First world challenges

Bending over a bathtub, washing dishes in a basin there. Cooking on a two ring electric hob. New kitchen going in today and tomorrow.

New baby home last night, into this less than ideal situation.

But both hot and cold water came out of that bath tap. The two burners glowed hot and boiled the tattles and steamed the fish. Soft, dry beds awaited the family. And a Sainsbury's Local is a block away. I'm on first names with staff after my frequent forays out for supplies.

No such luxury for our sisters and brothers suffering after the cyclone. Suffering in conflict. Suffering in repressive regimes, where electricity is not a given, nor is clean water, never mind it's temperature.

Thank you, Lord, for the blessings heaped on us. May we be alert and responsive to those in real need today.

New Birth

I sank gratefully into the prayer window, if only briefly. As I took the time to look, I noticed the forsythia in bloom, beautifully in bloom. The daffodils scream spring with such exuberance and beauty, that I hadn’t even noticed the forsythia.

Sometimes we are so focused on the obvious beauty that we miss the more reticent. Today, Lord, open my eyes to see the quiet as well as the prominent displays of your glorious handiwork.

Spring, the time of new birth. May God bless this day and all those who are being born into this glorious creation today.

Connected

Smiles. Hugs. Kisses. Laughter.

Joy in reunion.

We were made to connect. We were made to be in family. In community.

I am so blessed. And so grateful.

How long is a day?

Sometimes a day is longer than twenty-four hours. Air travel is a blessing, but it is also disorienting. Sitting at Heathrow now, body on UK time but metabolism still in Los Angeles. Yesterday was so challenging. Saying goodbye, always hard, gets worse as Mom's confidence wanes. Then made a big decision and committed to it on the way to the airport, a decision that is necessary but breaks my heart. Being mother to my mother; making decisions for her which I know will unsettle her: who wants to be in this position? Yet here I am, blessed to still have her, seeking to walk her home with dignity and respect, in step with the Saviour.
What would I do without Jesus?

Storm clouds

We walked briskly in the sultry air. Overhead the sky was a deep blue. But not far away billowing cumulus clouds were overlapped by black sheets blowing in the wind, and presently, as we turned back, we heard deep rumbles and claps of thunder. We were told that the neighbouring city experienced a wild hailstorm, but we were warm and dry.

So often in life we see the black clouds. We hear the thunder. But the clouds dissipate or blow in another direction, and we remain in the blue warmth.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as the KJV puts it. Each day has trouble enough of its own. Don't worry about tomorrow. Note to self.

Tulips

Not all the tulips are standing straight and tall, though all sit in the vase of water. Some lean on others. One droops towards the floor. Perhaps it's delicate stem was bruised or damaged somehow, leaving it vulnerable and weak.

Even when we are with others who draw strength from the water of life, Jesus, we are not all the same. Some need others to lean on. May I be there for them, as they are for me, when we droop.

With us all the way

The residents straggled in to watch the movie, a comedy. One was wheeled in in her wheelchair. Two others leaned heavily on their Zimmer frames. The girl came to connect to Netflix, and discovered the movie wasn't on, so she chose another. The Truman Story. As she set it up, several voices repeated the same sentence. 'Harry Truman?' This place is full of war vets and that was their era.

As the movie unfolded, one by one the residents slipped out. Mom looked at me. Do you know what is going on? Completely confused by the plot.

Life can be like that. Confusing, and distressing. God is not like that crazy director in the film, though, enjoying watching us stumble through life, getting some sort of vicarious thrill from it. He isn't watching us from a distance. He came and joined us. Immanuel. God with us. Still, though we don't see him in the every day, he walks with us.

As I continue to limp along this path with Mom, it is so comforting to know that God walks with us. He weeps with us. He laughs with us. I am so grateful.

Breathe

As I cleared through paperwork here at Mom's, I came across a copy of my Dad's death certificate. Reading the cause of death, COPD plus advanced rheumatoid arthritis, saddened me again. Though I am comforted knowing that his end was peaceful as he gradually stopped drawing breath, the words felt cold and harsh and clinical.

His lung capacity reduced so much that eventually there was no space left for the life giving breath. The softness of healthy lung tissue had hardened. He gradually could no longer breathe.

