Jesus is with me

 

You put a newspaper to bed when it’s off to the printer’s. You put a child to bed when they show signs of tiredness. You put a year to bed at Hogmanay.

As with the first two, putting a year to bed requires some revision of the stories that have unfolded during the day/year. It takes some time to think back over the year’s happenings, good and bad. It takes time to reflect on one’s responses to events. It takes some emotional investment to remember the challenges and griefs. It takes some spiritual investment to repent and once again accept God’s gracious forgiveness for the sins and mistakes which blot the picture of 2021. It offers refreshment and revival to remember the high points, the joys and celebrations. It offers peace to receive God’s love and promises.

We can put 2021 to bed, sorrows and joys, scars and growth spurts: trusting in God.

His promises are new every morning. Great is his faithfulness. I can head into a new year as I head into a new day, anticipating with confidence that whatever is in store in 2022, Jesus is with me in it.

Happy New Year everyone.

 

Dance of Delight

 

As I sat at the red light, I watched a couple walking with measured steps,  a little two-year-old girl walking between them, holding their hands. I wondered if they were the grandparents. I wondered if they were actually going slower than the wee girl needed them to go.

As I watched, the little girl added in a skip. An attempt at a skip: obviously a manoeuvre she’s only recently learned. Then she did a little jump or two, while her two adults continued their dirge-like walk up the hill, oblivious to her irrepressible joy.

When life slows down, it’s easy to just slump down with a coffee and a device. It’s beautiful, instead, to redeem the time creatively, choreographing in a few unanticipated moves, experimenting with some new skills, allowing joy to bubble up from within as I contemplate the amazing Creator who loves me.

There is a time for everything. I – like most of us – am drawing breath after an intensely busy, and fun, family Christmas. May I use the odd free moment to express the delight there is in just being alive, well-loved and well-fed and housed. May I allow myself to be enriched as I celebrate and receive again Immanuel, God with us.

I am incredibly blessed.

Knots

 

So there it is. Christmas week and what am I doing? Priming raw wood in the flat Don is building. First I had to put on the knot solution, and that got me wondering about knots.

Turns out, knots are places on the tree trunks where branches once were. As the trunk expands, fibre begins to circle the branch, which might then fall off or might not. On lumber, it can lead to localised weakness, but also display aesthetic beauty.

Like a tree trunk, our lives have branches, some of which remain, some which break or die off. Knots form. Localised weakness: intrinsic beauty.

Yesterday I visited a lovely lady living alone, suffering from dementia and not coping very well. Her daughter lives abroad. Very upsetting to see a much-loved mother struggling along, while her daughter is unable to visit as she’s used up all her holiday time already, and then there’s the Covid restrictions, too.

Too close to home. It exposed a knot in me. I can’t see any beauty there right now, but maybe one day. Yesterday it revealed a weakness which pole-axed me.

We’ve all lost branches. Christmas can be a time of heartbreak and longing. May the Lord redeem its true meaning in me, and others who can identify with such struggles.

Immanuel. Praise him.

Barren

 

Looking at the bare, three-trunk Norwegian maple outside my window, I reflect that if I were a tree-climber, this would be the time of year to strategize the best route to the top. When all sturdy branches are revealed, I can see the safe steps which would bring me to my destination. Once the spring foliage bursts out, the clean lines of the safe route are obscured, and I am left to guess or feel my way upward.

The world feels barren and cold in this bleak midwinter, when omicron drives us apart once more. The pandemic feels endless, but spring will come. During this time, if I can discipline myself to listen, God can reveal the best next steps in our lives. The leaves have fallen; the branches are bare; God is my guide. May I be ever alert and aware.

Fully Exposed

 

Clouds drift lazily eastwards, glowing in colours of peaches and berries as they slide towards the rising sun. One cloud, however, is caught in the shadow of another, and it lurks behind, darkening greys and purples.

It’s not good to spend a precious life lingering in the slipstream of others whose faces are always turned towards the Son. It’s not enough. God has no grandchildren, only children.

As I continue to watch, the rosy clouds progress and disperse, and the one caught in the shadows begins to brighten into shades of pinks.

Today is the day to be fully exposed to the love and light of Jesus Christ, to be filled with his Spirit and to glow and draw others out of the darkness.

The Last Christmas Tree

 

The repercussions of Covid-19 continue to make waves in unexpected places.

