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.

Creation Care

 

Creation care. I want to stop being distracted by Covid-19 and a certain election and get back to working on reducing my impact on this planet. I missed a lot of David Attenborough’s presentation last night, but what I saw was enough to break my heart and make me say again, without God’s help, we just can’t do it!

With God’s help, I might just remember to take my own containers when I go to the supermarket, because they will put fish and meat into my containers without using plastic. I’m disappointed that the farmer’s market in Scott Skinner’s Square is selling its berries in the same sort of plastic packaging from the supermarket: next Saturday I’m going to ask if I can decant what I buy into my own container and leave them to refill the plastic box. There are so many things needing addressing…

I’ve made my own laundry soap from an olive oil soap bar and soda crystals. It seems to work just as well as the other stuff. I bought the olive oil soap in Rhodes: could I sneak back out there to buy supplies? 😉

Recently, I purchased liquid castile soap, which I mixed with lemon juice, tea tree oil and vinegar to create a dishwasher soap. I’m not so excited about the results. The dishwasher smells lovely as the castile soap is lavender scented, but I’m not convinced the dishes are as clean.

Joey suggested it may require more packaging to buy in the various ingredients than it would to bulk buy an eco-friendly alternative. She could be right.

Nothing is straightforward. Save on one thing, spend on another. But the earth can’t afford us to be spending anymore on its welfare, so any ideas are welcome.

Creation care. It’s time we all cared passionately about this beautiful world we inhabit, and took some trouble to do something about it. Note to self.

Clouds

 

I am not a runner, and if I were, I would choose to sprint rather than run a marathon. I believe that there comes a point during a marathon, perhaps around Mile 18 or so, that the exhausted runner is in danger of losing the will to continue. It is at that point that spectators lining the route are critical for encouraging the runners to dig deep, find the energy and the will, and persevere.

They might step forward, offering a drink, an energy bar, a towel, a smile.

Don’t give up!

The writer to the Hebrews, who were under pressure and persecution, said, ‘Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus…’

New restrictions are coming into place in Scotland. New limits to try to bring the spread of Covid-19 under control. Many of us are weary. Many of us are lonely, exhausted, losing the will to continue this life of abnormality, a life without hugs, without reunions. Many grandchildren are growing up not knowing their grandparents. Many elderly are approaching the end of their days without the comfort of family visits, smiles and hugs.

I’m tired of it. Aren’t you?

The cloud of witnesses urges us onwards. We urge one another onwards. Stay the course. Fix your eyes on Jesus, who runs the race alongside each one of us.

There is a finish line. One day all things will be well.

Cake Walk

 

It was my birthday. Nine or ten years old. The Emerson Elementary School carnival was on after school and I had some money to play a few of the games. I never won anything, but that day I won the Cake Walk and was rewarded with a dozen donuts. I ran all the way home, so excited to have won.

Even better, my Grandma and Grandpa were visiting that day to share my delight (and my donuts!).

The music stopped. I was on the winning square. The prize was mine.

I’ve just come back from ‘brambling’. Picking the brambles (wild blackberries) that line the roads and fields at this time of year. Sometimes I had to stop and stare before I saw the little gems sparkling behind blown willow herb weeds, or in amongst the prickly gorse. Sometimes I probably missed the beautiful fruit, so well-hidden was it. Occasionally it just hangs out there asking to be picked.

Hearing from God is like that. Sometimes I can pray, read the Bible and instantly hear what God is saying to me. More often, I can pray, read the Bible, read it again, pray some more, walk away thinking about what I’ve read, and he will speak to me through some incident or image later in the day, or the week.

But I know he always speaks. He is faithful and oh, so good.

Like Watchmen

 

In this Covid-era world, I sat in the car in the doctor’s surgery carpark, awaiting a call from the nurse to come to the door and be admitted in for my blood test. I masked-up and awaited the call, reading a magazine.

Realising we were ten minutes late, I decided to go to the door and confirm on the intercom that I was waiting. The door slid open and two masked, gowned nurses greeted me with, ‘Are you Michele?’

Seems they had been calling, but their calls went direct to the messaging service, as though my phone were turned off. Which it wasn’t.

Technology. I don’t understand why that happened.

Sometimes when I pray, I act as though I fear my requests go to a messaging service. I repeat the request a zillion times, hoping for a call back, hoping for an answer. But God never has his ‘phone’ turned off. He doesn’t rely on nor struggle with technology. He is always available. He always responds.

But like the psalmist says (130), I often await his answers like the watchmen wait for the morning,  like the watchmen wait for the morning.

I think during these challenging pandemic days, when the politics of once-stable nations seem to have slid into the mire, many of us are awaiting his answers like watchmen waiting for the morning. There is a deep poignancy in the repetition of that phrase, a poignancy which resonates in my heart. I have committed with others to a weekly prayer and fast focusing on the November election in the USA.

Together, we are looking with hope and expectation to God. He doesn’t have his phone off. He is not looking the other way. He hears, and he answers. I am so grateful that I can, with his help, look forward in faith and not in fear.

With his help.

