Fallen Trees

 

The leylandii has towered over the garage for decades. Doug can’t remember a time it wasn’t there. I can remember Don planting it. It was a bit of stage scenery for a fashion show at the wedding exhibitions he organised. Small. In a pot.

We had no idea.

It grew like Jack’s beanstalk – fast and strong. It broadened its base and stretched ever higher. Twice, fierce winds brought a branch down, and I began to realise it had to be taken out.

A tree surgeon came a couple of days ago. With quiet confidence, he scaled one of the trunks, only harnessed with a rope. A chain saw hung from his waist. Professionally, he began to dismantle this noble tree. Over the course of two afternoons, he has brought down several of the trunks and cut them into logs. Three or four spindly-ish trunks remain for his final foray.

Screened off for decades, the Hill of Fare has re-emerged into view. My perspective has broadened; my vision has opened out. It’s a view I used to have, which became obscured by the overgrown tree.

On this Hogmanay, heading into 2021, I hope to take some time to sit with God and allow him to identify the overgrown leylandii in my life. The ideas and assumptions which have grown steadily during my lifetime and obscured truths which I used to recognise. I fear I may have grown attached to some of them. I may be reluctant to see them go.

It’s sad seeing a healthy tree go down, but I am relieved to have a view back. May it be so in my understanding as well, as wrong ideas are removed so that I can see clearly once more. So grateful that God has time to help me do this.

Happy and healthy New Year.

Jigsaw Life

 

It sits in the prayer window, in the parcel bag it arrived in. A jigsaw puzzle from new friends from Germany who stayed with us for B&B on their honeymoon. We shared a bottle of bubbly then, and keep in touch now. I suspect that the puzzle will reveal a picture of this house, or the view from their bedroom window, as she hinted in her email that this was the subject.

I haven’t yet put the puzzle together, as our dining room table is currently covered in craft projects and supplies. I plan to locate a tray big enough, and then will enjoy seeing a picture emerge from the jigsaw-cut pieces. We have not been given a picture of what it is, so it may take some time to complete.

Sometimes it can feel as if my life is broken up in a bag like that. Not in a terrible way, but just in a way which seems confused and doesn’t quite make sense. There is a picture there, a beautiful picture I suspect, which the Father is putting together, bit by bit, and will, I trust, one day fully emerge. I wonder, in the weird way I think, if my part in the process is to provide the tray – my life – for the Father to carefully ‘put me together’.

I imagine that I can get ahead of him, trying to squeeze a couple of pieces together which aren’t meant to marry up. My job is to surrender to him, to trust him to be making a perfect fit of the disparate aspects of my life and personality. It requires a level of trust which I need to dig deep for, a level of absolute trust in his goodness and faithfulness.

Lord, increase my trust in you today. I lay down my life, so that you can rebuild it to reflect your Son.

Memory Protection

 

The overnight snow flurries left a ragged frozen blanket tossed on the grass and playhouse. It’s melting fast. The wool knit gloves are great for warmth, but not much use when playing in slushy ice.

Suddenly I remembered. Aren’t there some snow gloves, children’s sizes, still lurking in the trunk under the stairs? How long have they been there? Twenty years? Are they still there?

Turns out they are comically too big for a four- and six-year-old, but worn anyway!

A big house offers space to squirrel away treasures and trash, half-remembered or completely forgotten. A long life is the same, I am discovering! Things present themselves from my memory bank, things significant and things trivial. They come as randomly as my memories about the snow gear under the stairs.

I love the way God assures us that when we have confessed and repented of sins, he forgets them. He filters them out of his memory bank and doesn’t use our failings to remind us of our sinfulness. I pray for those whose memories haunt and traumatise them, and ask God to heal and bless those tortured by negative memories. May he drop a filter of love which releases the grip of guilty or victimised memory.

He has given us the helmet of salvation to protect our minds, and the shield of faith to extinguish all the flaming darts of the enemy. With his help, we can learn to use these protections.

End of year blessings

 

The washing machine is on its third load of the day. It is freezing outside, and those two things remind me of the Girl with the Pearl Earring, who spent so much time washing clothes by hand in freezing weather.

I am grateful for technology.

I’ve just returned from another run to the grocery store, where the shelves were full. I could pay with a credit card.

I am grateful for a  car, for money in the bank, and for food available to purchase.

I hear the busy sounds in the kitchen, of hungry children who have been playing outside all morning. I am grateful for a house that can welcome family and enjoy the hustle. I am grateful for good health.

This has been a challenging year, but through it all, I have felt increasingly humbled by our blessings.

Remembering those whose struggles this year have been life-changing, whether mentally, financially, or physically. In this world we will have trouble, Jesus said. But take heart, for he has overcome the world. I am grateful that Jesus came into the world to save us.

Icy blasts and warm breezes

 

My house is always too cold and draughty for bread products to rise properly. That’s where the bread making machine comes in – a Christmas gift a couple of years ago. It transformed my experience of trying to get the traditional Potica to rise.

I just listened to a beautiful piece of music – a beautiful peace of music recommended by Jamie. And I was thinking that it is musical moments like that, and time spent sitting ‘doing nothing’ while resting in God, that raise my inner spirit and help faith to ‘prove’ and rise.

These plague-ridden days can be a blast of arctic air on us all. Brexit uncertainties, environmental emergency, homesickness and longing to see loved ones: we are definitely in a frozen wasteland globally. But God is there with us, Immanuel.

May you spend empty time wisely. May you identify moments you can snatch for R&R with the Lord. All things are possible with God. Even in the midst of crying or exuberant children, even in the midst of a long to-do list, offer God a moment of your precious life and he will bless your offering. Snuggle up to God and absorb his warmth and love, and let him trim your wick and flare your inner light to take out into the dark winter days and share the hope of the gospel.

Merry run-up to Christmas.

Asleep in the Boat?

 

‘I want to be asleep in the back of the boat in the storm,’ she said with feeling.

How many of us echo those sentiments during these days? These days which swirl into what appears to be a perfect storm, gaining strength, buffeting us in gales of ferocious winds.

We had an e-Christmas greeting yesterday which startled and challenged me to seek a new perspective on current events. ‘May the new year bring forth more of our LORD’s plan for ourselves and this earth.’ More of the same? Is she kidding?

The trust and hope implicit in that short sentence is so encouraging. Light in the darkness. My cry out to the Lord during most of this year’s turbulence has been, ‘Wake up! What’s happening? Why are you asleep?’ This lovely friend of ours, Donna, shines with the light of Jesus as she speaks out words of faith and trust. It’s not the first time she has inspired me to lean all my weight on Jesus.

Our God reigns. He is alive. Immanuel. God is with us.

‘May the new year bring forth more of our LORD’s plan for ourselves and this earth.’ Reminds me of the faith-filled response of a young virgin who met with an angel: ‘May it be to me as you have said.’

May we all be strengthened and refreshed as we meet with Immanuel anew this year. May our words and actions bring light into the darkness and turn more hearts towards the King of Kings.

 

Trees of Life

 

Thirty-nine years ago, Don and I went up to Glen Tanar and bought thirty trees to plant along the driveway and round the perimeter of the garden. We took a selection: wild cherry, Norwegian maple, Chinese rowan, sycamore, beech, elm, poplar. The tree centre gave us fifty larch saplings for free.

We came back. I was a few weeks’ pregnant with Robbie, which was a great excuse not to do the heavy digging work. I had the easy task of steadying each sapling in place while Don dug the holes and filled them in again.

The drive is stony. It is full of weeds. Digging holes required a pickaxe. We knew nothing about soil types. We never looked up to see what overhead wires might be threatened as these trees grew.

During the intervening years, the poplar grew so fast and broke off in the wind a few times: it’s now been taken down by an expert, burned in the fireplace. The leylandii is about to meet the same fate. Forty-seven of the fifty larch never made it out of infancy. The cherry trees have been re-seeded many times by hungry birds, who helpfully pooped out the stones in lines underneath the power and telephone lines.

Some of the trees on the drive have thrived; some have struggled in their shadows. We were young and enthusiastic, and we knew nothing about what trees need, and how high they could be expected to grow. Some knowledge and advice would have been a good idea.

I am reading and hearing many things these days, these days which are so full of global, life-changing and often heart-breaking news. I ask that the news that brings life will take root in my heart, will flourish and grow in my life and offer shelter and encouragement to others. I pray that the news which brings death will wither and die, that it will find no fertile soil in my heart nor mind nor on my lips. May God feed me with his word and water me with his love so that the leaves he sprouts can bring healing and wholeness.