Usually we just rock up to the Christmas tree lot when we’re all free to go. Not this year. We had to book a slot to buy a tree at the Tyrebagger Hill, where we always go. No slots left last weekend, so I was left to choose the tree on my own yesterday, between 12 and 1.

A young man dutifully checked my license plate as I drove into the wood. ‘Morrison?’ he asked. Tick.

The venison burger bar was open and a couple, hatted and scarved, hunched in the cold, munching. I walked past.

Checked the prices of fir, pine, spruce; passed the 10-foot giants, 8-foot, 7-foot and then: shockingly, the bays for the 6’ trees and under stood empty. I gaped. Not a tree in any of the enclosures. We are always a bit late to get our tree, but we’ve never faced an empty lot.

I wandered off the path. I scoured the site. There, on the other side of a barrier, I noticed a heap of green. I went closer and examined it; stood it up: it was full and green, but its top had broken off in a gash. It had been discarded. Tossed aside. A reject.

Perfect, I thought as I dragged it to the pay till.

‘I hope you got a discount,’ came the comment when I got home. No. It’s a lovely tree. Why would I ask for a discount?

I’m sure there’s an old carol about the last Christmas tree on the lot, languishing in rejection until chosen by someone.

We decorated the tree last night. The angel fits perfectly, her skirt covering the torn trunk as she peers between fresh green branches. We hung the stockings. I kept out the extra stocking with no name. I like to be prepared in case someone unexpectedly graces our home on Christmas.

May we all be aware of that person without family, without home, lost and alone. Jesus spoke of the good shepherd leaving the flock to find the lost.

There’s always room for one more.

Advent

 

Walking to my neighbour’s house, I noticed how the grit spread by the lorry during the icy spell had been bounced, pushed and dragged into three tracks, one either side of the road and one in the middle. Where the rubber hit the road, the asphalt lay clear and, now that the frost has gone, skid-free.

So much grit and dirt falls on us as we walk through our daily lives. We can absorb worldly attitudes and find ourselves skidding off the path Jesus has laid for us, or we can choose to live with alert intentionality, shielding ourselves from distraction and disaster.

In the run-up to Christmas, the glitter and consumer-pressure of the season can lure our focus from the reason for our celebrations. I don’t know about anyone else, though, but this year I long for Jesus’ return more than I have ever done before. These last two years have revealed the abject failure of humanity to steward our planet and care for our sisters and brothers: without His help, we can’t turn things around.

So once again I pray: Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus. He is our hope, our strength, and our peace.

Tricky Terrain

 

The road underfoot was icy. Normally, Mary and I would cancel our walk. We don’t want a broken limb. But we’ve not walked for a few weeks, and were anxious for the social interaction. We crept down the road, and back, remaining unscathed and intact. Whew.

Whatever tricky terrain you are tackling today, take care. God advises we stay alert and aware of our surroundings, prepared to meet any contingencies. The run-up to Christmas can be demanding and busy; at a time when our focus should be naturally turned to Jesus, it is easy to become dazzled and distracted by glitter and glitz.

I want to keep my focus and my footing securely on Jesus. Like the wise virgins, I want to be ready to welcome my Saviour when he comes.

The Waiting Game

 

The sky has clamped down on earth like a stainless-steel dome. The winds of the second storm have died, and all seems still and quiet. Bare trees which withstood the blasts of the last fortnight continue to stretch skywards, listless and empty. A scene in dull shades, with only the fading green grass of the fields to break up the monochrome.

I remember as a child making calendars to mark off the days until school vacations. Each day I would come home and happily score a cross through that day until at last the waiting was over.

Jesus addressed the challenge of waiting. ‘Watch out for doomsday deceivers,’ he warned. ‘Stay with it to the end.’

Advent is all about waiting. It falls in the middle of our annual seasonal wait for spring.

As we stay with it, we pray. Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Careful!

 

‘Ice on the back porch, Mum,’ Mhairi warned. Careful you don’t fall.

Ice is treacherous. It can be nearly invisible, and the unwary can come a cropper in a second.

‘Watch out that no one deceives you,’ Jesus warned. Careful you don’t fall.

Ideas can be treacherous. They can insinuate themselves into coherent thought, warping perception and understanding.

Jesus is the light, illuminating vision. So grateful for Immanuel. May I live this day close to him in action and understanding.

Soar like Eagles

 

As clean-up continues from Storm Arwen, Storm Barra is forecast to hit the northeast tomorrow. If we questioned whether or not we would be badly affected by climate change in Scotland, perhaps we are becoming aware of the answer.

