucket.

I hope that when I metaphorically kick the bucket, I don’t leave behind a mess of Important Papers and soggy carpet. I’d like my exit to be clean, straight into the arms of Jesus, with no Important Papers for my loved ones to sort out.

I’d better keep cleaning.

He'll do it again

Someone I know has a small flat box, lined with thick cotton wool. Nesting inside are a couple of gold coins. Precious.

We’re all walking each other home. My dear Mom’s mind is increasingly closed into a box. Perspective and understanding are no longer hers. Looks like she’s going to have to journey on into another type of living space.

I am devastated, but as I scramble to find the way forward, I am reminded that Jesus is above, below, before and behind, and he carries my precious Mom in the deepest recesses of his heart. She is absolutely safe, held in his love.

I’ve seen him move the mountains before, and as we stumble into another valley, my eyes are on him. I’ll see him do it again.

His love never fails. 1 Corinthians 13:8

Joy of Grandmothering

Oh, the joys of grand-mothering! Last week I could be found gathering up the ‘green rice’ from a newly cut lawn to make ‘green rice pie’. Yesterday I was outside in trench coat and clown hat, binoculars round my neck, as we became ‘spy-ers’ looking for clues. About all we found was a dead mouse who drowned in a drain, and a mini-caterpillar.

Jesus said that unless we become like children we will never enter his Kingdom. There are many serious thoughts to be drawn from that, about faith and hope and trust, but surely Jesus, who enjoyed a good dinner party, also referred to the unbridled imagination of a child. No boundaries, where everything is possible, and where the sole purpose of life at a given moment is joy.

I am so grateful for grandchildren who remind me how to play, just for the fun of it.

In Jesus kingdom, there are no boundaries, and everything is possible.

Fully Immersed

Fully immersed.

It was easy to fully immerse in the sun and the salty Mediterranean Sea. A fearful swimmer, I declined to swim away from the boat we took one day. But when I did venture into that beautifully-warm sea water on the beach at Lindos, I was amazed at the extreme saltiness which soon splashed onto my lips. I was reminded of the buoyancy of the salty Dead Sea, and readily began to swim, knowing it would take more effort to sink than to float.

We are home now, paddling back into the detail of our ‘real’ lives. As I wade back in, rather reluctantly, I sense the salt of the Spirit, and relax into the buoyancy he provides. In his arms, it takes more effort to sink than to float.

May I remember that through every situation, so that fear recedes and faith, joy and peace prevail. My heart overflows with gratitude to the loving Lord who created, and died, for me.

Worship

A cooling, lively breeze ushered the hot, stuffy air from the hotel room each night when we opened the balcony door. And so we slept, without cover, serenaded by a chorus of crickets and the occasional caterwauling of dozens of feral cats.

We never completely mastered the nuances of the Greek alphabet. That requires more than a week, for these brains anyway. Even remembering the words for Please and Thank You usually eluded me.

Foreigners, in a hotel of foreigners. Russians, Poles, Czech, German, French, British. Most there for one thing: the sun. If I noticed any signs of worship over this last week, it was a complete devotion to the blazing heat of the sun.

We are created by God to worship. May I worship the Creator this day, and not, through my actions and attention, reveal a devotion to the created.

Meaning

Splashes of colours and shapes covered the huge canvas. Abstract design: abstract thoughts, or cohering through the viewer’s perceptions? I gazed for several minutes and began to see things. A bridge. A lighthouse. A cityscape. The shape of a face.

It drew me in. Perhaps in a way that a more realistic painting wouldn’t. I’m not sure I’m a fan. But for the first time I began to see a point to the abstract.

The paintings lack titles, so the viewer is not conformed to the artist’s imagination but is free to explore her own.

Issues. Maybe we are too conformed to what we’re being told about the political scene. It looks a mess. The environmental crisis is a mess. On so many levels, our world appears to be in a mess.

We need a visionary who can step outside of the rhetoric and imagine. Someone who can perceive a path through the confusion.

God didn’t get angry when things were going wrong in Noah’s day. He grieved, grieved for his creation, and extended the time in case people could turn things round.

May he enlighten us in our days, so that we can step into the high calling he has for us all. May he call forth leaders in our day, leaders with humble hearts and open ears and compassionate souls, who long for justice and truth to prevail.

May we, through our prayers, be part of the solution.

