Thin Ice

One winter, several years ago, we went up the valley with the family and their friends, and Dusty, the dog. Snow lay on the ground and we stopped at a loch to play on the ice. There was laughter and joy as some ‘skated’ out.

But I was most aware of the cracks appearing in the ice. I could hear them. I could sense them. I couldn’t always see them. Everyone else insisted it was safe. They wanted to play hockey. They wanted to slip and slide. I went back to the car, fearful of the consequences if the ice did not hold. Dusty chose to come with me.

The corona virus pandemic has given the world pause for thought. We have been skating on thin ice for years, oblivious to the cracking. The ecology of the world is threatened; the ice is not only cracking, literally, it is melting fast. I am convicted that my whole life has been lived in ignorance of the brutal racial injustices perpetrated by whites against blacks in America, my ‘home, sweet, home’.

The ice has not just cracked, it has broken, and we are floundering in the freezing water. Our hope, our only hope, is in Jesus, our Saviour, who is in the water with us. He isn’t floundering. He is there, strong and able, mighty to save each of us when we cry out to him, mighty to save the world for which he died.

This morning I cry out to him to save this world, his world, from the evil engulfing us. When God’s people humble themselves and pray, he promises to not only hear, but to heal, to heal the land, to heal the hearts of the people. May the sound of his voice cause the pandemic to recede, justice to flow to those who suffer persecution, and the hearts, minds and wills of the people to effect change in our lifestyles so that the earth can recover. You, Jesus, who are mighty to save, save us. We are helpless without you.

Trimmed and Promising

Three tree-trimmers rolled up here early this morning, tasked with cutting back the trees which have grown too close to the overhead power lines. Some of the leaves of the elm were scorched, revealing that power had arced and singed them in the past.

Peace has come now that they have left. Trees look like they have had a bad haircut, lopped and trimmed severely. I’m grateful that the lilac had largely finished blooming, as all of that would be gone otherwise.

We are left with a small hillock of wood chips, which will be useful in the garden.

Nothing wasted.

Jesus told his followers that his Father, our Father, is the divine gardener. He prunes us as we have need, where we have grown too vigorously, where we are in danger of being singed by powers stronger than we recognise.

This is the day the Lord has made. He is pruning us all. May we submit and have teachable spirits, humbly allowing him to re-make us in the image of Jesus, our servant-king.

Not Enough Bandwidth

We Zoomed and connected with a few friends ‘at church’ before the start of the service yesterday morning. Then, as Tony launched the worship, our screen went blank. We were left looking at the logo, silent and still.

We tried the iPad. Same problem.

Not enough bandwidth. Internet too slow. Again. We rebooted the router, twice, and finally, having missed the worship music, the prayer, and the children’s spot, we managed to re-join in time to hear his sermon and participate in the breakout room at the end.

Not enough bandwidth. Connection poor, slow.

Many times, my connection with God is poor, is slow. I don’t have enough bandwidth because I don’t spend enough time with him, deepening the connection, sharpening my hearing, softening my heart, renewing my mind, re-filling with his Spirit.

I woke up hearing the news on the radio. Can things get much darker? Now Isis is on the move again in Syria, Iraq. Famine in Yemen. Racial injustices. Religious persecutions. Refugee crises. Wars. Pandemic. Lock-down. Brexit. Narcissistic leaders whose integrity is compromised by self-interest and influenced by rich and powerful corporations and individuals.

The joy of the Lord is your strength. I can only receive that joy by upgrading my connection to God, installing fibre-optic cable in place of the old copper wires, broadening the bandwidth so that whatever news this day will bring, I will focus on God, walk in hope and be still, knowing that he is God, that he is good, and that he never leaves us nor forsakes us.

I need to re-boot my connection, maybe by holding a memory verse in my mind through the day, or listening to praise music, or setting a timer and every time it reminds me, spend a minute being still and knowing that he is God.

If ever we needed a good connection to our Father in heaven, it is now.

 

Plans

In March, I had plans to fly to visit Mom, as I do every March. I had planned and made the appointments she needed. I had plans to take a road trip with Mhairi, to visit friends in Morro Bay, to help Mhairi pack for her move.

