Steeped or marinated?

One of our wedding gifts was a tea cosy from Hong Kong, where friends lived at the time. In those days, few folk used tea bags in a mug. Most people I knew used loose tea in a pot, and the cosy kept it hot as it steeped.

Steeping made it strong.

When we were raising our rather big family, I normally bought the cheaper cuts of meat. They were cheaper because they were tough, and needed marinating.

Marinating made it tender.

As I steep my mind in the truth of God as revealed in the Bible, I am strengthened to stand against the injustices all around me. I am strengthened to step forward and speak out about global and national injustices, and I am strengthened to stand with those I know who are suffering injustice.

As I marinate my heart in Jesus, in worship and in prayer, I gain God’s compassion and love. I can speak out, then, from a place of love, trusting God to work through me to soften the hearts of others and right the injustices.

Be still in the presence of the Lord, and wait patiently for him to act. Psalm 37.

Sometimes he chooses to act through us.

Just Breathe

I seem to have a problem breathing.

Not ordinary breathing, when on dry land where I was created to be. No problem there, thank goodness. But in the water? Breathing without anxiety, gracefully and rhythmically, while crawling or breast-stroking through it – panic rises, my strokes falter and I gasp and choke for air.

I was full of enthusiasm, thinking that perhaps I was more relaxed in the water now than I used to be. I’ve been enjoying a weekly swim with my neighbour in our new local swimming pool. I signed up for lessons for improvers. I was eager to discover that my childhood clumsiness with swimming was over and that now, confident and secure, I would glide without effort in a graceful crawl or rhythmic breast stroke.

It is not to be. Don consoled me, noting that though he’d love to play the bagpipes, he’s just not musical and can’t hear the rhythm, can’t hear the beat. I’m not a swimmer. I can swim, and I still am going once a week, but I am never going to be a swimmer.

The Bible describes the church as the body of Christ. Some are created as Jesus’ mouthpiece, good at preaching or teaching. Others are Jesus’ hands, great at helping. Others are Jesus’ feet, going out and sharing the gospel. None of us can be everything.

Jesus loves me as I am.

So, no Olympic gold for me. Not for swimming, anyway.

A Little Rest

‘Let’s take a break and get a little rest,’ Jesus said to his exhausted followers.

I remember the constant pressure of having toddlers and pre-schoolers in the home, the energetic activity and endless demands. Once I planted a couple of mine in front of ‘Playschool’, a television programme which was on for fifteen or twenty minutes in the morning. I quietly closed the door to the bedroom and sank to my knees. I wanted to take a break with Jesus, and get a little rest.

Within a minute or two, however, both kids burst into the bedroom, arguing over something.

Jesus went off with his tired friends, but by the time they arrived at their place of rest, a huge crowd surrounded them, demanding his ministry. With compassion and grace, Jesus went ‘right to work’ teaching them.

I’d like to say mine was a reaction of compassion and grace. I was more like the disciples, advising Jesus to send the crowd away. I was irritated and cross, cheated of my fifteen minutes of rest with Jesus. I felt like sending the kids ‘away’ back to the telly. I didn’t show any compassion or grace, and never tried to get away again like that, recognising I showed more grace sitting with them watching Playschool than bursting into an angry tirade when my moment was gone.

Circumstances don’t always let us get away to a quiet place with Jesus and get some rest. He can give us ‘rest on the run’ when we’re under pressure, but for me, anyway, making space in my day or week to take a little break with Jesus, maybe worshipping with Christian music or walking with him in the woods, is crucial for my health.

A Far Better Thing

‘It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before,’ said Sidney Carlton as he went to the guillotine in place of another. (Dickens, Tale of Two Cities)

By his stripes, you are healed, the Bible says. Because Jesus suffered, I am saved. It’s an incredible equation, far from balanced. So unfair for Jesus to suffer for me, a sinner, so that I can be free, so that I can know his presence now and forever.

Just feeling so grateful and full of praise today. And also, aware that as one of Jesus’ followers, I am called to walk the way of the cross as I follow him. May he strengthen me for all the challenges of the Way. May I never disappoint him, as I depend on his grace and love to enable me to praise and witness.