Risky Living

I stretched my hand carefully through the thorny tangle of bramble stems, focused on the plump berries deep within. I noticed the sticky web just before plunging through it, and drew back as I saw the brown striped spider scurrying away to the edge. I’d have to find another way to reach those berries, and as I considered, I noticed the spider’s dilemma: a succulent insect struggled, caught on his web, and I could imagine the spider salivating, if indeed spiders can salivate! We were both on hold as we considered the risk to gather our tasty morsel.

Sometimes it is easy to ‘taste and see that the Lord is good’. Other times there are things in the way, risks we must take, temptations we must resist in order to gather in the nourishment he provides.

The Best-Laid Plans

The best-laid plans…

My day was laid out before me, but I was not in control of it. Responsibilities dictated I miss Bible study. Frustrated, I have a choice: to squander the day in a ‘mood’, irritated and brooding. Or grab hold of the new look to my day with a grateful heart.

I have only today. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is speculative, as today was. So, I have praise music on, as I lean in to God prayerfully to make the most of these two hours. May I sense his presence and hear his voice as I lay down my plans and let the day unfold.

Quiet surprises

Clusters of orange berries flame bright on the rowan tree outside the window. When did their colour become so vibrant? Unnoticed, the fruit matured until now it is joyfully vivid.

Continuing the thought of the quiet maturation of the fruit of the Spirit within each of us. We don’t notice the Lord’s work until one day something highlights the joyful reality that through him, one of the fruits he has grown in us has fed someone else.

Moses was on a mission, and yet curiosity drew him to the burning bush, where he paused to wonder why it wasn’t consumed by the flames. Many mornings I write my ‘to-do’ list and set off on my missions for the day. May I indulge the childlike curiosity which often lies dormant under my grown-up responsibilities, and step aside today to pause and wonder at the mysteries in this wonderful world.

How wonderful it will be if, like Moses, I hear God’s voice.

Harvest Home

Plump, ripe brambles. Such a bounty at this time of year. They’ve been harvesting these flavoursome berries for a few weeks in Angus. As I walked this morning, I scoured the verges to see if I’d missed our own wild harvest here. Relieved to find that although some are black, many remain red and scrawny. More sun please.

Fruits ripen at different rates, dependant on many factors: warmth, rainfall, sunshine, wind. Filled with the Spirit, we want to see the fruits of the Spirit developing within us for others to enjoy. Some take longer than others to mature. I remember the familiar anecdote about the woman who prayed fervently for more patience, only to find her children more challenging than ever. God was simply providing the perfect environment in which the fruit could ripen – or wither. The woman’s attitude would make the difference there.

What’s my attitude today? As I cry out for one thing or another, am I prepared to find that the way to maturity isn’t always basking in the sunshine – though it might be!

Peace returns

A room full of people. A blanket of sound, occasionally lifted by a tinkling of laughter or the joy in a raised voice. Indistinct faces but the pressure of a crowd, weighing in. A lack of focus; a dimness of light; the sense of needing to keep doing. Through the din I sense a knocking at the door and I open it. Light floods in with the one who was knocking. Focus is restored. Peace returns. Joy begins to bubble once more.

Come, Lord Jesus.

The good and the bad

Sunlight dapples the terra cotta tiles at the back door, which stands open to the many buzzing insects flying in. It’s a little risky leaving the back door open. One summer evening a few years ago, a bat swept in, and it was a couple of days and much hysterical hilarity later that we managed to get him back outside.

Another memorable summer, Doug came into the bedroom barefoot, ready for bed so the room was darkened. His foot slipped into something warm and wet. He thought it was a wet washcloth, but to our amazement, when the light was turned on, we discovered one of the cats had brought in a headless rabbit, and Doug’s foot had slid into the neck and down into the guts. Hysterical horror that night.

Life is full of surprises, full of colour, vibrant and rich. A real blessing to be embraced and cherished, despite the challenges. God walks with us in the good and the bad.

The Wet Towel Version

The wet towel version. Who can resist such a challenge?

There is such a heaviness in a load of wet towels: it can nearly do your back in just to carry them outside to hang. The towelling is perfectly designed to absorb liquid, and it takes a stiff breeze and – if you’re lucky – a warm sun to get them fully dry again.

Sometimes, situations in life seem to soak me, and I grow increasingly heavy, like a wet towel. I absorb anxieties of those I love; I get soaked by the spray of injustices and sprinkled with effluent from the global stage. I crumple into the hamper, damp and heavy with concerns.