Covid-19 interrupted, and all those plans were dropped.

That was just the beginning. All the more routine plans were dropped. Meetings cancelled. Conferences. Church services. Social visits.

It’s like being snowed in, for months. There are no expectations, real or imagined, that I have to meet, because safety dictates everyone’s moves.

We make our plans as though we are in control of our lives. If Covid-19 has taught me anything, it is to hold lighter to my plans and expectations. God is in control.

God is in control, and he is a good, good God, who loves us enough to die for us. Whether I ever fulfil my plans or, indeed, begin to make new ones, he will be with me in it all. I have learned that he is faithful, the only one on whom we can really, truly, count, to be with us right to the end.

Plagues and Pandemics

Plague. Pandemic.

A lot has been said about developing tests to check a person’s antibodies, to see if they have had Covid-19. Other types of test determine if a person currently suffers from Covid-19.

The unanswered question about the first type of test’s efficacy is whether having had Covid-19 once, carrying antibodies to it, will immunise a person from contracting it again. That is the potential problem with vaccines, too: for how long will a vaccine render a person safe from catching the disease?

The world has suffered an on-going pandemic of sin ever since Eve bit into the forbidden fruit. We don’t really need a test to see if we have ever been infected by sin: we know that it is endemic in humanity. We are all sinners.

Jesus came to earth to become the vaccine against sin. One vaccine. We each need to receive the vaccine just once. But sin remains rampant and we all are exposed again and again every day. Without a daily booster shot, received when we draw near to God and invite him to draw near to us, we will become not only infected but infectious. I said daily, but maybe hourly is more accurate, or even minute-by-minute. We need the cleansing blood of Jesus to wash away the sin living and replicating within our hearts and minds; we need his Holy Spirit to equip us to recognise and resist temptation, to recognise and fight spiritual attacks on all fronts.

We need Jesus. Now more than ever, as the pandemic of the corona virus runs rampant globally in parallel to the pandemic of racism; gender discrimination; child abuse; war; religious persecution; and idolatry: worship of money and fame, power and prestige.

I’m pulling in for my booster shot now. I need Jesus.

The heart of a child

One of my favourite memories is of the sound of my parents laughing over breakfast. Waking up in the back bedroom, where I grew up, as a visiting adult: California sunshine streaming in through the blinds: smelling the coffee and hearing the laughter. The laughter.

I miss that.

When my sister died of cancer, aged 37, I thought I might never laugh again. But I had three young children, soon to be four, and they kept me laughing. Their wonder and excitement as they discovered the beautiful world God has given us to live in, was infectious; their loving hugs and cuddles were so comforting; life went on and so did laughter.

No wonder Jesus praised the little children; they reveal the Kingdom to us.

What makes God laugh, I wonder? In the midst of racial strife and injustice, of pandemic deaths and uncertainties, of refugee camps and persecution and gender inequality, how can he find anything to make him laugh?

I sing, ‘Break my heart for what breaks yours’, but in a way, surely, I get that. It’s all of the above and more. My prayer today is, ‘Show my heart what makes yours sing and laugh’.

My thoughts are drawn to the children again. Watching Flick’s delight in slugs and snails and ladybirds, hearing her laughter as she discovers details about these creatures. She reveals the Kingdom to all who have eyes to see.

Today, Lord, give me the heart of a little child.

Beeps and Noise

I was getting quite proficient at Zoom, I thought. Until last week, when my mic only produced a series of clicks and beeps. We could see our church family but their voices came through as a blast of noise and our voices went out in the same irritating way.

The mic works fine on Skype, so I was advised to uninstall Zoom and then reinstall. Did that yesterday, but the same interfering noises are all the Zoom mic can transmit or pick up.

Fortunately, I can Zoom fine on my iPad. Just not on the laptop.

Despite my extolling the virtues of my prayer window, I wonder if sometimes our prayer platforms can become tired or over-familiar. I wonder if sometimes my prayers sound like a series of irritating beeps and clicks to God, maybe because I’ve settled into a routine and don’t have my heart and soul invested in it.