New Life

A blanket of black, slimy leaves lies on the flower bed, covering what lies beneath. Tangled with the leaves are limp stalks of last year’s flowers, spotted with decay, broken and dead.

The weather yesterday was spring-like, so when I got a few moments, I wheeled the barrow beside the flower bed and clipped away the stringy stalks, scooped up the dead leaves. As I worked, I uncovered the shoots of new life. I stepped gingerly on the ground in order to reach the back, wary of wounding any of the tender daffodils, crocus and snowdrops breaking through the earth.

These onion-like bulbs lie brown and dormant most of the year, but time and season are beginning to draw them out of hibernation. From what seemed dead, new life is sprouting. Fed, protected even, by what lay above for the last few months.

The miracle of life. God’s gracious gift to us all. May he use that which is dead in us to feed new shoots of hope and faith. He is good. He is faithful. He is at our right hand. He will not leave nor condemn. May I – may you – focus on him. His ways are not my ways, but his ways are right. May I humble myself before him, and follow, repentant and forgiven, rejoicing in the one who made me, who died for me, who lives in me. Without him, there is no life.

May he use my failures, use my disappointments, use my hurts to make more room within me for his Spirit to live. May my brokenness reveal his light. May his joy be my strength, today and every day.

Jesus, all for Jesus. All I have and am, and evermore will be.

Wind, wind, blow on me!

Wintry winds shriek round the house. No snow thus far. No ice. But the wind reminds me that it is indeed winter.

Wind, wind, blow on me: that worship song was popular when I was born again in 1980. Wind, wind, set me free. With great excitement and hunger to know God in a new, deeper way, I sang with fervour. Wind, wind, blow on me!

I thought, then, of the wind of the Spirit as a gentle breeze bringing refreshment and joy. I have a sensual memory of such a breeze in Long Beach when I was growing up: I have a memory of the welcome sense of that breath of wind in a certain shopping strip where I’d gone to get bread.

I’ve learned through the years, however, that the wind of the Spirit can feel like the wintry winds, buffeting me and ruffling my preconceptions, stirring up my complacencies, disturbing the worldly detritus which has blown into my soul and whipping them up and out, bringing cleansing, however uncomfortable that may be.

So, today, on this wintry, windy day, I still sing: wind, wind, blow on me. Set me free. He is faithful and he will do it, and he will strengthen me to welcome his refreshing presence, however disturbing it may be.

Thank you

Sunlight streams from a white-washed sky this morning, its weak wintry rays penetrating the windows, spotted and smeared with muddy cat paws.

We have all sinned and fallen short of God. My attention can be drawn to those smears and spots, lying between me and the Light, and I can forget that when we were still sinners Jesus chose to die for us.

I can feel unworthy and make more effort to earn my way into the Kingdom, but God reminds me that it’s not by works but by faith that we are saved. He has washed us clean.

Lord, this day help me to look beyond the smears and spots which stain my life. Help me to look to you. You have forgiven. You have moved on. Help me, Lord, to accept your forgiveness and move on, not imprisoned by memories which condemn but set free by the word that declares, ‘there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.’ (Romans 8:1)

Though I am indeed unworthy, yet you love me, Jesus. Thank you. On this wintry day, thank you.

Happy New Year

For years, the farmer has not walked through January without his soulmate. But she passed on six months ago, and today I watch as his green tractor ploughs a lonely furrow in the field over the road. Though loss leaves a gaping hole in the soul, the dailiness of routine demands keep him grounded, perhaps keep him sane.

Jesus promised never to leave nor forsake us. Nobody else can make such a promise and keep it. We are in his powerful, loving hands. He rides beside the farmer in that field – up and down, up and down, mind-numbing and yet demanding his attention. Distracting his thoughts. Filling his hours.

We have turned the corner into a new year. The remnants of last year may hang loose, in tatters, around us, but in the air, there is a sniff of hope. Hope that does not disappoint. Assurance that whatever this year may hold, Jesus never leaves, nor forsakes, us.

The sun shines from a pale blue sky. The winds of yesterday have abated.

Happy New Year.