That’s when I need to be tossed into the prayer window, where God can give me a good scrub and then hang me out to dry in the wind of the Spirit, warmed by the Son. Only when I am dry am I going to be of any use to anyone.

Just like a towel.

Clinging on

Hanging out the load of wet towels, I noticed the voluptuous growth of the honeysuckle planted there years before. Having trailed rather forlornly across the stone dyke, it finally found a tree to which it could cling, winding round and round, held securely in wind or storm by the strength of the tree trunk.

I was about to say that I feel a little like a wet towel, but that wasn’t the point of this anecdote!

When not anchored to something strong, we can wander all over the place. We are weak and easily breakable. We can be trampled and we can be nibbled at. It’s only when we cling to God that we have strength to face whatever comes at us. The honeysuckle grew quietly, nearly invisibly, until one day I noticed where it was. May my faith continue to grow without fanfare; may it grow increasingly dependent on God, incrementally, until that day when I meet Jesus face to face, and he greets me with familiarity and delight.

I can do nothing without him, but with him, I can do everything.

Lighthouse for Jesus

An odd train of thought today. I’m struggling to give a situation to God. I keep picking it back up again and feeling irritated and, if I’m honest, angry about it. So, I felt hypocritical sitting in my prayer window this morning. I thought impatiently that I just need more of the Holy Spirit. Come on, Holy Spirit, fill me up again, I prayed.

And then I realised that actually, there is a lot of gunk in me blocking the flow. Hindering him getting in even; certainly impeding his work and preventing him from initiating his joy and peace.

High cholesterol causes blockages in the blood vessels which carry that vital life source round our body. Sometimes we have high cholesterol because of what we eat, and if we alter our diet to minimise fats and salts and so on, the super highway of our bodies’ life-giving bloodstream unblocks so that nutrients and oxygen can reach every far-flung cell.

I need to feed on the fruits of the Spirit, feed on the wholesome bread of life, and stop feeding on the regurgitated fat of rehearsed irritations. All that is doing is creating blockages in my spiritual life.

As I head into my day, my prayer is that God will enable me to do this, so that his Spirit can flow freely through me and I can be a lighthouse for Jesus.

Sabbatical

After weeks of lifting and carrying heavy boxes, odd weights of furniture and rubbish, with no perceivable ill effects, I bent over, empty-handed, last week, and felt a muscle in my back give way. Heat pads and rubbing creams and tender care are beginning to relieve the pain, but isn’t it interesting that my body only weakened after the pressure had lifted.

During the move, swamped by the emotional turmoil of Mom’s confusion and reluctance to be moved, I struggled to find space for quiet contemplation, for prayer, for my Bible. Sometimes I grabbed a bite of Scripture, but fast food is never as nourishing. Exhausted physically, my body demanded rest. Worn out spiritually, my spirit also craved rest.

This morning I lingered in the prayer window, and one of my readings was from Isaiah. The Lord doesn’t extinguish a flickering candle. I lingered longer, allowing the gentle breath of the Spirit to fan the flickering flame into life. As I lingered, Indy, the cat who rarely comes for a cuddle, climbed into my lap and allowed me to rub her as she purred contentedly. Even she needed to lean in and be loved.

A sabbatical is prescribed. It’s time to rest.

Don't give up

Don’t give up meeting together, Paul advised in the reading we had in the West Church today.

I don’t intend to. After missing four consecutive Sundays, surviving an emotional wringer and a physical challenge or two, I slipped into church this morning grateful and relieved. Prayer warriors who have kept us before the throne of grace greeted us. Tears were not far from my eyes.

It is so good to be back. I have heard good sermons while I was away. I have sung meaningful worship songs to my Lord. I have prayed and received communion with other believers. I have linked arms with the family I was with, so glad to be worshiping with Don, with Mhairi, with Mom. I have hugged and been hugged, loved and been loved. Precious moments which I shall always savour. Living thousands of miles from loved ones is hard, so hard. (No airports in heaven…)

I have been churched in California over these last weeks, but I have missed the soft surround of believers I’ve known and walked with for decades. Cocooned and safe while I am restored and refreshed and strengthened to emerge again. Hide me, Lord, under your wings. Cover me, within your mighty hand.

I have not exactly soared, but neither have I crashed and burned. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, praying friends and family.

God bless you all.

Cut the rope

The barley in the field is golden, ripening in the summer sun – which I missed! Three weeks away and the garden is a wilderness of wild weeds, spinach and rhubarb fighting for space.