The season of waiting and watching continues. May we all watch in hope and wait in peace today and always.

 

Interference!

 

She’s recording another audio book in her home studio, fashioned in one of the front bedrooms, using heavy wool blankets for ‘sound-proofing’. A couple of days ago, Mhairi sought us out to try to identify the source of a high-pitched whine which was marring her recording because her mic was picking it up. Don couldn’t hear it: (now I have ammunition when I suggest his hearing may be beginning to fail!) I could hear it; we thought it might emanate from a tractor in a field within view, as tractors these days are equipped with all sorts of high-tech which might, in fact, be connecting it to satellite transmission. When the tractor left, the sound stopped, and Mhairi resumed recording. We presumed we had been right.

Then, yesterday, she heard it again. This time I couldn’t hear it: (ok, so both of us are beginning to wear out). Doug listened and heard it: there was no tractor in sight. Then Don went into problem-solving mode and hit on the source: the central heating. When it went off, the whine stopped.

Whew. We could control the whine.

Sometimes my spiritual ears are tickled by ideas which don’t come from God. I set out to hear Him, but interference from another source spoils my understanding.

Fifty years ago, society began to slide into ideas of relative truth. ‘It might be true for you, though maybe not for me, and that’s ok as long as nobody is hurt.’ Now, well bedded-into the cultural consciousness, this idea has gone on to foster the explosion of ‘fake news’. Technology has facilitated algorithms which detect what we might think and then feed us that news in order to define who we are.

We have divided and polarised and hardened our positions. The art of listening has waned if not wholly disappeared. It has become easy to assume that we know the truth because we have read the proofs on our news feeds.

‘What is truth?’ Pilate asked Jesus. With truth right in front of him, Pilate didn’t recognise it.

I pray for a revival of listeners, a return to respectful discussion, a restoration of congregational understanding. Even as we are isolated during this pandemic, may we recover our humanity and learn to turn off those things which whine and distract so that we can hear what God, and what each other, are saying.

 

 

Pointed Paintbrush

 

Just when I was on the edge of a slump, having opened my curtains on to another dark morning, the sun burst through and streaks of blue divided the bands of dirty white cloud. Looking out the prayer window at the familiar field, I noticed the stripes of shadow stretching long across the green grass. Shadows of the leafless trees lining the driveway. Shadows suggesting trees far taller than they are.

The sun sits low in the sky in a Scottish December. Its light-beams illuminate the south-facing branches and trunks, leaving the rest dull and brown. It’s as though a divine painter dipped a pointed paintbrush into a pot of gold in order to outline all that faces the sun.

The sun has not deserted us, and neither has the Son. Nothing in the news is a surprise to Him. We are not abandoned, not left alone and helpless. I am facing Him so that His paintbrush can outline me in His light. Perspective is everything. Focus is key.

Come, thou long-expected Jesus. Bless every hungry heart today; encourage every faltering soul. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness hasn’t overcome it.

 

Water, Water Everywhere

 

The sound of many waters was constant. Though it has been raining steadily for days, we hadn’t anticipated the effect of all that rain on the waters round Crathes Castle, but as we approached the usually-quiet stream emptying from the loch into the River Dee, we became aware of the noise. We marvelled at the force of the current, but also at the height. A few more inches and the bridge would be breached.

We moved on past the loch, up the hill and along the boardwalk that rises proud of the usually marshy land next to the Coy Burn. Everywhere we looked, the water rushed and tumbled. There were no patches of still or stagnant water where anything could fester. No, there was water everywhere and it was all alive and on the move.

Justice will roll on like a river, Amos wrote a few thousand years ago. Vengeance is mine, says the Lord. Justice will roll on. God is a God of justice. We pray for the days to dawn when justice will roll on like a river, a mighty river. When the innocent will be lifted up. When there will be no more injustice perpetrated by self-serving tyrants, big or small.

Ask me for water, Jesus advised the Samaritan woman at the well. Ask me for water, and streams of living water will flow from me through you. Lord, today I am asking that streams of living water will flow from you through me, and that those waters, those living waters, will bring about justice and peace. That those living waters will wash away all the toxins and poisons that fester and grow. That those living waters will bring Life in all its fullness, in all its beauty, for all your people. Prince of Peace, we are waiting. Waiting on tiptoe for you to refresh us, and refresh the world. Maranatha.

Waiting

 

A dark morning. Rain lashed and wind shrieked through the night, and dawn has come, grey and white and cold and dark. The trees stand stark against the sky, bare bones. The earth lies dark and empty.

All creation waits.

I know that beneath the apparently empty ground, bulbs already begin to sprout, stretching fragile stems towards the weak light. I know that in time, the stems will break through the hard crust, will bud and blossom into colours and fragrances to delight and impress.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for.

All creation waits. The pandemic continues; the normal festive gatherings are on hold; reunions are postponed. Hearts are sad and longing. Longing for this season of waiting to pass.

As it will. This, too, shall pass, as my dear Mom says to me every day when I speak with her. We’ll meet again. There will be joy, and because I am sure of that joy to come, I can have a quiet joy in my heart now.

Waiting is hard. But knowing we have a God who is love, we know that the testing times will pass, that winter will open out into spring and there will be abundance of laughter and love and hugs and relief. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for. May God help us all to hold on in faith today, knowing that he never leaves nor forsakes us. May he come to each of us today in our hearts, reassuring us of the truth.

Waiting in Hope and Trepidation

 

I was lying in my darkened bedroom, holding an ice cube on the lump rising on my bruised forehead. Waiting. Waiting for my Dad to get back from work.

It was three months since my 16^th birthday, three months since I’d passed my driving test. I’d been driving home from a cello lesson. Driving home on city streets in rush hour.

Traffic had slowed as it crept sluggishly round a fender-bender, an accident now at the side of the road. I was distracted by it. My attention was on the collision at the side of the road. I was distracted, but still moving forward blindly. I looked ahead again. The traffic light had turned red. The cars ahead had stopped. I braked – too late. Crunch.

My parents’ 1960 Chevy – the first new car they had ever bought, though by now it was a few years old: unwieldly and heavy – had ploughed into a small Renault with its engine vulnerably in the back. My car then pushed it forward until it concertinaed into the car in front.

“What happened?” the front driver demanded. “Did your brakes fail?”

Sheepishly, rubbing my forehead where it had banged off the steering wheel, I demurred. No. I had failed – failed to focus on where I was going.

An hour later, I waited. I waited for Dad to come home. Dad, who’d taught me to drive, always repeating the admonition to remember a car was a lethal weapon.

I heard his car in the driveway. Heard the back door slam. Heard Mom’s voice, then his, low. With trepidation, I heard his step coming down the hall, approaching my bedroom.

He came over to the bed.

“How are you?” he asked, perching on the bed. “Are you ok?”

“Yes, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“You sure you’re not hurt? Nobody was hurt?”

Never mind about the car, he said. He’d deal with the insurance. The car could be fixed. Nobody was hurt. As long as nobody was hurt.

I’d been waiting. Waiting anxiously. Expecting a lecture at best. Car privileges rescinded. Grounding maybe. Displeasure for sure.

Instead, I got love. Unconditional love. And reassurance. He would take care of everything. My Dad would handle it.

The world is waiting. We are all waiting anxiously, on tiptoe, for this pandemic to cease. We were distracted. We’ve taken our eye off the road ahead even while moving forward. While watching one car crash, we have caused another one.

We are all waiting for a saviour to pull us out of the wreckage we’ve caused. Waiting for a saviour.

“He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognise him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God … “ John 1:10-12

We’re waiting for a heavy step coming towards us, expecting a reprimand and a punishment, judgment. But our Saviour came as a baby, Immanuel, God with us. Today he is coming to us, breathing unconditional love. Arms open, he is drawing us into a precious, deep hug. Unconditional love, whispering peace to us.

“Come to me, all who are weary and worn out, and I will refresh you.”

Advent. Season of waiting. This year, we are waiting as never before. Christmas is coming, and yes, it will be unlike any Christmas we can remember.

God comes. He doesn’t ask us, “How could you? Why did you?” but “Are you ok?” Fully deserving his wrath, we receive his love.

All who receive him are children of God. We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God, hope which does not disappoint.

My heart is full of love and gratitude for an earthly father who modelled God’s grace to me. My heart is full of love and gratitude for our heavenly Father who gave up everything because of his love for the world.

Barometric Pressure

 

When we got a barometer several years ago, we needed to get it calibrated before it could give us a correct reading of the air pressure. I don’t think we ever did it, so we never were able to trust its accuracy.