The Holy Spirit is the breath of God. I pray I will never suffer from spiritual COPD, where life has so hardened me that I no longer have capacity for the life giving Spirit. I pray that I might live close to God, thereby maintaining a spiritual vibrancy and health that need never die.

Legacy

Nearly fifty years ago, I lounged on the cool green grass in the shade of a tree, listening to the carillon concert and realising that for the first time in my life, my parents weren't waiting for me to phone and say where I was, or show up for dinner. I had just moved into a dorm room at UCR, and knew nobody. It was heady and freeing, as I took a tentative step towards adulthood.

Yesterday afternoon Mhairi and I lounged on the cool green grass in the shade of a tree. The carillon was silent as students in finals week rushed towards the library.

I've not visited the campus since just before my sister died in 1986. It has grown. New lecture halls and classrooms. A proliferation of eating places. A gym and sports facilities. A botanic garden. Parking lots! When I was in college, few students owned a car. We took the bus.

I remembered the young girl at the beginning of her adult life. I thought of those I knew. Of the demonstration against Governor Reagan, who had cut funding for the university because of student protests against the Vietnam war. Of the seriousness of those days, right after the big political assassinations of the 60s. Of the young men who studied hard so as not to flunk out and be immediately drafted and sent to fight.

We still live in serious times. May this generation of students do better than we did. May they be wise and godly. May they be humble and use their brains to help others and to make this world a more equitable, peaceful place. May God bless this younger generation, who are inheriting the awful mess we are leaving them. And may God forgive us, and give us the strength and wisdom to support the next generation in whatever way we can.

Memories

A precious couple of hours spent lost in memories with Mom as we explored the contents of a fat envelope she had marked for a scrapbook, 1946-1976. Letters home from camp from both my sister and me, homesick letters revealing a connectedness and love. An invitation to our parents to our backyard production of a play. Homemade cards to Mama and Daddy. My sister's golden locks from her first haircut. Her baby teeth. Poignant. Sweet. So long ago.
How to treat such tangible ties to a time of youth and laughter and exuberance, when living in a community where everyone is staggering towards the end...challenging.
It was a special anniversary party in this community last night, and as we lingered after dinner round a piano and guitar ensemble, I listened to and watched these precious people. All with stories. All with memories of happier, energetic times, when the horizon for them stretched in all directions.
Blessed are those whose strength is in you...as they pass through the valley of Baca they make it a place of springs. Many here continue to reach out and support one another, share laughter and be kind to those who endlessly repeat themselves. Their strength comes from you, loving Father.
May I pass through this Valley of Baca, a valley which stretches into the unseen distance and requires decisions I am reluctant, even loathe, to make. May I pass through this valley, walking Mom home, drawing my strength from you, Lord. I want to be helicoptered out, but I sense I shall be hiking all the way.

The Blue Pacific

The blue Pacific twinkled in the warm sunlight. Our feet dug into the soft sand, leaving footprints where we had been. Cliffs rose to the right as we walked north, laughing, sharing life and hopes and dreams with our dear friend. We paused for lunch, then retraced our steps and said our goodbyes. A brief encounter but one leaving footprints in our hearts, warm memories until we meet again.

Today I have a scheduled call with a dear friend from days long gone by. We have left footprints in one another's lives which have not been swept away despite years of living separate lives on opposite sides of the world. I anticipate much laughter and probably a few tears as we share.

God has left his footprints in all of our lives. Winds and waves buffet and shift the shape of the sand but never erase his loving footprints. We are not alone. Praise God.

Memories

Memories. They are not always correct. Sometimes they merge and present a delusion of the truth. When age-related confusion throws up odd 'memories' which are far from truth, it is hard to know what to challenge, what to ignore and how to redirect the conversation and sidestep the memory altogether.

Jesus is the truth. Knowing Jesus, truth, sets us free. What happens when age warps vision and twists one's perception of truth? Jesus, hold Mom close so that whatever twists her memory takes, she never forgets or distorts ultimate Truth. And fill me with wisdom and love.

Empty

I watch the gauge in the car to see when I need to refuel. Then it's a simple matter of driving into the gas / petrol station and filling it up. It isn't free. I have to pay for it, but then I'm good to go another couple hundred miles at least.