Awake still at 4 am, jet-lagged and tired, I realised it was still dark. When I left in early July, the sun was up by 4 am. We are sliding into a new season.

Transitions. They can be draining, challenging, scary. Hard. With a different perspective, though, they can be exciting, promising, full of hope.

I heard a story when I was away, part of a sermon. A climber was scaling a mountain. His timing was bad, and darkness began to fall before he’d even reached the summit. Clouds covered moon and stars. The darkness was profound. He could not go down. Unwisely, he decided to feel his way further upwards, and he fell.

Downwards he plummeted until at last, the safety rope round his waist grew tight and arrested his fall. He hung there, suspended in the darkness on the mountain side.

‘Save me, God!’ he cried out. And God answered him. ‘Do you really believe I can save you?’

‘Yes, God, you can save me!’ Again God asked, ‘Do you really believe I can save you?’

‘Yes! Save me!’ Once more, God questioned him. ‘Do you really believe I can?’

‘You can!’

‘OK,’ God said. ‘Cut the rope.’

The poor man clutched the safety rope tighter. He held on. He didn’t cut the rope.

His body was found in the morning, his hands frozen onto the rope.

He was a foot off the ground.

Transitioning to a new season of life can only be exciting, promising and full of hope when my trust is fully in God’s ability to carry me through, to save me in whatever situation I find myself. I can cling ever tighter to thinking I have to do it all, that everything depends on me, and be left dangling, frozen in fear. Or, sensing a changing landscape, I can look up with faith and trust, and cut the rope.

Even for that, I need God’s help.

Anticipation

Anticipation.

Trying to ensure that Mom is able to manage her life once I am gone is a challenge.

Once again, I am thrown onto the grace and mercy of the Lord. I trust that he will put helpful people in her path. That he will remind her of anything important. That he will bless her with peace and remove her anxiety about my departure.

I know he will do it, so despite my qualms, I’m gonna shout in the middle of the storm of emotions, louder praises raising faith.

My hope is in him who made heaven and earth.

Blessings

A precious time lingering over dinner. One elderly resident, confined to a wheelchair and crippled up by diabetes, relived six months of an adventurous past, when she had interrupted her ordinary life to go work on a kibbutz, then travel with new friends to Greece, Turkey, Yugoslavia, hitching rides and sleeping outdoors. Her eyes twinkled and her laughter was contagious.

Nobody should assume that residences for the elderly are boring. They are filled with people who lived through different times, whose outlook may be different but whose experiences reveal the richness and depth of life.

As she finished her memoir, she remarked that she has had to ‘live like a vegetable ‘ since December. She’d like to move on to heaven, but guesses God must have work for her to do, though she can’t imagine what it is.

I think we witnessed it. Bringing light and laughter to people whose options and vision are shrinking. God bless her.

Hallelujah

A dirty hillside beneath the towering eucalyptus. An old Episcopal chapel nestled in the grove of trees. We were greeted with smiles. The service was familiar from my distant past, and Mom knew it by heart.

Afterwards, the priest was friendly, interested to get Mom’s details, keen to follow up. We returned to her new home, where we were assured a car could take her to that church for the early service every week.

God is in his heaven, and he is smiling on his children, working his wonders even in the midst of challenges. Sing a hallelujah. 

Every challenge is an opportunity

My Buxom Beauty Rose is fading. Petals fall when the table is nudged. Its days are numbered.

But the heady perfume remains, bringing a smile to my weary face.

There is a time for everything. Every ending heralds a new beginning. Ours is a God of hope, of life and light and love. Every problem signals an opportunity to see our sovereign Lord display his mighty hand.

The joy of the Lord is our strength. Walking towards the sunset, we know that we will never be left in the dark.

I am overwhelmingly grateful.

Umbrellas in the Sun and Rain

I hoped to bring a few strawberries in from the garden for breakfast. In fact, I found only one that was red enough, and not nibbled by snails or pecked by birds. In the sodden garden, the strawberries look soggy, unripe and unappetising. They are crying out for the warmth of the summer sun.

Last year, we had a rare summer with little precipitation and armfuls of sunshine. The berries grew ripe and sweet, but we did have to water them ourselves.

We need a balance of sun and moisture to produce a big, sweet crop.

There lurks within my heart a kernel of a seed. I envision it like an unexploded popcorn kernel. It is hard and useless. Over my heart I have positioned an umbrella of self. I readily see my own needs. I readily see the inadequacies of others in serving those needs. I deflect the softening moisture of the Spirit, defensively repositioning the umbrella when his whispers correct me.