I think it’s probably helpful to uninstall the routine. To shake it up, try something new. Start with a time of praise music perhaps. Or a moment or two of meditation. Change the study guides I use.

I know that our heavenly Father is so loving and forgiving, that he listens even when all I’m doing is beeping and clicking. But I’d prefer to connect, heart to heart.

Behold, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.

Indy

Indy, the quirky cat, loves sleeping in my prayer window. I had to encourage her onto my lap when I went in this morning. She lay there for awhile, purring contentedly, before jumping down, wandering off, and then returning, trying to squash in behind me. Pushing me off, really.

It worked. I stood for the final few minutes, so she could curl up in comfort, purring again.

There is a stillness in that window seat. There is peace. Not that Indy is bothered by Covid-19, Brexit, racism, electioneering, the economy, health issues, restrictions impacting relationships…but I am. And when I sit down, or stand, in that place of prayer, I sense the presence which brings the peace which passes all understanding.

Some people have a certain walk, a certain stone, a certain beach, a certain place, where they sense the presence of our loving heavenly Father. He can be found everywhere, but some places seem thinner than others for making that divine connection.

Be still and know that I am God. The Prince of peace.

Hats off to Teachers

 ‘Do you remember any of your teachers’ names?’

The floor manager in the residence where my mom lives was on the Skype call, too.

‘Sure,’ replied my nearly 96-year-old Mom. ‘Miss Sheridan.’

‘Why do you remember her?’

‘Because she had a way of coming alongside everyone, and bringing the best out of them. I’ll never forget her.’

She might forget that she’s asked me about the weather several times already. She might forget about lock-down. But she remembers the name of an outstanding teacher who made a difference in her life.

Paul cautioned that teachers had such a responsible role to play, one should only be a teacher if called to be one.

Hats off to all those who labour away teaching, coming alongside students even on Zoom, calling out the gold with words of encouragement. Especially during these days, when many are exhausted with the extra work load of preparing a class and marking papers online, while at the same time sharing the broadband with another member of the family working from home and juggling child care between them. I’ve got a certain Newtyle couple in mind. You probably have such outstanding folk in mind, too.

May God bless and encourage teachers as they face an uncertain future while providing security and imparting knowledge in new and challenging ways.

Blackbird singing

I awoke at 3 am. It was still dark, but the beautiful song of the blackbird broke the silence. She was singing her heart out. It was not yet dawn, but she was already singing.

Racial injustice, pandemic, trade negotiations, political ineptness, refugee crises, locust plagues, wars, persecution. The list goes on. It is still dark. Maybe it’s darkest just before dawn. I want to be like the blackbird today. I want to sing a beautiful song of praise to our God and King, who walks with us through these valleys and up the mountains. As I trust in him to bring us through, my heart lifts and so does my voice. Help me, Lord, to do that today.

 

Holes

The in-go in my prayer window is lined with knotty pine. When we redesigned the room several years ago, it was my job to putty the nail holes, sand them down and varnish. Or at least, it must have been my job to do the bottom two or three rows of holes, because those are the ones which didn’t get sanded down enough. The putty smeared and was then varnished over, revealing not just where the nail holes were, but where we tried to cover them up. The ones at eye height are nearly invisible: Don’s attention to detail, his perfectionist instincts, persuade me that he did those ones.

Every morning I am reminded of my imperfections when I see the messiness of the smears. The only way to get rid of them would be to sand it all back to the bare wood and start again.

I try to hide the holes in my character. I plug them with activities and smear the plugs with more activities or good-sounding words. Time, like a varnish, has sealed them in and as I come before God and ask him to change me, he has to get out the sandpaper. It takes time. It hurts. Only God, the real Perfectionist, knows when he has got out all the phoney filler. Only he can fill the revealed holes with his presence. Only he can heal the hurts. Only he can remove the pain.

All I can do is be willing, willing for him to work on me, willing to trust him absolutely. To wait. To be still and know that He is God.

This pandemic can reveal holes in us, holes which only God can heal. We all agree it is painful. But as we trust and wait, he can make something beautiful out of what was stained and spoiled. Today I will stop making excuses, be still and know.