As I sat in the prayer window this morning, it occurred to me that that is where I go to be recalibrated. In this world, there are so many things which declare themselves to be a normal baseline. Truth. But these things have changed through the years and do not give an accurate measure of right and wrong.

This was brought home to me a couple of days ago. Going through the attic, we found a book which I had as a child and absolutely loved. In my memory, it was about a beautiful and kind Queen who invited children into her palace and taught them to ballet dance. At their suggestion, she decided to fly round the world in her magic carriage and collect destitute children from different places to demonstrate their own dances. As a child, I loved the colours and the pictures.

Excited to plunge into the story again, I sat between Greg and Flick and started to read. Immediately, I winced at the implied lesser status of women. A few pages in, and I could barely believe the racism expressed in presenting caricatures of various nationalities and races. I stumbled, trying to recapture the remembered magic of the book to convey to my grandchildren. I flicked past things. I re-worded it, which was tricky as Felicity was reading along with me and noticed.

When we reached a place where children were shown bowing prostrate before a buddha, the questions were coming thick and fast. We ended up googling buddha, to satisfy their interest in who he was and why were people worshiping his image. Oh my gosh.

I so need the barometer of the Bible and the Holy Spirit, the whispered guidance of Jesus, to navigate this world. Just like the weather, norms of what is acceptable and what is not are fickle, constantly changing. Only God never changes. He is our rock. Again, I am so grateful.

Taking the rough with the smooth

 

The path through the Enchanted Forest is frozen hard. A frequent trail for tractors and jeeps, the ruts and gouges in the mud give texture and reassuring traction for the trepidatious walker. Much more concerning, and slippery, is the frosted, paved road. The smooth surface presents an ice rink for the unwary.

I wonder if I am less likely to come a cropper when life serves up a repeat than when I am moving through virgin territory. When I have previously struggled with an issue or situation, I am aware of the tricky bits. Some of the scars from previous encounters may even hold me steady. On the other hand, when I find myself in a new situation, I may mistakenly see a smooth road ahead, stride out proudly presuming to know my way, and land on my derriere.

Whichever type of path my life is taking just now, it is so reassuring to know that Jesus walks with me. And you.

Here in the northeast, it is a glorious winter’s day, sunny and sharp, clean and clear. Grateful and enjoying the beauty. Thank you, God.

 

Glakit

 

I sit, ‘glakit’ in Scots, gazing out the prayer window at the few cows munching the grass in the field just beyond the driveway. The farmer told us that grass loses its nutritional value as we head into winter, so the cows need to eat more or have supplements. They are busy grazing, seemingly all the time.

How much time is wasted grazing on things which have lower nutritional value for my soul? Just considering what I should take in for optimum health during Advent, and all the time. This morning it was, among other readings, Isaiah 40. Full of nutritional value. I recommend.

 

 

A Glare of Gold

 

A glare of gold penetrates a grey sky and stretches its light through bare, brittle branches of the old damson tree. The day is unremarkable, another winter’s day which is shivery and still.

My first task this morning is something I dread, something I shrink from doing. It feels like bare, brittle branches. As I prepare to do it, God’s love penetrates the brittleness of my reluctance and he warms my heart. He reminds me of his love, that he is always with me.

This is the day the Lord has made. I praise him that everywhere I look, even on the most ordinary of days, I am reminded of his love and care. May we be attuned to his frequency today as we go through even the most dreaded or mundane of tasks. He is everywhere, always on our side and always full of love.

 

Thanksgiving 2020

 

Thanksgiving 2020.

The red kite hovers, apparently effortlessly, over the field, surfing the wind, keeping a sharp eye on what lies beneath. She looks peaceful and calm while she waits to spot her hapless prey, and when she does, she will respond with speed and precision.

This has been a year of waiting. Waiting for the virus to die off, for a vaccine to be developed, for numbers of sufferers to drop, for restrictions to lift. We are all still waiting.

I am not always peaceful and calm as I wait, but I know that focusing on my blessings fills my heart with gratitude and drives out the fears and longings that otherwise preoccupy me. Thanksgiving 2020 will be memorable, as much for the joy of sharing our thankfulness (and turkey) with those in our household as for the anguish of missed reunions with those others outside of our bubble.  

We are now in advent, a season associated with waiting, a season to remember the promises of God, who never disappoints. May he help me to surf the wind of the Spirit as I wait for the promise of Emmanuel, as I wait for the demise of the virus, as I wait for reunion with loved ones. May he fill my heart with gratitude, and uphold me so that I can glide peacefully through this day (going to the dentist!), with my eyes fixed on him, the author and perfecter of my faith.

Duvet of Marshmallow Mist

 

A duvet of marshmallow mist collects over the fields spreading out round the house, on this bright Thanksgiving morning. No wind buffets the birds which swoop and dive, peck and claw for their food. Most of the glorious harlequin robes have dropped from the trees, which stand naked and bare in the cold.

From those who have been given much, much will be required. I know that the boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places, and I am grateful to God for my loving family and friends. May gratitude characterise this day and may God guide me to think about and pray for all those in dire straits today. And may prayer lead to action, in Jesus’ name.

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all.

Twists and Turns

 

A good friend of mine had stomach pains which escalated in severity, landing her in emergency, where she had life-saving surgery. There was a twist in her intestine which nearly burst. That would have poisoned her system with such a level of toxicity she might not have recovered.

I thank God that she received the help she needed at the right time.

Spiritually, pockets of poison can become trapped in a pattern of negative thought. Despite our best efforts, it can be a struggle to resist nursing a hurt, but that hurt, if nursed, can become a balloon of toxicity. Left untreated, at worst it can burst and cripple our souls, at best it can limit our vision of God, and distort our understanding of who we are.

Emotional wounds take time and energy to heal. The pocket of poison which threatens health needs to be dealt with, probably multiple times until it is finally healed. The spirit needs careful nursing, a selective diet of soul-enriching ‘food’, and a bucket-load of TLC.

A thankful heart is at the core of our healing. I don’t mean to reduce this to a simplicity it doesn’t merit, but in this Thanksgiving week I am just considering what an effective antidote a grateful heart can be to a host of conditions.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Under Siege

 

Greg and Groucho were having a game before Greg was taken, rather reluctantly, to nursery. I wedged myself into the prayer window for my morning quiet, and as I read Colossians about the wonder of Jesus, and thought, with a thankful heart, of his love for his world, I became aware that I was surrounded by symbols of aggression and violence. Toy soldiers brandished weapons while cowboys levelled guns.

All around us, wherever we are in the world, aggression and violence are part of our daily lives. For some, it may be real physical war or oppression, famine and injustice issues. For others, it may be workplace bullying, racist attitudes, misogynist belittling, domestic abuse. During these uncertain times, it may be the active fear of the future, fear of job loss, fear of homelessness, or for children, bewilderment at the anxiety displayed by parents and family.

Right in the middle of it all, and so much bigger, is the Word of God. Jesus, the Prince of Peace, towers over the puny enemies which loom so large in our conscious thoughts, undermining our peace and threatening relationships.

I pray for all whose lives are physically threatened, that God will show his hand and surround those in danger with an army of angels to protect and deliver.

May he help me to readjust my own perspective today, and allow faith to demolish all strongholds of fear in my heart and mind as I come to God with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. God is good, always.

The Colours of Love

 

Stripes of neon pinks, oranges and purples streaked the matrix of grey when I opened the curtains this morning. God had his paintbox out. The beauty made me smile, made me exclaim an audible thank you to him for this spectacular world he has created for us to inhabit.

A great start to Thanksgiving week. Thanksgiving is the main holiday for family visits across the USA; other holidays carry other traditions as well but Thanksgiving is all about the get-togethers, the sharing of food, and the love of family and friends.

This year is different. My Mom’s residential home has ruled that anyone who leaves the community (even for a two-hour meal) has to face a bleak 14-day in-room quarantine afterwards. She will be celebrating Thanksgiving, which I am usually able to share with her, with the other elderly residents and the exceptionally kind staff. It’s not the same, but I am so grateful for a mother who has a heart of gratitude and is able to absorb disappointments because of her relationship with the Lord.

Normally, if I weren’t with Mom for the holiday, I would be cooking the turkey here for a gathering of as many family members as could come. This year I’ve got a turkey crown to cook for those of us who are seeing out the pandemic together. I am so grateful for the flexibility a large home gives us, so we will have seven round our table on Saturday when we celebrate.