Today with his help I take that umbrella down. I open myself to the Spirit’s life-giving rain, to the Son’s life-giving warmth and light. May that kernel within me pop, or grow, and provide for others this day. And may he keep me from seeking to open up that umbrella ever again. I can only do this by his grace. May his grace overrule my rebellious heart this day and forever more. Amen.

Caution!

Carefully, I tucked each trouser leg into a long sock. I didn’t look sophisticated. I didn’t care. I didn’t want a tick bite.

I thought I was safe. Then last night, a few hours after our walk, I felt a sharp pain on my calf. A tiny tick somehow found its way through the trousers, or up the leg, or whatever, and there he was, sucking my blood. I tweezered him out, put on the TCP, and now pray there was no Lyme’s disease in him.

We can take all sorts of precautions in life. But life itself is risky. It’s worth taking the precautions, but then it’s worth taking the risks. Jesus came to give us life to the full. He doesn’t want us to stress out, nor to play it safe.

Have a great day.

Death by a Thousand Cuts

Death by a thousand cuts. A form of torture and execution used in China until the beginning of the twentieth century. (Thanks, Google…)

We are all here for a purpose. God has created us to do certain things, to be certain people, to be conduits for his light and life in this dark and dying world.

I think it is possible to miss our purpose because of a focus on the thousand cuts. I am walking my mom home. The important part of the walk is not what pieces of furniture she can take forward into the smaller place, nor even the pain of letting go of vestiges of a long life. I need to resist stressing about the insurance, what it will cover and what it won’t. I need to let go of the anxiety of anticipating her distress, and focus on the real future. I don’t want to miss the gift of these moments with Mom, the blessing of her long life. I want to live the adventure God has called me to live, with grace and faith and love.

Jesus died a death of a thousand cuts, but he never lost his focus on his Father and – incredibly – on us. He didn’t let the small cuts distract him from his main purpose.

Happy 4th of July!

Red, white and blue. The 4^th of July. Today (despite the Scottish ‘mist’) I celebrated the Glorious 4^th with my sisters in Bible study. Despite the brutality, injustices, and other signs of moral failure we read of daily, I choose to celebrate a nation born to give the religiously oppressed the freedom to worship as they wished. I choose to celebrate a nation whose open doors were symbolised by the welcoming heft of the Statue of Liberty, her arm held high with the flame of freedom. I choose to celebrate the idea of a country my dear dad laid his life on the line for, fighting on the beaches of Saipan. I choose to celebrate the country I thought I knew, the country where the citizens wore the white hats. (vintage cowboy movies…)

God looks at me, and despite my critical thoughts, narrow-mindedness and other signs of moral failure, he chooses to love me. Even, dare I say, celebrate me.

We’ve all got a long way to go. But God is faithful. He is in it for the long haul.

The Grin of the Cheshire Cat

The Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland had a talent for disappearing – leaving behind only his toothy grin. Some dear people in my life have disappeared over the years, but I still remember their grins and smiles. I can picture them doubled up with laughter, enjoying a moment. Those things I remember, much more than frowns or tears.

Jesus told his friends that there would be trouble in this world, but they should be encouraged because he had overcome the world. Whatever my troubles today, Jesus has overcome them. That is reason enough for a toothy grin which will last long after everything else fades.

Still

So, the twins had an unsettled night, as babies do sometimes. I found myself wheeling out the double buggy around 9 am, so the shattered parents could get a bit of respite (if you can call it that, when an active 2-year-old is still with them, just ready for another energetic day…).

All was calm and quiet. Both babies: pictures of peace. For half an hour, when those elusive burps – or something – started them writhing and squeaking and squirming and stretching and, eventually, crying. A brief pause to pick one up and try to bring relief wasn’t a success, so I turned round and kept pushing for home.

Lullabies didn’t cut it. So I decided to have a bit of worship time myself, hoping they might catch a bit of the peace of Christ. ‘Hide me now, under your wings…’ I sang. ‘I will be still and know you are God’.

One settled. Then the other. I kept singing for the next half hour, headed back, worshiping God and soothing those precious babies.

The beauty of God can be contagious. The peace of God can spread to others when we carry it in ourselves. I could have stressed. I could have picked up speed and hoped they wouldn’t be apoplectic and hysterical when I handed them back to the parents. Instead I settled into a rhythm of my own, focused on God rather than on the babies, and sang.