June Gloom

June gloom. Southern California used to have more predictable weather when I was growing up, and the month of June was characterised by early morning low clouds, giving way to sunshine around noon. By July, the gloom had dispersed.

Here in north-eastern Scotland, there is something called the coastal haar, which is fog. We are far enough inland usually to avoid it, but occasionally it afflicts us as well. We’ve been under the blanket of haar now for three or four days, with more to come. June gloom threatens to dampen my mood.

As I looked out of my prayer window this morning, a bit grumpy about the gloom when the rest of the island seems to be glorying in sunshine and warmth, I became aware of the bushes on the other side. June is a time of growth spurts, and if I don’t get the shears out soon, I won’t be seeing out of the window at all! I was noticing the spikes of growth when suddenly I saw one, two, three and more spider webs strung from one twig to another. They were invisible without the damp haar, but the moisture in the air sparkled on the delicate strands and I could see the spiders’ traps.

Life is hard world-wide right now. There are so many spikes of suffering, and as I become focused on one or more of these spikes, I don’t perceive the traps which lurk unseen. Traps that lure me into stances of judgment, forgetting that ours is a God of mercy. Traps that lure me into sloughs of despair, when ours is a God of hope. Traps which trick me into thinking things will never get better, when ours is a God of love.

May that God of love open my eyes today to the webs of deception. May that God of hope fill me with strength and hope by the power of his Holy Spirit. May that God of mercy move me to work and act to right the wrongs, leaving judgment to God as he reminds me of the mercy he has shown me in Jesus Christ.

The haar will lift, and the webs will disappear from view, though they will remain. May I avoid all the traps as I focus on our Lord.

Seeds of Grace

All spring we watched the farmers round us plough the soil and plant the seed. It sprouted and has been growing. One crop of silage has already been harvested and the second is growing.

The year of the virus, the pandemic, has ploughed the fields of our expectations. It has stirred up the complacencies of ‘same old same old’ and overturned the settled-ness of our approach to life. I know that I never foresaw a time when I would be prevented from hugging and holding my precious children and grandchildren. I never imagined I would not be able to board a plane and visit my Mom, unless it was because I couldn’t afford the ticket. Not that when I got there, I would not be allowed in to hug and hold her.

Others imagined they would be donning graduation caps and gowns and enjoying being feted after years of hard work. Others planned their weddings, bought the dresses, sent out invitations. Others booked holidays. Others planned still to be alive at the end of the year: plans cut short by virus and violence.

We all sowed into 2020 and expected a return.

Those expectations have been ploughed up, broken. We have had time to rest, perhaps, dormant and shielded from regular activities, and my prayer is that during this time seeds are taking root, seeds which will bring about change. Change maybe in our individual circumstances, if change is needed. New ways of working, new ways of relating to other people, new priorities. Change for the better, growing out of upheaval and misery. Change certainly in our social circumstances, so that racism is called out wherever it skulks and all people can expect an equal chance, equal opportunities, equal respect. New criteria for honouring people of the past, new horizons for people of colour, new mindsets for those whose perceptions have been warped by tradition or conditioning or fake news.

May seeds of grace grow tall and strong under the warmth of our Saviour’s love. May 2020 segue into the year of change, the year of opportunity, the year where some dreams died but others were born and began to grow, heralding a new era for this sad and weary world.

Acceptable Risks

It was a two-man delivery for the new fridge freezer. We were advised of the arrival time by text and phone call. When they came, they were super-friendly. They collected the old one from the garage where we had dragged it earlier in the morning. They unloaded the new one, also into the garage, and waved a friendly farewell.

“Sorry, can’t come inside. Covid.”

Hmm. There we were, three of us, trying to manhandle an extra tall fridge freezer into the kitchen. We got it as far as the back door, but when we recognised we needed to tip it, which would require holding the full weight of it, Mhairi and I demurred.

We called the farmer. Great to have neighbours who help each other.

Don went to change the doors to a left-hand opening. A special screwdriver was required and despite his boxes of the things, he didn’t have that one. So off to a hardware store to buy one.

New fridge-freezer is now installed and humming away behind me.