Global uncertainties percolate into individual uncertainties, and many are walking out of 2021 with dazed and confused perceptions of where we have been, and where we are going.

I drove past my primary school when I was home in California. It was named after a famous American, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I noticed that now they have adopted the eagle as their mascot. The Emerson Eagles.

I like that I started out as an eagle.

‘Those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.’

As storms and uncertainties rock our world, may we all sink our trust deeper into the Lord, where we will be strengthened. Whatever this day holds, may the Holy Spirit enable us to soar above the cross-winds of life, retaining the perspective he gives as we focus our eyes on Jesus.

Digitalis

Digitalis. A genus of perennials we call foxgloves in Scotland, which grow wild in the garden. The source of a drug used to treat heart arrhythmia. Beautiful flowers with a beneficial use.

This morning I am suffering from what I am calling Digitalis. It’s not beautiful but there is a beneficial use, if I can master it. If I can’t, I may well suffer from heart arrhythmia!

Preparing to fly to the US tomorrow, there is the usual flurry of packing going on, but the anxiety rises exponentially as I try to get to grips with a couple of apps. In this digital age, and in these Covid-19 days, proofs of vaccination, of recent negative Covid results, attestations, passenger locator forms, proofs of Day-2 tests pre-booked for my return: these things and maybe some others are all requisite if I am to be allowed onto tomorrow’s flight. If I can get them onto the app, I can check in online and choose a seat.

Easier said than done. But as I wrote this, I was waiting for the app to verify one of the documents. Praise God, that has just happened. In another half hour, I can (hopefully) check in online.

Without the information stored digitally on the app on my phone, I would have to wait to check in (along with the other Luddites) just a couple of hours before the flight, showing the paper copies at the airport desk.

I am more than grateful for an in-house IT department and a willing son to help me.

No more heart arrhythmia, I pray. (Of course, I’ll be carrying the paper copies, sometimes in duplicate, in my bags. Just in case…)

  

Gales

 

Gale-force winds battered Scotland over the weekend, gusting to 100 mph on the hills. The glorious autumn foliage lies scattered over the ground, mellow colours beginning to moulder and decay. Branches, bared now for the coming winter, stretch to the sky.

Covid-19 has battered the world like an autumn gale. It has brought uncertainty and death and left many of us stripped down to basics, more aware than ever of our inability to control nature. More aware than ever of our total dependence on our loving Creator.

And as we enter the second week of COP26, we pray that the nations will unite against further self-destructive behaviour, however costly it is. The autumn winds are howling, hurting the most vulnerable and least culpable of peoples.

Our need to remediate our behaviour is starkly exposed. May God inspire those making decisions and commitments to be willing to sign up to sacrificial steps in order to allow our planet, God’s glorious world, to recover.

A Dappled World

 

Dappled landscapes dominate in the fall. As I braved the biting wind to hang out the wash in the weakened sunshine, I scuffed through a carpet of autumnal colours. As I look out my bedroom window, my spirit rises with the beauty of the red acer, whose glorious foliage is now thinning in the autumn winds, carpeting the vegetable patch in rubies.

The sun is out today, playing through the thinning leaves of the trees, dancing on the variegated shades on the grass.

I continue to pray for COP26 and the outcome of discussions which will determine the course of climate change. No doubt the results will be dappled; there are already signs of breakthrough amongst brushstrokes of failure to commit to the hard decisions and self-sacrifice necessary to effect change.

Light and dark. The world is a canvas of dappled beauty. But we know that the Light has come into the world, and the darkness cannot overcome it. Light of the world, enlighten our hearts and minds today so that we all live in the light, spreading hope and kindness wherever we go. Amen.

No Mystery

 

Tis the season to be thankful, fa la la la la, la la la la.

As the harvest comes in, it is natural to lift our eyes to God in gratitude. Whether it’s a bumper crop or a meagre one, God can feed us from what we have brought in.

Over the years, I have prayed many times for healing, for myself and for others. I have had a particular outcome in mind, which has occasionally been met, but God has answered in a way known only to him. But yesterday, the consultant surgeon murmured, ‘It’s a mystery’ as to how the lump disappeared without intervention.

No mystery. God. Praise him.

Rowan berries

 

Red rowan berries litter the lawn and the tarmac driveway. Squashed by cars and footfalls. Messy. Yet on the tree, before they dropped, they stood out like rubies against the fading leaves.