I’m not suggesting it always works. But this morning, it did. Praise Him.

Perfect Fit

I made a rare excursion into Aberdeen this morning to get a variety of necessities – and a couple of fun things. Recently Don had my bike fixed so I needed a helmet, which I got. In the process I had confirmed what I long suspected: I have a small head. I’m in a JR sized helmet.

I joked with the salesman about the probable size of my brain then, and was pleased when he responded that he’d heard: small head, big brain. Hmm.

How can I bring this back to God? My head is the size he wants it to be. As is my brain. Even as he created me in my mother’s womb, he knew the size of my head and brain (I bet Mom was relieved that my head was on the small side…) The huge consolation in all of that is that the plans that he has for me line up perfectly with the size he made me and with my mental capacity. I am who I am so that I can fulfil his purpose for me here on earth. I don’t need to look at someone else and wish I were more like her. In God’s eyes, I am perfect for the job he has for me.

As are you.

Undergrowth

I took the clippers and hacked away at the undergrowth. I discovered a couple of trees taking root under the laurel. I found two bushes intertwining into one confused lump. And there were the inevitable weeds proliferating in the shadows.

‘Hide me, now, under your wings’: the opening line of the worship song, Still, expresses my feelings today. Sometimes things feel overwhelming. Too much, Lord, too much. I want to hunker down under his wings.

And yet, as he prunes away the overgrowth, the light of the Son can reach me more fully. I can see him more clearly.

May I focus on your face, Lord, and be strengthened and renewed. May I receive all the goodness you have for me this day, with a thankful heart.

May I trust in your wisdom and rejoice in your love today, Lord, and every day.

Always enough

I pushed the two babies sleeping in the pram down the lane. An older man approached, urging his reluctant little dog to keep walking. Soft white clouds slipped across a blue sky; the gentle breeze ruffled my hair.

‘Lovely day,’ I remarked, in the age-old British tradition of commenting on the weather rather than simply saying hello.

At the same time, as we passed one another, he opined, ‘Nae bad today.’

The same weather. The same day. Different perspectives: one looking for the positive, the other perhaps expecting the negative.

It’s not easy to change perspective. I’m struggling to change my perspective on the dreaded task, looming next month, of moving my dear mom into a smaller apartment in a different home. My vision is obscured by an unease that I am overlooking something vital in the planning, by a fear that her unhappiness and anxiety over a move will make everything heart-breaking, for both of us.

Life is a blue sky, with clouds scudding across. Praying that I can focus on the blue sky, and not let the clouds obscure the sun. Praying that I can focus on God, and lean in, letting Jesus walk me through the task, enjoying the unforced rhythms of grace. Already I have seen his hand. May I focus on his gracious interventions. He is always enough.

Glass Terrarium

I’ve had a glass terrarium for 45 years, but never planted and hung it in the conservatory until this summer. As nasturtiums snake up round the chain, growing before our eyes, lobelia and geraniums cascade out of the openings.

We’ve noticed how quickly the soil dries out. In fact, it is often so dry when I water, that the water puddles and pools and then gushes out the openings to drip onto the geranium below. Nothing soaks down to the roots unless I slowly drip it onto the hard soil.

I’ve been thinking about joy. A tender emotion, it can quickly dry up and crust over, especially with global situations as they are just now. Chasing happiness, confusing it with joy, doesn’t reach the root of the issue. Happiness is transient and fleeting, where joy bubbles up from within.

Spending time with the Lord – maybe in nature, on holiday, or in the garden or even prayer window – is like slowly dripping water onto parched soil. It has time to percolate down and reach the roots which are dry and thirsty. The joy of the Lord is our strength.

And then the growth and flowers come.

Fruit that Lasts

Golden blossom blows across the driveway. Flowers which were once beautiful, now withering on the ground. Some flowers are transforming on the trees into fruit which we – or the pigeons – will enjoy in a month or two. Others leave behind simply a dessicating residue of brown.

We flower. We wither. We can choose to leave behind fruit for others to enjoy. The fruit that lasts is the fruit that God grows in our lives. All that’s needed of us is a life surrendered to him.

Heralds of rain?

I remember an old wives’ tale that when cows lie down in a field, it’s going to rain. That’s a pretty safe bet these days, when we’ve had pounding rain for days on end! But this morning, the herd in the field I walked past got it wrong. Maybe they assumed it would rain because that has been the norm, but I see now they are up and grazing, with the sun, sometimes obscured by clouds I admit, shining on their backs.