But the absence of the others will be keenly felt. The inability to visit Mom for over a year now is keenly felt. Separation stings.

So wonderful, then, to awake to the artistry of the Creator and be reminded that he is with us through all the disappointments and sorrows. This is the day he has made. This is the world he has created. You and I are the ones he came to save to live with him forever. So much to be thankful for. The colours of love.

Snow Flurries

 

Snow flurries marched across the field like ghostly soldiers at 8 am. The temperature has plummeted yet the sun, now, is out, as is my washing. 

I live in hope, but my expectation is that the clothes will be carried back inside in the late afternoon, stiff as boards and still wet.

Someone defined Christian hope as the confident expectation that God will turn up, and that he is good, always good.

With that hope in mind, I pray into the darkness that is Covid and environmental degradation and political upheaval, and see a light at the end of the tunnel.

May that light not be the proverbial on-coming train, but the Light of the World. May we all rest in the assurance of that hope.

 

Honesty

 

Looking west towards Banchory from the prayer window, I notice a bedraggled Honesty plant, more like a weather-beaten twig. The stem itself is twisted and bent, and the honesty seed pods look like ancient parchment. Google tells me that it was first called Honesty in the 16^th century (its Latin name means moon-shaped), nicknamed thus because of the translucence of its seed pods.

I like to think that I am always honest, but I recognise that my greatest dishonesty relates to my self-assessment. It is that dishonesty which can lead to judgmental criticism of situations and people. I am so encouraged that when God looks at me, my heart is a translucent seed pod. He can surgically remove the rotten seeds of deception and warped thinking, and I trust him with the divine scalpel to be doing that moment by moment. One day, in his hands and by his grace, I hope to hold only good seed within my heart, seed that will scatter and bear fruit and nourish the hearts of others.

I have learned this morning that the honesty plant is edible. Its seeds can be used as a substitute for mustard, its flowers and leaves enhance salads. Often, I have yanked out the bedraggled plants from the flower bed, but now, I think I will treat them with greater respect.

Maybe I’m not alone in feeling that the quixotic winds of the global situation are leaving me bedraggled and bruised. I pray that out of these times the seeds which fall from our hearts will germinate in others and produce attitudes which are sweeter, kinder, more generous and compassionate, encouraging us to become warriors for justice and truth in the world and in the individual.

I’ll never look at an honesty plant in the same way again!

 

Double Rainbow

 

Monday, Monday. A blustery wind disturbs the bare branches of the larch tree and whips a few clouds across the watery blue sky. The sun is out – and then it’s hidden. Something draws my eyes to the Hill of Fare, which sits to the northwest of the house, and there, brilliant and strong, is a rainbow. It is rising from the paintball games premises, and its glow is echoed so that I see not one, but two rainbows.

Monday carries connotations of hard graft, of the end of the freedom and fun of a weekend. But in the midst of the heaviness that can drag down a Monday is the promise of goodness, the promise of light, the promise of a loving God who never gives up on me, and never lets me down.

He is the God who knows me intimately, and loves me anyway. He is the God who believes in me, even when I struggle to believe in myself. He is the God who sacrificed himself so that I might be saved.

Monday is a good day to remember all of that, and be thankful. I am full of gratitude today. I was blessed to see all of my kids and all of my grandkids over this past week. I was blessed to ‘visit’ my mother on a Skype call and watch her enjoy the interaction with a couple of her great grandchildren. I am thankful that in a troubled world, there are moments of heart-warming blessing.

God stretches his rainbow of promise over us all today.

I put up our Thanksgiving branch on the weekend, and could have it filled with leaves of gratitude in no time at all.

Grandmother's Summer

 

How funny! Checking whether or not it is offensive to refer to a warm autumn spell as ‘Indian Summer’, I have discovered that in Germany, it is referred to as ‘old woman’s summer’ or ‘grandmother’s summer’!

Our autumn weather doesn’t necessarily match that criteria, but our living arrangements do. We have been able to open the doors and welcome our daughter and then one of our sons and his family, so that we have swelled from being a big empty house of two, to a big full house of seven. It is truly a ‘grandmother’s summer’ at the ‘hillock.

Despite the uncertainty on many fronts in the wider world, there is blessing to be found everywhere. One of my readings today led me to consider how God is pouring out blessing on me right now. I wouldn’t have thought that in my own ruminations, given the pandemic, the economic and political pain and the emotional anguish of so many during this year. But that thought has reminded me that this is the season of thanksgiving, and in every season God is actively blessing his children, his world.

May you and I have new eyes to see our situations today, so that we can receive all that God has for us.

Have a wonderful ‘grandmother’s summer’.

Vouchers

 

Because of my buying habits, Tesco knows too much about me. I have a voucher here for something I’ve purchased in the past, and Tesco wants to tempt me into a second or third purchase by offering a discount.

What I buy says something about me.

Because of my googling, the online algorithms know too much about me. Sometimes they jump to conclusions which are erroneous, but they are acting on my own actions.

What I google says something about me.

Because of my spiritual pursuits, the world – both seen and unseen – knows something about me.

What I read and what I pray say something about who I am.

May I be humble enough this day to read and absorb what God has for me today; may I connect with that deep and wordless place where the Spirit can release eloquent groans on my behalf. Groans which bring change, which release love and joy and peace.

May I fulfil the plan God has for me today.

White Mists

 

White mist enshrouded us this morning, a mist which is only just beginning to dissolve in the light of the sun beyond. There is promise in the air, promise of a good day, promise of warmth and autumnal beauty.

The mist limits our perspective and drives us in on ourselves. Globally, we are wandering in mists. There is the mist of the pandemic; leaders look for the right path to lead us out of the maze of this virulent virus, but we continue to wander. There is the mist of the environment; leaders need to find their courage to lead us through new territory as we transform to new technologies and learn to limit our acquisitional hearts. There is the mist of politics – in America, in Europe, and around the world; leaders need to regain integrity and the value of working for the common good, and the people need to support such leaders in order to regain a higher vision of what is possible when we work together. There is the mist of isolation, distorting reality and leading to mental health issues and crippling depression; may we all be aware of our friends and neighbours during these difficult days. Hard-pressed though we may be, we need to be kind.

The sun is breaking through here now, mid-morning. May the Son break through the hardness in our hearts and may his Spirit lead and guide us through these testing times.

Rip Van Winkel and us

 

Rip Van Winkel was holed up in a cave, I think, for about twenty years. Sleeping, concussed, or in a coma. When he emerged, everything had changed.

Seven months now, since we faced up to confinement in order to avoid contamination. Seven months of building our lives round our homes and housemates. Seven months of staring at computer screens, on skype, on zoom, on Microsoft teams. Seven months since we hung out with acquaintances, since we hugged friends, since we kissed our adult children.

Over a year since I’ve hugged my mom.

One day, I hope, we will look back and think, it wasn’t that bad. One day, I hope, we will recognise that we used the time to deepen our relationship with the Lord, who is with us in our confinement, in our isolation, in our sadness.

This is the day that the Lord has made. He didn’t put us in the pandemic, but he saw it coming. When we were raising our family, when the joy became manic and the laughter loud, we often looked at each other with a nod: this will all end in tears. The Lord must look at our actions, our negligence, and our selfishness and know that it will all end in tears.

In this world, you will have trouble, Jesus told his friends. But take heart, for I have overcome the world.

It is a beautiful day here today. Clear and cold. Tonight we will light a bonfire and a few fireworks in the field. We will participate in that weird British celebration of a foiled terrorist attack, though we will refrain from throwing a ‘Guy’ on the bonfire.

I am going to think of that bonfire as a beacon of hope, a light of love and encouragement from our Maker. I am going to think of our fireworks as a response to his grace and mercy towards us. I am going to focus on him and rely on his love to lift me.

When we finally emerge from the pandemic, and from the political uncertainty on both sides of the Atlantic, the world, and our attitudes, will have shifted. I pray that we will emerge wiser, with more compassion and love for our world and our sisters and brothers. May we come out of the cave better people than we were when we went in.

Respect

 

For light relief, we turned to Netflix and watched My Octopus Teacher. What a touching, moving film documenting the relationship between a man and an octopus in the wilds of South African seas. The underwater echoes and songs of the humpback whales, the waving ferns and kelp forests, and the striking intelligence of this amazing creature provided restorative therapy, silencing the pollsters and the politicians and the broadcasters. If you need to escape today, you could do worse than watching this wonderful film. 