I wonder, in these days of lock-down, whether some businesses are claiming Covid to streamline their own work. Had we vacated the kitchen, there would have been no chance of Covid floating around while they wheeled it in.

Had I been on my own, how would I have managed? Two neighbours would have been required.

It is good to be careful and to stay safe. Sometimes, it might also be good to take slight risks, in order to help others. I don’t want to be so scared of the virus that I leave people struggling on their own.

May God give us all wisdom to recognise acceptable risks for the sake of others, and take them.

Prepared!

An expected delivery of a new fridge-freezer got us out of bed earlier this morning. We emptied the old broken one and shifted it outside for pick-up, then cleaned underneath and prepared the space for the new one to go.

Looking down the driveway, we realised some of the tree branches are hanging low, especially with the load of water from overnight rain. Out came the ladder and the ‘loppers’, and as Don climbed and stretched and lopped, I steadied him on the ladder and prepared to catch him if he fell (hah!).

We don’t know when the lorry will arrive, nor how big it will be. But we have made some preparations.

We are living through incredibly uncertain times. Government guidelines one day are apt to change the next. Nobody really knows the way forward; everyone is scrambling in the dark to find the safest way to return to ‘normal’ life.

We don’t know when lock-down will lift, nor how that will look and what it will mean. Many are extremely uncertain, not knowing even if they will have jobs. How can we prepare?

Be still and know that I am God. In times of uncertainty, (as in all times), he is our first port-of-call, our rock. Being still and knowing is the best way to prepare, for as our faith is strengthened, our confidence returns and we move forward in trust.

Thorny Gorse

Two sides of the wet field are fringed by neon-bright gorse bushes. The flowers glare a warning – the thorns are not to be messed with. I rarely walk in that boggy field, but when I do, I enter and exit through the gate.

There are so many unjust things going on in the world right now. Perhaps the lock down due to the pandemic has given many of us more time to reflect; perhaps that reflective time has contributed to the global outrage against racism which is sweeping the world as a result of the brutal racist murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis. It’s past time for such outrage to effect real change.

We are all called to walk through that boggy field. I have only recently become more aware of the historic horror of racism which has persisted despite the Emancipation Proclamation, despite the outcome of the American Civil War. It feels like a virulent virus which has been under my radar in many ways, for most of my life, and now I am awaking to the despicable truth that slavery was never really abolished: it just expressed itself in a different form which has kept our black sisters and brothers oppressed and justifiably fearful.

I am moving into that boggy field now, joining other protesters with placards saying Black Lives Matter, determined to do what I can to make a difference. There are thorns around that field, thorns which need to be tackled, but for me it is important to enter through the gate. Jesus is the gate through which we pass. I look to him for guidance on how I can make a difference. I’m sure there will be a time when we tackle the thorns, together.

Tweets

As we retraced our steps along the wooded lane, Mhairi remarked how green and lush it looked: with an old tumbledown shed to the front of us, it resembled a painting by Constable or another artist. The rain was beginning to drizzle onto us, fine and light.

Passing on to the paved drive through farming fields we became aware of a bird – perhaps a pied wagtail – ushering us onwards, darting forward and back, calling out with apparent agitation. We wondered if there were a nest nearby and he was warning us off. We speculated that once we’d departed his neighbourhood, he might have bragged about the way he saw off the intruders before they could do any real damage.

We were passing through, with no intentions towards the bird, obviously. It made me wonder, though, how often in life I see issues or people, giants, who are ‘passing through’, and I imagine them to be threats. Sometimes, I imagine that my actions prevent the threat from occurring, when, in fact, there never was danger or risk.

Sometimes an issue or a person can be a risk, though, and again, I might be the one to prevent the situation but, more likely, as I’ve agitated and worried, it’s God who has protected me from a negative result. I congratulate myself later for having accomplished something significant, when, in fact, my tweets from the sides made no difference at all.

James, the brother of Jesus, wrote that if we lack wisdom, we should ask God, who ‘gives  generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.’ In these days, there are many situations, real and fearfully imagined, which require wisdom. I don’t know about you, but I feel a little like we’re careening down a steep hill in a go-cart with nobody steering. But of course, somebody is steering. Perhaps the lack of great leadership will expose more clearly the divine leadership which will guide us all home.