We can get so accustomed to things going wrong that we begin to work on the assumption that they will. We lie down and give up. But life is full of twists and turns and changes, and ours is a God of creativity and surprises.

Today, despite Trump, despite Brexit morass, despite the many flash points globally, I am going to stay on my feet and look for the sunshine. It’s too easy to expect the rain.

Wind, wind

Wind, wind, blow on me…

The wind outside, whipping the rain in a parade of moist air across the field, is more autumnal than summery. I don’t like it.

I don’t like its unpredictability. I don’t like the way it blows my hair in my face and then standing on end and then hard back. I don’t like the creaking branches overhead as I walk. I don’t like its disruption.

I find it hard to say anything good about the wind.

The Holy Spirit is described as being like a wind, which blows where it wills – unpredictable. Maybe that’s why some of church has neglected the Spirit. We like to be in control.

And yet I pray today, come Holy Spirit. Because with the disruption, with the unpredictability, comes life beyond our wildest dreams. We can’t imagine how good God is. But the Spirit can reveal him.

Come, holy spirit.

Beginning of the Rainbow

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, my grandson Callan whispered quietly as he played with his toys. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty together again.

We live in a time when families, institutions, nations even, have fallen off the wall. For all the claims of some leaders to have the answer for the future, it is easier to believe that nobody can fix what is going on now.

Peter declared to a discontented mob that the man they nailed to a cross was the Son of God. You don’t get any worse mistake than that. One would think that nobody could fix such a blunder.

Then he claimed that the one they had killed had been brought to life again. We are witnesses to this fact, he said. Peter didn’t risk simply being un-PC. He didn’t risk simply offending a few folk, or even offending the mob. He risked his life.

Peter and the friends of Jesus were witnesses to the fact that Jesus had risen from the dead. I am a witness to the fact that Jesus has risen from the dead. When I was at my lowest, Jesus came to me and breathed his Holy Spirit into my deepest being.

I was that Humpty Dumpty. The king’s horses and the king’s men were useless, but the King could restore, could refresh, could renew life in me.

He did it in me. He does it in everyone who comes to him. Our world is broken, but it is not beyond repair. I pray that today I might share this Great News. Jesus is alive and lives to bring life and light to the world he died for.

I don’t need to figure out how he’s going to work this miracle. I just need to trust that he will.

I looked out my prayer window. Barely discernible, especially in my photo, but there nevertheless: the start of a wonderful rainbow. My thoughts were sealed by that rainbow – the sign of the promise of God. He will never leave nor forsake any of us. He is faithful.

Stumbled

She stumbled forward, slipping on the scree on the road perhaps. As she went, she called out my name, but I was already grabbing an arm, steadying her, preventing a fall. She flexed her ankle, thinking perhaps it had twisted, but no, it was fine, and on we went.

It’s good to do life with friends. Sometimes they may slip, sometimes I might, but when we walk with others, we fall less often.

It’s good to do life with Jesus. He never slips, but is a constant support on whom I can lean. Today I step out with him, in the company, too, of good friends, all walking each other home.

Juggling those balls

I remember years ago being along the coast in California with my kids and my parents. In this little shopping arcade, there was a juggler entertaining the passers-by. He was an amazing juggler, but as the act progressed, another juggler got involved, inserting himself seamlessly into the choreography of this act. Together they kept all the balls in the air.

Most of us are juggling more balls than we can happily handle. It’s so encouraging to know that when we invite him in, Jesus is more than happy, more than able, to be part of the choreography that is our lives. With him in the act, no balls will fall to the floor – though he may toss a few away which were only serving to distract us.

Discarded stuff in the garden

Continuing with yesterday’s thought. Worship is the gate into God’s garden. The worship at Cherish took me into his presence, where there is fullness of joy. Joy was the characteristic I felt most lacking in me. My jar was nearly empty. I was moving forward, trusting and walking in faith, but without that spark of joy that lights up a room, that lights up a life, that spreads the love of Jesus.

He filled my jar. When I left his garden on Saturday night, I left my stuff scattered at random. A bucket full of worries about my Mom. Another bucket of family concerns. A watering can tipped over and draining hopelessness for the nations of the world, hopelessness for the environment. A discarded pot of anxieties about the future.

I left those in my Father’s garden. He is picking them up. He is tidying them away. He is the Prince of Peace. He is the answer to all concerns.