Hall of Mirrors

The hall of mirrors. Remember those? Mirrors that curved and waved and reflected distorted images of yourself … perhaps with an extended body but shortened legs, or an elongated head or stretched neck. There was a recognisable resemblance but not a true image.

If anything is true, Paul wrote, think about that.

Jesus stood before Pilate, who questioned him. What is truth? As Pilate gazed at Jesus, perhaps the details of his personal circumstances, the lens of the political climate, the prejudice of cultural norms, distorted the Truth who stood before him. He couldn’t see correctly. The Truth stood before him, and he couldn’t see it!

Today as in no other day we are fed fake news in our newsfeeds, on our radios and tellies, from newspapers and out of the mouths of politicians and sales people. We need to remain vigilant, to be alert to what we are believing and to measure it all against the touchstone of Jesus, who is Truth.

It seems to me that Paul’s directions lead me to conclude that only Jesus is to be trusted as true. Most of the other ‘truths’ out there reflect a hall of mirrors.

I don’t want to live a scared life, though, reluctant to believe anything for fear it is a distortion of fact, and so this morning I ask Jesus to fill me again with his Holy Spirit, that he will inform my mind and guide my understanding and reactions.

Hats Off - or On?

We were given a priceless calendar for Christmas, each month starring different members of the family. We step into January 2020 with father/daughter sporting their own distinctive hats. Don’s has been with him since before he and I met. Mhairi has worn hers for a significant number of years.

I generally only wear a hat to stave off the cold. To me, then, a hat signifies protection, usually from the elements though at times a hard hat, a bicycle helmet, a riding hat are all important. The Bible speaks of various head coverings, appropriate at different times.

As I step into this new year, I pray that my mind will be covered by the Spirit, that I will be transformed daily by the renewing of my mind as I soak in Scripture and practice the presence of Jesus. In a world of increasing violence, I want to emanate peace. In a world of encroaching darkness, I want to shine a light. In a world of gathering gloom and despair, I want to be a touchstone of hope. In a world of widespread discouragement, I want Jesus to encourage others through me.

My head may often be bare, but it is covered with the impenetrable, invisible, Spirit of God. May I never leave my bed without this divine head covering secured.

It is well

I’m lingering over the picture of Don and Gregor, hand in hand on the clifftop path. It’s intriguing that despite his great love for his granddad, when Gregor was in trouble he turned back to Daddy. He trusted Daddy to pick him up, to carry him and keep him safe.

Sometimes I can fall into step with the world. That might look like me going along with worldly ways. Or it might look like me arguing, despairing, anxious and concerned over the direction of our politics or the plight of the environment. Keeping up with the world is exhausting.

Like Greg, I eventually give in and turn to Jesus and let his presence bring peace, restoration, and hope. Since Jesus is master of the universe, hope never dies. He is faithful. He will do what he has promised. I can trust in that, as I wait in him.

Take heart, he advised his followers. In the world there is all kinds of trouble. But I, Jesus, have overcome the world.

All will be well. All manner of things will be well.

Hand in Hand

Don strode forward across the cliff path, hand-in-hand with 3-year-old Gregor, who trotted along, two steps to his granddad’s every one. They must have walked half a mile or more when suddenly wee Greg broke away and came back to Daddy. His face creased and grew wet with tears as he sobbed out, ‘Daddy, I’m tired!’

He had been doing so well. No complaints; happy to be hand-in-hand with his buddy, his granddad. But his little legs weren’t quite up to the demands and his will gave way to the reality.

We’d been trailing them, chuckling at the cute picture they made and marvelling at Greg’s grit and stamina, his desire to keep up.

If he’d complained earlier, I’m sure the pace would have slowed. But he didn’t.

For me, the walking partner is usually myself, metaphorically speaking. I step away briskly, a huge To Do list and a mistaken belief that I can get through it all. I want to keep going at a brisk pace. I want to do it all.

Maybe I used to do it all.

Eventually, I realise just how tired I am. That’s when I find the One who never leaves me has, indeed, not left me. He might let me lean on him. He might have to pick me up.

This year, the year of vision and hope, 2020, I intend to try to pace myself. Or, rather, I intend to try to discern the pace Jesus is setting, and keep in step with him.

May we all keep pace with Jesus, and not the rat-race world in which we live.