We will be most effective when we stop tweeting from the side, and start praying on our knees.

Bread of life

I continue to struggle with my bread making machine. It’s perfect – except that increasingly frequently, once I have all the ingredients in the container, I can’t seem to engage it with the motor mixer in the machine.

I practice before I put in the ingredients. No problem. Then fill the container and five minutes later, it refuses to slot together. So far, Don has managed to do it eventually, so we are still getting bread.

It remains a challenge to get the flour that I like, but I’ve found that Buchanan’s Bistro in Banchory is selling strong granary and whole wheat flour, so have ordered from them.

Bread. Basic bread, wholesome, nutritious, life-giving bread.

Jesus called himself the bread of life. I am grateful that it’s easy to engage with him, when I take the time. I am grateful that all I need is an open heart, a willing spirit, a teachable mind, and the faith to know that he is, indeed, fully risen, and he nourishes me completely.

Thank you, Jesus.

The song birds will again be heard

The normal peace and quiet is ruptured early when a cohort of tractors and trailers and other farm vehicles converge on the field which surrounds our house. A vehicle whips round ahead of the other two tractors, literally whirling the cut silage into raised lines of grass. Expertly, the other two farmers zoom round the field in tandem, one machine sucking up the grass and launching it into the trailer attached to the other tractor. It’s all done at break-neck speed as seagulls, pretty far inland, soar and dive overhead, excited at the meal they expect.

Now, two or three hours later, they’ve gone. The field is bare. I don’t even hear the seagulls. Perhaps they’ve moved on with the tractors, groupies in search of the next meal.

The glorious chorus of varied birdsong I heard last night, with the cuckoo as percussion, has gone silent in the mayhem. I do hear the odd crow, but none of the trilling and singing we usually enjoy. I know they’ll be back.

I look across the ‘pond’ at the land of my birth and I see mayhem and strife. In a paroxysm of pain with over 100,000 covid-related deaths. Writhing with over 40 million unemployed. With such a tinder box of heartache and sorrow, anger and fear, a racist crime committed by police has been the spark to ignite expressions of justified outrage. Expressions which began in peace, have been infiltrated and overtaken by noisy disruptors stirring violence and expressions of utter frustration.

There is a vacuum of leadership from the top. Nero fiddles while Rome burns. The commander in chief is playing golf, or eating a Big Mac, or staging a photo op in front of a church, or, worse, preparing to send out the military and quell the crowds with more violence.

It’s past time for dialogue to get serious, to mean something, to shift the endemic prejudice that threads through institutions and to bring about change. It’s past time for justice to break out, justice spouting like a fountain from the core of each individual, changing attitudes, changing traditions, changing expectations, creating a new normal. It’s past time for that new normal to really recognise the equality and dignity of every human being, regardless of race, gender, or creed.

There is no silence yet, and I don’t expect there will be for some time.

But my hope is rooted in Christ, the Prince of Peace. So as we watch in horror, I pray for us all: ‘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.’

The song birds will again be heard.

.

Atmosphere of growth

We planted the aubergine seeds at the same time as the courgette seeds. We’ve just transplanted and potted on the courgettes, which are growing before our eyes. The aubergines have sprouted. That’s about all there is to say about them.

We’ve never grown either before so aren’t sure when they might flower and fruit. (veg?) We have high hopes but the weather has to co-operate, too.

God’s Spirit is growing his fruit in my life. Some of it germinated quickly. I can occasionally be surprised to notice that I was more patient than I used to be, perhaps, or kinder. Other characteristics of God’s nature, which I long to have growing in my life, haven’t quite popped through yet, or if they have, they are certainly needing a lot of sunshine and nurture to do much growing. I could do with a bit quicker growth of the self-control fruit, I notice sometimes.

We are all different, and the soil of our lives feeds God’s fruits, which grow at different rates in each of us. May these trying times create a hothouse atmosphere in which we all be blessed with a spurt of faithfulness, with a boost of joy which others ‘catch’, with a generous dollop of peace and love, and with significant growth in all the other fruits of the Spirit. Happy Pentecost!