Snakes in the Attic

 

Snakes in the attic. Yesterday I wrote of the wrestling pythons which fell out of the attic in Australia and landed in full sight on the kitchen floor. I drew a parallel with what is happening in America now. It’s a powerful image and it’s still with me. Today it feels more personal.

Those snakes of white privilege and racist and gender inequality are not confined to the attic of a nation. They were birthed in the attics of minds and hearts, and I have become increasingly aware of my own complicity in allowing them to grow simply through not noticing they were even there. There has been a self-satisfied complacency within me that assumed that since I am not an overt supremacist, then I am not personally responsible for what happens to my sisters and brothers of colour.

Jesus told his disciples (Luke 10:19) that ‘I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy’. Inequality and injustice are snakes which will continue to grow if we don’t stamp them out.

Followers of Jesus have the authority to trample on snakes and scorpions. In prayer we can prevail against the snakes in our own lives but also those threatening the stability of the nations. Jesus has given us authority in prayer. Come on, church, let’s get on our knees and pray! Not just for the USA, but for the world, our hurting, ravaged world.

I refuse to surrender to the threats to peace and stability. Jesus is the prince of peace and this is his world. The battle lines are clearer now than they have been in my lifetime.

This is a global battlefield. It is not confined to one nation, though it is perhaps very clearly seen right now on the American stage.

I am passionate that every American – especially every female American – should take up the hard-won privilege and exercise her freedom to choose and vote for the government which offers justice and freedom for all. The Democrats may not be perfect, but at least there is no shadow of an incipient tyrant in the wings.

I am also passionate that every follower of Jesus Christ should take up the sword of the Spirit in prayer, because I believe that is where the real battle for the nations is happening. It indeed started in the unseen attic of the supernatural world, and it is now in the open, writhing on the ground of our beloved world. Prayer is powerful; we have the authority of Jesus; it is not pie in the sky but real.

The battle is not over. It can be won in the prayer closet and in the voting booth.

We are all responsible.

God Bless America

 

 Two powerful images are in my mind this morning.

When I was growing up in Long Beach, California, there was a rather disreputable amusement park near the harbour, called The Pike. At The Pike, there towered a wooden roller coaster; local lore credited it with being the tallest and the oldest such ride in the world. It was called the Cyclone Racer.

As you chugged up the twists and undulations of track towards the dizzying height of this terrifying ride, your view of the Pacific Ocean, the suburban sprawl, and the inland mountains expanded. If you were cool-headed enough to be able to appreciate the beautiful vista. Mostly, your attention was focused on reaching that top-most point, where the car hesitated momentarily, as did your heart, as your sweaty hands gripped the hand-holds tighter. Then the car plunged into the abyss and the screaming started.

All in the name of fun.

I woke up to the morning news on the radio. I listened to the jaw-dropping report that Mr Trump has developed a narrative of what happened in Wisconsin which suggests that the young man who shot two people dead was under some sort of threat from a violent mob and was in danger himself. No word to the young man who lies paralysed in hospital, having been shot by police seven times in the back while trying to get into his car. A black and white issue.

We are on the brink. We have wound our way to the top of the roller coaster and are teetering on the edge, in that moment of hesitation before we plunge ever downwards. How’s your heart?

Also this morning, I was emailed a story and pictures from Australia. A man near Brisbane was shocked when the ceiling in his kitchen suddenly gave way beneath the weight of two python snakes, each over two metres long, who were apparently fighting over a female python.

Two snakes in the attic. Wrangling. Wrestling. Fighting. Eventually crashing through into full view.

Black Lives Matter vs No They Don’t. There is a fault line in America which is historic, deep and ugly as sin. It started with slavery and the concomitant assumption that whites are superior to blacks.

The issue has defined so much of our history, but it has been largely obscured. Misrepresented. Hidden away in the attic.

Until now. The snakes are on the kitchen floor, engaged in a fight to the death.

I am a heartbroken expat who has lived in Scotland for forty-five years, having left my country because I fell in love with a Scot. I still love my country. My parents were US Marines in the Second World War. My dad fought in the blood-soaked invasion of Saipan. He carried those memories all his life, wrestling with them during his final days.

The first tune they taught my sister and I to play on recorders was the Marine Corps Hymn. They were proud of their country and they fought to protect it. Every morning in primary school, we started the day facing the Stars and Stripes, hands over hearts, pledging allegiance to our country, ‘one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all’.

Now I watch from afar. I am appalled to discover that there has never been liberty and justice for all there. That what I believed was true, what my parents fought to defend because they believed it was true, has never been true. That everyone in America was equal. That there was liberty and justice for all. The American Dream.

Well, it’s past time to wake up. The alarm is ringing, loud and clear.

This November’s election is the most critical election in the history of the United States. Its outcome is far from predictable, nor the fallout from that outcome. Anyone who has a vote there, needs to exercise it wisely. There is no excuse not to vote.

This morning, with tears in my eyes and tears streaking my cheeks, I pray, ‘God bless America, land that I love, stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with the light from above. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam: God bless America, my home, sweet, home. God bless America, my home, sweet, home.’