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.