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.