It was not all peaceful harmony underwater, though, as the octopus, a creative predator herself, was also the prey, sniffed out by pyjama sharks who lurked in caves and caverns. Once, she had one of her eight tentacles torn off; miraculously, as she convalesced in her den, the missing limb regrew. Another time, hunted mercilessly by a sizeable enemy, she finally protected herself with sharp shells, and when the shark began tossing her around, trying to dislodge the armour, she managed to propel herself onto his back, where he could not reach her. Eventually she was able to slip off into a place of refuge which he couldn’t get his nose (and teeth) into.

Nature can be cruel. I won’t disclose the ending, but be prepared. One of the aspects of the relationship which developed between man and octopus was the respect given for each creature to be who or what it was created to be. There was no intervention, even when that resulted in pain.

They say it’s not over until the last vote is counted. But we are not where I wanted us to be this morning. Given such a tight race, my prayer is that when all is done and dusted, American citizens will regard each other with grace, will listen to each other in order to learn, and will be able to debate points of view respectfully and seriously. May the name-calling tweets cease; may there be a new urgency within each of us to find a way forward which is good for the nation, and good for the planet.

Meanwhile, cover yourself with sharp shells and remember that our citizenship is in heaven, where the one in charge is good, loving, merciful and kind.

Clear thinking

 

I picked an easy recipe from the dementia cookbook for dinner last night. It is a compilation of recipes with ingredients which help keep the brain working well – not recipes designed to cause dementia! So, it was slow-cooked Moroccan beef casserole. Three hours at a low temperature results in very tender meat. I checked it periodically, though, to add more water, because the beef absorbs the liquid and can become dry and hard.

It feels as if the last four years have had the American electorate in a slow-cooking oven. Frequent additions of moisture, in terms of reading articles by wise and experienced women and men, have been essential. Prayerful approaches to the outlandish and disgraceful tweets and executive orders have been helpful in preventing normal people from becoming hardened, tough and brittle. I often remind myself of Michelle Obama’s injunction to us in 2016: when they go low, you go high. It’s a good proverb to live by.

So today is the day of reckoning. What will it bring? ‘I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help is in the name of the Lord.’

May this become America’s finest hour. May the shame of the past four years be put behind us, as we vote for compassion and courage, gentleness and empathy, humility and wise leadership. May the fomenters of violence and privilege and supremacy be stilled today, so that all thoughtful citizens, and indeed, the whole world, can rebuild what has been wrecked and co-operate in harmony to change the course of the trajectory of destruction.

May God bless this wonderful world he has created and today, may he especially bless America.

 

End of Season Glory

 

Burnished leaves covered the ground as if in burning embers, erupting upwards into flames of brick-red bracken. Beech hedges and single trees celebrated the season with displays of golden foliage shimmering in the sun when it did break through the thick cloud cover. We were in Glen Affric, stunning even at this late point in autumn. Heavy rain and even sleet alternated with sunshine and rainbows as we hiked, marvelling at the landscape.

Yesterday, it was a walk to Plodda Falls, through Douglas fir trees, the highest in the UK, one of which was chosen as the mast for the Discovery, now docked permanently as a museum in Dundee. A hundred years ago, Don’s grandfather sat at the table onboard the Discovery, anchored in the Antarctic.

We slipped our way up the hill to view the impressive Plodda Falls, where a modest burn, roiling in spate, suddenly plunges over a precipice and drops 46 metres to the valley floor. After a Halloween day of heavy rain, the falls were spectacular.

Autumn is like a hallelujah chorus, sending praise and glory to the creator.  So refreshing to be embraced by such beauty and serenaded with nature’s praise to God; despite the social distancing, the eating out in tents under blankets, and the mask-wearing, nature trumped the political noise and we have returned home refreshed and renewed.

November is thanksgiving month, and my first post gives thanks to God for the opportunity to take a weekend break in such stunning surroundings.

Dawn broke

Dawn broke with a beautiful sunrise this morning, and as I looked out on the landscape, daylight had arrived. Up the road came a couple of cars, with their headlights still on. Automatic lights, sensing the strength of the light and reacting. Though the darkness had lifted and to me it appeared ‘as light as day’, a late October day in northern Scotland is just not that light.

I can assume that the world is lighter than it is. My friends are good people. My family work hard for justice and peace. The news is full of darkness, but my neighbourhood seems light. I can power along in my own lane, with my limited vision. Not a great idea.

This is where I need the automatic light Jesus provides. He is the light of the world. When I travel with him, he shines a light on things I hadn’t noticed, things I might be able to help with in some way.

It’s too easy to belt along assuming that I’m seeing clearly through my own lenses. I really need the light of the world every moment of every day, to avoid being mis-led. May I never forget that. 

Breath-taking Architecture

 

My cousin Carol Lynn sent me an email with breath-taking pictures of incredible homes designed and built by Michael Jantzen. These homes are designed responsive to the environment in which they sit: some dangle from cliff tops, perch on precipices, are dug out of hillsides or nestle in nooks. Each is unique and oh, so creative.

Some of them grow out of rocky island outcrops which are the same size as the foundations of the buildings.

Unconventional seems too mild a term even for describing these homes.

Jesus was not conventional, and maybe unconventional is too mild a term for the life he led. He wasn’t what my dad would have called a ‘hot dogger’, drawing attention to himself to enhance his own ego. But neither did he hide within convention to avoid rocking the boat. If it needed rocking, he did it. He healed on the sabbath, again and again. He raised women up as equals and gave them dignity and purpose. He respected children. He defied religious trappings which had wandered from God’s ways. He befriended the lepers and the outcasts. He challenged the powerful.

I’m thinking of my own life, and wondering whether I settle for convention because it is comfortable, doesn’t draw stares and isn’t challenging to maintain. It’s easy to sit in a granite farmhouse, looking out at a technicolour autumn, and enjoy God. It’s more taxing to spend time lobbying for justice and fighting for those who have no options or opportunities.

Some of Michael Jantzen’s creations are built on rocky outcrops where there is little except the firm foundation on which they sit. Today, may my roots be keyed into Jesus, held so firmly in him that I do not shy away from saying or doing or being whatever is right, is loving, is just and gracious and merciful. May whatever I do with this day God has given me, bring a smile to his face and relief to others.

The Crown of Glory

 

The crown of glory – stunning red leaves on the acer tree – is beginning to drop. Red leaves lie on the spent vegetable patch. Their moment has passed, but maybe now that their beauty has gone, their value will be more enhanced than ever. What they have been will break down and enrich the soil, preparing it to nurture the next season.

God is doing a new thing in his church in this season. His church is not buildings and walls; it is people building bridges to each other and into a hurting world. What has gone before has, at times, been glorious, and now, if we work with Him, it can nurture a future church which is more alive than ever, more generous in its love, more gracious in its compassion and mercy, more forgiving in its attitudes.

This is some of what God showed me when I lingered with him yesterday. Surely time well-spent.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him today, watching carefully so you don’t miss the bruised reeds he’s drawing you to comfort, the broken hearts he’s calling you to encourage.

This is the day he has made, and he goes through it with each one of us. Closer than we imagine.

I Confess

 

 I confess. I did enjoy an extra hour in bed, despite yesterday’s blog.

So this afternoon, I decided to grab that hour back and give it to God. So far, I’m just a quarter of the way there. I read my reading, which was from John, about the woman at the well. I thought about it, and then I thought about our church service this morning.

That led to a complaint. ‘I am so sick of Zooming to church,’ I moaned. ‘Everyone is at arm’s distance; there is no way to sense what anyone is feeling; silences are empty and uncomfortable; conversation is stilted as we’re all so aware that if more than one speaks at a time, it becomes a garbled mess that nobody can follow.’

Then, much as in the encounter Tony Stephen described in his sermon this morning (Banchory West Church), I sensed words coming back to me. ‘I know what you mean,’ God said. ‘You zip into your quiet space, rattle through your routine, pause a minute or two and Zoom off.’

How often my time with God is as distanced as a Zoom service can feel! Mhairi spent two hours Zooming with a good friend the other night. They each had a glass of wine. I could hear the joy, the laughter, and afterwards Mhairi said it almost felt like they were together. They had set aside time, chosen a beverage, and relaxed together. Both were refreshed, energised, encouraged.

I think that’s more the type of prayer God longs for me to give him. So I’m off now, with a glass of water (it’s mid-afternoon), for the other 45 minutes. I’ll let you know tomorrow how it goes.

An extra hour

The clocks change tonight. Spring forward, fall back. Hurray!

 An extra hour added to my life! What will I do with that one precious hour? What will you do?