I'm not always so aware of my spiritual gauge. When I notice my temper flaring faster, my irritation overriding kindness, my impatience breaking out, I know that I am nearing or already running on empty. Time to draw in to my Father and refuel. It costs time. That's all.

When aircraft have to fly further than the capacity of their fuel tanks, there are jets which can come alongside and refuel them in the air. Jesus promises never to leave us, and he fills us with his Holy Spirit, so we, too, have the capacity for being refuelled while in the midst of life's turmoil.

If others sense or see God in us, they may treat us as fuel stations, coming to us to draw near to God. Paul advises that we go on being filled with the Holy Spirit. One way and another his power and presence drains away during life, and we need constant topping up.

I've just awoken to no internet, no telephone connection. I can't reach the outside world, but I can reach heaven.

Change

The seaside breeze was brisk, with a sharp March edge to it. We strode along purposefully following the tracks in the sand, then scrambling over lumps and bumps and mini sand dunes. The original Queen Mary stood across the water, majestic and proud but stripped now for decades of all power and movement. Stuck in her dock. A museum piece, showcase of past luxury.

We paused on the rocks when we reached the inlet, lost in our conversation. How many times Mhairi and I have walked together over this beach, laughing and crying, pouring out our hearts and our faith, confessing our fears and our sorrows. Precious times; a priceless love and friendship.

The cold Pacific waters lapped the rocks, familiar. And yet, not the same water that lapped the rocks a few months ago, when we last were here. Water that looks the same, but has moved with the tides and currents.

So are we. Looking the same but by the grace of God different, strengthened by his Spirit where we wobbled the most. Remembering the past gives hope for the future. God is good. He is in control. He restores the years the locust has eaten. He never leaves us nor forsakes us. As we step tentatively into the future, hands held in the divine grasp, we can step with confidence. Not in the world. Not in ourselves. In Him.

Aliens

I was interested in the first story I encountered in the glossy woman’s magazine at the hairdressers. It concerned women taking a stand for worthwhile causes, globally. Inspiring.

It was all downhill from there, though, as I sat, open-mouthed, reading an article on how to be a witch and where to go online for various paraphernalia one might need for casting spells. A serious article, claiming that interest in witchcraft is growing. It was written as though this were a mainstream, sensible and even good option for a way of life.

There followed an article celebrating lesbian sex. In detail. It was all about receiving satisfaction, not giving love. Empty. All about self.

Finally, a writer encouraged readers to go ahead and entertain their worst thoughts. She claimed that it’s ok, even good, to have an envious thought when someone else achieves breakthrough or commendation. She concluded that it was fine to laugh inwardly when that person who pushed roughly past you on the underground slipped and fell on the escalator. Having base thoughts and entertaining them, she wrote, is part of the human condition and is ok.

Psalm 78 encourages us to talk about the great things God has done in our lives, to tell our children and grandchildren how wonderful he is so that they will trust and follow him.

If that glossy mag reflects general thinking in the world at large, Christian thought not only is not emulated, but is not even mentioned. We Christians are in the world, but not of it. Never have I been more aware of that.

It is finished

The jealous men sold their hated little brother to passing slave-traders and lied to their father that he’d been killed by wild animals.

Years later, they found themselves begging for food in a neighbouring country. To their horror, they discovered the man with the power of life or death over them was none other than this ‘little brother’, Joseph.

Joseph reassured them. Though he struggled and wept, God enabled him to forgive them. God showed him that although his brothers meant to harm him, God turned a truly terrible thing round and used it to bless many.

Mhairi was criminally assaulted by a man with power seventeen years ago. He probably didn’t start, or stop, with her. The assault shrouded her life for years until now.

Last night she released the music video to Sadie Jemmett’s new song, Don’t Silence Me, in which she and other women who have been used and abused throw off the shroud of shame and walk free. I’ve shared the link on my FB page so hope all can find it as I’m not very good at social media.

Mhairi hasn’t named the perpetrator, preferring to pursue forgiveness. Not easy, but in Jesus, possible. I don’t say that lightly.

But, what was meant to harm, God has turned to good, a blessing for many. Redemption. Freedom.

As Jesus said from the Cross, ‘It is finished’.