My face is 8 inches from my Father’s face, and I am focused on him. Eight inches is as far as a new-born baby’s eyes can focus – eight inches from breast to mum’s face. As I feed on the Father, I focus on his face, and I receive his grace, his strength, his love.

What’s not to celebrate?

God's Garden

Mud soup in the red bucket on the back porch. Play pots and pans on the grass. Chalk and pretend food all over the playhouse floor.

Evidence.

While I was away, some precious children were here. Having fun. Playing as if – because – they hadn’t a concern in the world.

Oh, to be a child!

And yet, I was away at Cherish Conference, realigning my perspective, reconnecting with God on a newer, deeper level, and standing shoulder to shoulder with sisters from around the globe, sisters with many languages and colours and experiences and ages, all loving God, all worshiping together. We may not see things eye to eye – politics, child-rearing, whatever – but we experienced that deep family love which sees beyond the transitory to the eternal.

Just like those precious children who played here, I feel like I was away playing in God’s garden. I am so grateful.

Cherish

Off to Cherish women’s conference in Leeds tomorrow early. When preparing to go away, I find it hard to get the balance between looking at what needs doing right now, with thinking ahead to what I need to do/take to Leeds. I’m dashing between the garden and bank forms and correspondence, baking bread for Don (in the bread-maker!) and thinking of what I’ll need at Cherish.

I like variety in my life. Nothing worse than rigid routine. But too much variety can make me feel like I’m fraying at the edges. Like I’m bound to forget something critical.

Commit your way to the Lord. He guides my steps, and nothing critical will be forgotten. Maybe some frivolous trivia will be left undone, left behind, but I trust him to remind me of the important things.

It’s maintaining the right perspective, isn’t it? In this case, it’s the happy anticipation of a few days away, worshipping God in the company of thousands of women, hearing inspiring messages and eating out!

Hidden Beauties

Into the busyness of family visiting, Don brought me a bunch of gloriously bright flowers. He found a vase and popped them in. I’ve admired them as I’ve passed but life has been busy.

This morning I noticed there were gems hidden behind other, bigger blooms. The flowers are so tightly packed that some real beauties are going unnoticed.

One task this morning will be to get a second vase and split the bunch so that each flower is given space to reveal its beauty.

It’s so important to give others space, space to be seen for the beautiful attributes each of us has by the grace of God. A reticent child can live in the shadow of an exuberant sibling, talents unnoticed and unsung. A self-effacing church member can be overlooked, the church the poorer for missing out on unused gifts.

I only noticed what I was missing when I just sat down and looked at the bouquet. Today I will take more time to breathe, to reflect quietly, and to pray. I don’t want to overlook any hidden treasures.

Open Door

Housekeeping is not my strength, and with the busyness of my days at the moment, I have really dropped the ball. Even I have a limit to the untidiness I can tolerate, though, so here I was last night, cleaning house at 9.15. I heard the car pull up and stop. I was expecting Don back from a meeting. I was not expecting him to bring some Syrian friends with him.

I greeted them at the door, duster in hand, face flushed with embarrassment that they should encounter such a mess. They were gracious, happy to be here. I found a packet of nice biscuits but it was the end of a Ramadan day for them, and I was mortified that I couldn’t really think of anything more substantial to offer them, like a big cheese scone or something with their tea!

We enjoyed our conversation. We shared our lives, our experiences. Our cup of tea.

Sometimes we stress that we need to have everything in order, everything perfect, before we open our doors and invite the stranger in. Jesus surprised me last night by bringing the sisters to my door in the middle of my disarray. An untidy room doesn’t matter. An inhospitable heart does.

Little Busy Fingers

A pair of red mittens, left behind by a wee two-year-old who face-planted a puddle on Saturday. Small. But big, by comparison with the little mitts warming the hands of my two-month-old granddaughter in Glasgow, and the one-month-old twins in Dundee. Wool fashioned to warm the beautiful, precious fingers and hands curled inside.

My Native American name as a Camp Fire Girl growing up in California meant Little Busy Fingers. My mother helped me fashion that name from a book of native American words; she knew me well. My fingers, rather bigger now, rather more wrinkled and with joints occasionally stiff, are still busy. Sometimes creatively, sometimes musically, sometimes just doing the work.

I give thanks to God for my hands and fingers, which enable creative expression, which facilitate service, which bring pleasure. God’s creative voice spoke things into being. May his creative voice find expression today through my fingers, through my hands, through everything I am, everything I do. May he bless others through my hands, and through yours.