How often I have said, ‘Oh yes! An extra hour in bed!’ In the cold light of day, I wonder why I would value time in bed over other things – perhaps listening to music, reading a poem or a novel, talking with someone I love? It doesn’t make sense. Carpe diem!

During the isolating restrictions of covid-19, there are probably many who don’t want extra hours. Extra hours of loneliness, of boredom perhaps, of sadness: extra hours to fill. People are weary; many are depressed.

One route to restoration is to use that extra hour to draw near to God. To talk with him openly and honestly. He has loved us ‘with an everlasting love’. His promise is to give us rest, to rebuild us, to give us back joy and dancing. He forgives everything, and gives us his Holy Spirit to inspire and guide us to make good decisions. Jesus’ promise is to never leave us, and he doesn’t.

I hope to use my extra hour to remind myself of these promises. 

Eye of imagination

 

Season of mellow fruitfulness, as Keats wrote. Yellows and oranges and russets and browns; apples enriched and sweetened in the final warm rays of a departing sun. It’s time to gather in the final harvest before winter begins to bite.

As she went out the door, Felicity turned back and handed me the top of an acorn she had gathered. ‘It’s a tea cup,’ she explained.

Tiny details. Some of the delight of being with young children is seeing again, seeing afresh, re-imagining the details of our world.

In a pandemic where the newsfeed is of further restrictions, it’s helpful to focus in on nature and let God speak to us all through his eye for detail. The isolation of socially distanced relationships does not apply to our relationship with our heavenly Father. Whatever tomorrow holds, God is in it with us.

Fall Colours

 

Mom said how blessed they were in southern California with great weather. I agreed, and then countered that we are blessed here with glorious autumnal showstopping colours.

After our conversation, I decided to collect a few fallen leaves of varying shades and pop them in a card to brighten her day. I left them in a kitchen window and watched them dry out and curl and then it dawned on me: if I put those into an envelope, by the time they go through the franking machines and various hands between Scotland and California, they will be nothing but a shower of confetti pieces which will have lost all shape and beauty.

I turned to google and learned how to press them first, in a heavy book. Fittingly, I put them in the leaves of an ancient family Bible Don has, huge and heavy. When they are dry, I’ll send them, and hope they arrive looking as lovely as they do now.

As I walk through my life, events colour me. Time ages me and I can become brittle, and the beauty of wisdom and experience can harden into the ugliness of arrogant prejudice and presumption. I need to be pressed every day, pressed every day in God’s good book, so that I retain a humility and openness, a thirst for learning and a delight in this good world God has created. So that I can give joy to others, and not irritation.

The world can be a hard place, and if we let it, the years can warp and twist us until we fall apart in brittle little bits. Only as I bring myself to God regularly and let his love embrace me, will I be able to remain supple and reflect his glorious colours of love, joy, peace and hope.

A Wilting Flower

 

A wilting flower languishes in front of me, leaning out of the Winnie-the-Pooh cup. It was on its last legs when Greg picked it, but in his eyes, it was still a beautiful hot pink-coloured flower which he proudly gave me. We found a suitable ‘vase’ and it brightens the table.

I look at the flower and I see Greg, charging round the garden looking for flowers to give me. I hear his happy chatter as he mixed potions and made me a supper and a cup of tea. I smile.

My morning quiet times are not always rich and fulfilling. Sometimes I’m distracted, rushed, or entertaining emotions or thoughts other than focusing on God. But even when my offering to God is like a wilting flower, I sense that he loves it. He knows the desire of my heart is to hear from him, and though my hearing is often impaired, still he treasures the imperfect gifts I offer him.

We are in the season of Thanksgiving, and as the holiday approaches next month, I challenge myself to thank God multiple times during each day, to thank him for things big and small. Right now, I thank him for this wilting flower on my table, reminding me of the love of a precious grandson.

A little bug

 

Because a little bug sneezed … a litany of crises ensued, one leading to another, and all initiated by that little bug’s ‘ka-choo!’.

There is young life in this house again, and I’ve already (at 9.30am) been read to, been to a dance party, and read an old favourite to these precious children. Kids keep you young, reviving what was beginning to flag.

Before I did any of the above, I closed my bedroom door and spent some time with God. Because I have learned the truth of the message of that book I read to Greg and Flick. I know myself that when I start my day right – with a prayer and a quiet time (not a sneeze…) – then the rest of the day is likely to go better. Or, rather, my attitude to the way things go, is definitely more positive.

Whatever this day holds, I am aware that Jesus is with me. Whatever this day holds for you, Jesus is with you. May you know his peace that passes all understanding.

 

Refresh the Page

 

Refresh the page. Sometimes a computer screen freezes, and only resumes functionality when the page is refreshed or the computer is re-started.

Things have changed here, as we have welcomed family to share our home while they are transitioning, awaiting the autumn of the virus and a lifting of restrictions. So my prayer corner is literally a corner this morning, and I am facing a concertina wall installation whose protruding prongs hold my collection of necklaces.

Precious necklaces. Not the kind a thief would relish. But to me, irreplaceable. The small sapphire Don brought back from a business trip to Hong Kong, over thirty years ago. An amber rope from Russia; a Jet necklace from Whitby: anniversary trips and gifts during our many years of marriage. The gold filigree butterfly which my mother’s brothers and sisters bought for my sister when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The turquoise rope Don and I bought on a trip to Arizona, when we needed chains to visit the Grand Canyon so had to postpone that visit until a later date. Necklaces chosen with love and care by my sons and daughter on different occasions: two red hearts, a cluster of three silver ‘tear-drops’, a small amethyst, a turquoise daisy. A couple of sparkly ones from my mother, and three crosses of varying sizes. And a chunky wooden adornment crafted for me by Felicity.

When I put on one of these necklaces, I remember. I remember the givers; I think of the significance; I savour the memories.

God instructed his people to write down his commandments and wear them, so they would remember what he told them, so they would remember him and would live.

Jesus gave us an upgrade. He died to give us his Holy Spirit living within us, reminding us of his love, of his standards, of his faithfulness. He removed our hearts of stone and replaced them with hearts of flesh. What was on the outside, has been internalised because of Jesus’ love and sacrifice.

On this busy Monday morning, I am grateful for that upgrade. I am grateful that I don’t have to wear anything particular wrapped round my neck. And I am aware that inviting the Holy Spirit to fill me again is an essential part of my morning ritual.

My prayer focus has been refreshed, but my God is still the same. Always with me, whispering his words of love and guidance. On this Monday, I am grateful. Oh, so grateful.

 

Ever-present Help

 

I lift my eyes to the hills – my help is in the name of the Lord.

The angel gave Mary the most astounding news. When she’d awoken that morning, she did not anticipate what the day held, and when she encountered the angel and heard what God was calling her to be, her acceptance is astonishing. ‘I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.’

What does today hold for me? For you? I know the plans I have; Doug and Joey are moving in with us today, so my plans revolve around that. But beyond that? What are the plans God has? What might transpire during this day?

Whatever it is, may I have the same courage and strength that Mary showed. She didn’t really know what she was being asked. She couldn’t really anticipate what would happen. But she lifted her eyes to the hills and she trusted in the Lord.

He is our ever-present help in time of pandemic, of economic hardship, of political insecurity and upheaval, of separation. 

The Splendour

 

We picked up Prince Charming and Jasmine as planned, and headed off to the socially-distanced Disney-themed lunch experience. My sister-in-law had invited us to the event, held in a three-sided marquee: chilly in October in Scotland, but the weather co-operated and when the sun was out, it was warm.

There were a couple of Snow Whites there, and one Sleeping Beauty. Woody from Toy Story, and Bella from Beauty and the Beast. An entertainer sang a few of the Disney movie theme songs; a Disney quiz and a Disney-themed scavenger hunt were also part of the afternoon. But probably the memorable moments for these precious children were those spent climbing the trees that ringed the grass.

Our world is full of slick marketing, but the real beauty, especially in autumn, is all around us, in the natural beauty God has given us to enjoy. No slick marketing required. Just eyes wide open and a heart ready to pause and receive the message of love God is sending.

Enjoy the splendour while it lasts!

Wounded World Healed

 

I am nearly 70, and yet I have never sung in a choir. When I was about 10, I auditioned for the school glee club and was turned down, which undermined my confidence for years…

Well, I’ve signed up for the church Christmas choir (virtual), and am, for the first time in my life, trying to learn the alto 1 part. It’s not difficult. It’s just different from anything I’ve done before. The song is beautiful, and if I can manage the technology to record it and send that in, it will be amazing to see a gathered group of believers singing together in harmony, without ever practicing together.

It’s all led to me thinking about the music of creation. Googling that, I discovered that the ancient Hebrews, and Pythagoras (of theorem fame), believed that the heavenly bodies not only ‘sing’ as they twirl and whirl through space, but that the planets are set apart in the same ratios as pleasing musical intervals.

CS Lewis, in his Narnia tales, imagined Aslan creating the universe by singing. It seems that might not be such a fanciful notion, and that just blows my mind! I love the picture of God singing away in joyful abandon and as a result, creation is born.

I have always loved the verse in Zephaniah 3:17: The Lord delights over you with singing. What an amazing gift he has given us – the gift of joining together in song, in worship. Who knows what harmonies he might create through the human voice raised in praise to him?

During these challenging and dark days, may our voices unite in singing praises to the God of peace, the God of justice, the God of mercy, the God who saves, and through our singing, may he heal this wounded world.

A Big Red Ribbon

 

An email reminder: phone banking check-in on Zoom tonight. (I registered to help get out the vote; there was a problem with me signing in, and I left it unresolved, and am now feeling guilty when I get these messages because as yet I have not resolved the problem, and therefore phoned nobody). A recurring pop-up message every time I turn on my computer: ‘there is a problem with your Microsoft account which we need to fix’. (I have tried to fix it many times and every time I run into a problem with my name, and I give up. Slightly fearful that one day it really will matter.). A Zoom link to tonight’s church prayer group sits in my inbox. (The slow speed of our internet undermined my resolve to continue with the prayer group; now our speed has been increased, but between phoning Mom at 5.30 and trying to get dinner on the table and into my stomach before 6.45, I just give up). A WhatsApp message on my phone reminds me that Mom has an eye appointment in November which the care staff made in August; (I have yet to telephone the eye doctor and ensure that the insurance covered the cost of that last appointment).

I could go on, but you get my point. My intentions are good: I want things done in an orderly way and completed neatly and tidily, but somehow it doesn’t always work like that.

My fourth grade teacher, Mrs Costuma, taught me many things, and one was about composition. Always conclude your essay with a reference to what you declared at the beginning, because in so doing you ‘tie it up with a big red ribbon. That advice has stuck with me for decades. And yet, so much of my life is messy, unresolved, and certainly not ‘tied up with a big red ribbon’.

Long ago the LORD said to Israel: “I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.’ (Jeremiah 31:3) I am so grateful that the Lord doesn’t leave his creation unresolved.

‘And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.’ (Phil 1:6)

I thank God today that at the end of my life, he will gather in all the loose ends and somehow tie it up with a big red ribbon.

Refuge

 

Under a pile of branches and leaves, Don found a sleeping hedgehog. In the narrow attic spaces of our house, Doug found the desiccated remains of long-dead rodents, and many large and lively spiders.

Refuge. Everyone needs a place of refuge to shelter from the storms. Sometimes it is physical shelter we need. Sometimes emotional shelter. Sometimes spiritual shelter. At the moment, probably we all need all of the above!

The other night, I became sucked into a political debate. Both sides believed that they were speaking from God’s perspective.

Psalm 37 ends, ‘The Lord helps them and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them, because they take refuge in him.’

This morning, I wonder just how that works. Were both sides of that debate taking refuge in God – or were both or one side relying more on presumptions and the advice of others they respect?

Today, Lord, may I really take refuge in you. Keep me from arrogant assumptions. Give me your perspective, so that I can see clearly. Today, Lord, may I act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with you. Amen.

Big Branch Down

 

Agonisingly slowly, the outsized lorry with a hydraulic lifting arm reversed down the drive, underneath the low-hanging canopy of trees, to deliver a couple tons of sand in two ‘bags’. Having successfully accomplished his task, the driver drove off confidently – and his truck ripped off a branch of one of the beautiful Norwegian elm trees. Now there is an ugly scar where that substantial branch used to be. That scar will be visible for the rest of the life of the tree.

Today, Mhairi and I walked our route, which we’ve not done for a few days because of the heavy rains. As we rounded a bend through the ‘enchanted forest’, we saw the path ahead was obstructed by another fallen branch. Probably the heavy rains had weighed the long branch down, and perhaps there was a bit of rot where it emerged from the trunk, so that the tree could no longer support it. The branch cracked off, and in crashing down it tore another branch off, too.

God is faithful, and he is loving. He is our gardener, and when we submit to his regular pruning, we are saved from violent crashes which tear at the heart of our being. Pruning may be painful, but God’s pruning isn’t destructive. Instead, it encourages new growth, fresh buds.

I don’t want to wait until I have developed a destructive habit which eats into who I am, and takes part of me with it when it finally comes down. Instead, I ask God to nip all these negative things in the bud, and shape me to be who he created me to be, a child of God.

Raging Torrents

 

We gathered a few sticks and stood on a small wooden bridge over a burn. We were told the burn is usually a trickle, but yesterday, it was a raging torrent of bubbling foamy water, following all the rains. Mesmerising to gaze down into the brown water, folding over itself and sending waves forwards and backwards as it cascaded over rocks and boulders.

Callan was excited. He threw one of the sticks in, and I’ve never seen a stick sucked under so quickly, sucked under and carried on currents to resurface somewhere else, out of sight to us.

World and life events usually trickle along at a routine speed. But not in 2020. This has been a year when everyone’s trickles have swelled to become raging torrents.

It’s important to keep your footing on the bridge, to keep your roots in God. It’s important to watch out for those who might slip and fall into the swirling torrents. Love your neighbour as yourself, Jesus instructs us. May he help me to keep alert today to any who may be in a precarious position.

At peace

 

In the stillness of the living room, I am suddenly aware of a soft rhythmic sound. The cat, Indy, is snoring quietly in the prayer window… She is at peace, safe, comfortable, and at home.

The one I encounter in that prayer window – and, of course, everywhere – exudes peace. He is the source of peace. The prince of peace. Whatever the disturbance. Whatever the sorrow. Whatever the anxiety or dread.

When I go to him with my fears, he meets me right where I am. When I go to him with my anger, he meets me right where I am.  When I go to him with my joy, he meets me right where I am.

If I am full of joy, he rejoices with me. He has a reputation for being a sort of party animal…

If I’m not full of joy, then, like a divine sponge, he absorbs the disappointment, the tears, the frustration, and he embraces me in a covering of peace, a peace which permeates my being and leaves me at rest.

Like Indy, though possibly without the snores…

 

The Bull Elephant who loves music

 

Creativity connects us with creation.

I have just started my online morning by watching a video of a rescued bull elephant standing knee-deep in a riverside lagoon. Standing, mostly absolutely still, next to a man playing Schumann on the piano. I see down the side of the clip that this beautiful elephant enjoys Beethoven and Mozart, too.

What a wonderful image, of creatures being kind to other creatures. Of elephants enjoying the output of musically-gifted geniuses, of the camaraderie and fellowship connecting the pianist with the elephant. Both appreciating gifts of God.

I was aware, during the video, of the pleasant rippling and delightful bubbling of the river running by. I could hear the irregular percussion of a variety of birds raising their voices, too.

All creation praises the Lord. How good it is when we are in harmony with that which God has given us.

The Autumn Leaves

 

Daily the vista transforms from one of shades of green, to a palette of blazing autumn colours: burnt oranges, deep russets, bright gold and all shades in between as we tilt away from the sun and summer gives way, reluctantly, to fall.

Those glorious leaves will soon release their hold on the trees and fall, to lie crisp, and then soggy and blackening, mouldering on the ground. I will gather what I can into black bags (oh no! more plastic!! Alternatives please?) where they will rot down and become nutrients for a future garden.

The noise and concerns over the pandemic of Covid have distracted me from focusing on reducing my negative impact on the planet, but I’m beginning to revive. Although my home-made dishwasher soap was ineffective, I found a great replacement at the pop-up refill station which opens every Thursday in Scott Skinner Square. I also found chewable toothpaste tablets which I am giving a go, hoping they are effective, as it will eliminate the need for plastic tubes. And, of course, a bamboo tooth brush. Refillable soap and shower gel. Olive oil bars of soap. Last night I researched and will purchase an old-fashioned razor, so I don’t need to buy plastic disposable ones any longer. I’m making my own laundry soap, which is great. And remembered to take my own containers to the grocery store for the meat and fish.

It’s all about changing habits, isn’t it? Changing habits so that my impact on this square of the earth is positive and not negative.

So much for patting myself on the back; I have a long way to go before I no longer need the fortnightly trash collection. I have a long way to go. The things I still throw into the black plastic bin bag in the kitchen will be tossed onto a landfill and covered over, to sit, intact, for centuries or even forever. They will never decay, never become food and nutrition for the soil to feed a future generation. It’s awful.

Life is a gift from God. The creator has given us such a beautiful playground and yet we war and fight and litter our way through our three score years and ten.

I have been blessed to have been born into a diverse, fertile world, and I want to pass a healthy planet onto my beautiful children and grandchildren, not a depleted, weakened world ravaged by my selfish habits.

Again I turn to God for guidance, and I hope to walk in his rhythm of grace and develop habits for life. All suggestions happily accepted!

Digging Tatties

 

‘How do you know where they are?’ nearly-4-year-old Gregor asked as we stepped into the garden with a fork and a tray.

‘Look for the brown stalks which are dead and collapsing onto the ground. I’ll put in the fork and let’s see what’s hiding under the soil.’

The clean white skin of new potatoes was revealed; and the clean red skin of other new tatties, too.

‘Dad! Dad!’ he called excitedly to his father balancing on the roof of our house, trying to work out the best place to put receivers to boost our internet reception. ‘Look! I’ve found potatoes! Red ones that you love!’

Things are not always as they seem. A lifeless appearance does not necessarily mean there is nothing beautiful beneath the surface. Something wholesome and nutritious. Something worth waiting for; something worth expending energy to dig out.

‘I have to be careful not to stab one of the big potatoes, because I can’t see where they are,’ I explained, easing the fork deep. Gregor was delighted when a giant potato was revealed, and then we were on to the carrots. Their leaves are still green; they are still growing; they are oh, so sweet.

God sees exactly what’s growing in each of us. Our Father is the gardener, and even when we are beginning to die back, to weaken and sink onto a chair much sooner than we used to, he knows what lies beneath the surface. I pray today that there is something nutritious inside me which can help sustain a weary soul, flagging in this weary world.

Jesus came so we might have abundant life, and even joy in the midst of tribulation.

Wildflowers or Weeds?

 

The farmer clears the cow manure from the barn on a regular basis, and he creates a mountain of manure along one of the paths we walk. As the manure matures, a stinky sludge drains out of it, forming black burns and puddles. There is nothing to commend it.

Left long enough, though, seeds take root in the fertile hill. Seedlings appear: whether you call them wildflowers or weeds depends on your perspective. I choose wildflowers  over weeds; I choose hope over despair.

Yesterday I took time and filled in my overseas ballot. This morning I sent it back to Los Angeles, so that it will arrive in plenty of time to be counted.

Even from a dung hill, a flower can grow.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Where are you going?

 

I just read a reference to the philosophy embraced by Alice in Wonderland’s Cheshire cat: ‘when you don’t know where you’re going, any route will get you there.’

Yesterday, Mr Trump refused to reassure his interviewer that he would ensure a non-violent handover of power, were he to lose the election. He claimed again that the ballots were part of a Democratic scam. If he knows that, and he is the president, why doesn’t he do something about that to ensure that the ballots are free and fair? Perhaps call in a team of UN observers on November 3^rd, to be present at polling stations and at counting centres. And, crucially, to oversee the counting of the postal vote.

There is nothing subtle about Mr Trump’s plans. He stated that if there weren’t any ballots, we wouldn’t have to be concerned about a peaceful transition in January. He was outspoken in his admiration of the North Korean leader three years ago, and one senses that his admiration has become his ambition.

It is shocking that anyone who lives by democratic principles can support such a position. It seems that Trump supporters are happy to go wherever he is going, by whatever route he might choose to follow. Will they be surprised when the destination is revealed as an autocracy?

Paul tells us that in our weakness, God is strong. Whatever is going on politically, pandemically, and environmentally, God is strong. I am glad that when we choose to go with God, he chooses a route which has our best interests at heart.

Never in my lifetime have I felt so strongly that God is our only hope. I am grateful that he is open for business, listening to our petitions, working his purposes out with us in mind. He’s created a world in which he invites us to partner with him, through prayer. Come on, church. Let’s be the powerhouse he wants us to be! In Jesus name.

We do know where we are going, and we do know the route. Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.

 

Glen Doll

 

We hiked into the beautifully-named Glen Doll yesterday to Corrie Fee, where the wind had a strength and a bite that drove us back. We walked unencumbered except for water and a light lunch, and enjoyed the wooded scenery, waterfalls, and quiet beauty.

I remember when Don and I hiked over the Pyrenees, intending to walk several days of the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. At one point, the trail was carved out of the steep hillside and we balanced along it, precariously, owing to the weight of the backpacks we bore. I feared that if I looked down at the wooded scenery, waterfalls, and quiet beauty, I would be in danger of rolling down the hillside towards the stream at the bottom.

As I carry burdens through life, I become wrinkled with anxiety and puckered with concern. The anxieties threaten to topple me over the edge. I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but reminding myself this morning that Jesus invites us to lay our burdens down at his cross, to throw all our cares onto his shoulders, and he will carry them as we do life together.

Once again, I do that. I have no desire to slip over into the ravine. I want to focus my eyes upwards and enjoy the walk, like I did yesterday.

 

Treasure Hunters

 

On this glorious September afternoon, I was outside picking the last of a good pea crop, when I noticed two range rovers parked inside the field that surrounds our house. Two men, equipped with metal detectors, walked carefully through the harvested field. Up and down, up and down.  Headsets on, waving these sensitive wands above the surface of the field.

A couple of miles away stands a hill, on which a famous battle was fought during Mary Queen of Scots’ reign. The Battle of Corrichie. Undoubtedly, troops would have traversed this area, both before, in anxious hope, and after, in fearful flight, perhaps, or in aggressive chase.

Scotland has a long history. The Romans went through this area before all the tumult of the last several hundred years. Anything could lie beneath the surface.

Intriguing, but I was a little concerned about who these two guys were, who had so audaciously parked their big cars in the field. Eventually one came over and addressed me by name. I hadn’t recognised him: it was the laird, the landowner on whose estate our modest house sits. If anyone had the right to hunt for treasure here, it was him!

Hunt for treasure. Kris Vallotton encourages Christians to ‘call out the gold’ in one another. To look past the dirt and the muck and expect to find gold in other peoples’ hearts. We are made in the image of God. We each have treasure within us, put there by our Father. Sometimes we are so modest and lacking in self-esteem that we need another person to notice, and to ‘call out the gold’. To help one other become all that God intends us to become.

It’s a challenge to us all, to look at others and see them as God sees them, through Holy Spirit specs, so that we can call out the gold. I want to be that encourager this week, don’t you?

A Chevron of Geese

 

We heard them before they were in view. A chevron of geese heading off as summer begins to shut down and autumn heralds colder days to come. We watched as they crossed our skies, honking at one another. Arguing over whose turn it was to lead? Discussing which way they should go? Indicating weariness and a desire to find a place to rest overnight?

Geese make a lot of noise, but they seem to get where they are headed through frequent changes of leadership. As one leader grows tired, another flaps up from the wings and takes the helm.

We need the most able to lead us, nationally and globally, through the crisis of climate change, through the pandemic of Covid-19, through the civil unrest over injustice, and through negotiations to establish harmonious working relationships with our neighbours and other trading partners.

There is a lot of honking going on right now. People jostling to be heard; folks suffering the terrible effects of lockdown, of the virus, of working-from-home in less than ideal conditions. Pain and lack are all around. We are all weary.

This morning I read the words of John in his first letter, writing to people who were enduring hard times in the first century. ‘Do not let anyone lead you astray’, or, in another version ‘Don’t let anyone divert you from the truth.’

As I said, we need the most able to lead us through the many emergencies into which the world has plunged. I guess we better keep honking. (and praying!)

Forgiveness

 

Oh, for the lively imagination of a six-year-old! She has to dictate the books she wants to write because she can’t keep up with her thoughts (nor can I!), ranging from blue elephants to fairy godmothers. On Sunday, Flick asked Mhairi for some cotton wool to make a picture. She glued it onto some card, then drew and cut out birds to paste onto the puffy clouds. Next came a couple of people.

One is Jesus, she explained. The other is a dead girl who has gone to live with Jesus.

Mhairi suggested that paintings in galleries have titles. What title would she like to give this picture? She thought a moment, and then declared, ‘Forgiveness’.

The simple profundity of a six-year-old! Jesus said that we should be like little children. May I have that same simplicity and acceptance today, Lord, which I see in the beautiful faith of a six-year-old girl.