Pristine on the tree, or messy on the road, the berries bring blessing to birds, small critters, and a grateful gaze. All around us, creation cries out, in songs of praise or in laments of sadness.

Those who have ears to hear … those who have eyes to see … may we act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before our Lord today, respecting the creation and revering the Creator.

Perfect Melon

 

We bought four tomato plants last spring from a garden centre. I planted them carefully in compost purchased at the same time. We watered and fed the plants, harvested a rather mediocre crop of tomatoes, and when it looked as if the plants were finished, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I prepared to move them out of the conservatory into the cold greenhouse.

Then I found a vine, which had planted itself in one of the tomato pots, and grown and flowered and even produced a small cantaloupe melon.

Last night we harvested that melon. I maybe should have cut it a little sooner, but it was juicy, flavoursome and sweet.

While we had been focused on the tomatoes we had planted, God looked after the one melon seed that somehow got into the pot, too.

What a reminder to me that while I am focused on things I might do or say, thinking they might produce fruit for the Kingdom, God is doing his own thing right alongside me. If I’d noticed the melon sooner, perhaps I could have fed or watered it more diligently and it would have been even better.

Or maybe not. I love knowing that even in spite of my ineptitudes, God is able to come alongside and produce fruit.

I am focused on COP26, praying for breakthrough. While I look for that, though, I can be sure that God is working alongside, largely unseen, producing fruit I don’t plant and don’t anticipate but somehow have a hand in. All glory to him.

Nothing is Wasted

 

Sitting in my prayer window, I watch, increasingly mesmerised by the sporadic rhythm of the falling leaves. Some, brown and crinkled, release their hold on the twig and sink to the ground in one motion. Others, still retaining some colour perhaps, float aimlessly downwards, perhaps resting in a cradle of branches briefly before once again drifting down, down, down.

Branches are increasingly exposed as this annual operation continues.

A leaf could be a dream I had, something I nurtured and anticipated a result. I may have worked at it for years until now, brown and shrivelled, it finally dies. It could be a hope, briefly held, disappointed.

It could be a life, aged and fully-spent, released into the arms of God. It could be a life, in middle age, which we expect to continue but which, instead, lets go and falls.

This is the season of sadness, but also the season of creating rich composts from which new life can emerge.

Whatever falls to the earth remains useful in the hands of our Almighty God. The richness of each of our hopes and dreams, each human life: nothing is wasted.

Underneath are the everlasting arms.

COP26: Let Glasgow Flourish

 

I came in from being treated to afternoon tea at a friend’s. It’s so long since we’ve been in each others’ homes; it’s so long since we’ve felt comfortable rather than cautious – although we did sit socially-distanced. Maybe we will continue to be cautious for a long time yet.

Flick and Greg heard me drive in and they raced to greet me, eager to show me their surprise. They led me to the ‘scary room’, the glory hole at the end of the corridor. They were so excited to show me how they had tidied it up.

The day before, I had gone into the scary room with Flick and complained that there was barely a way through the piles of toys and chairs and books and things. Flick heard my frustration and showed her love by engaging her brother’s help in clearing it up as best they could.

They showed their love by trying their best to tidy up the mess they had helped create. What I saw was their love.

Our Father God must walk through the garden of this earth and sigh with exasperation. Maybe he looks at our carelessness as he ‘tiptoes’ through the detritus from plastic water bottles, breathes in air polluted with fumes and particulates, and watches as species slide towards extinction.

COP26 offers an opportunity for the global population to unite in making tough decisions for the sake of creation. If we’re really going to make a lasting difference, though, we need to recognise our dependence on God to guide us, and we need to be inspired by our love for our creator and not by motives of self-preservation.

I am excited that there is so much prayer for COP26. I am excited that God is stirring the hearts of his people to lift up hands to praise him for what he is going to do through this. As the leaders of the world gather in Scotland this weekend, let Glasgow flourish through the preaching of God’s word, and may his glory be seen in the negotiations, conversations, and even demonstrations.

When he looks at our efforts, may he see our love for him.

Dreich

 

The Scots have a great word for today’s weather: dreich. Everything is dripping, and the mist kisses the earth, enveloping the landscape in a damp embrace. Outside my prayer window, I drink in the colours of the season: russets and oranges, golds and browns and fading greens of all shades.

But now I have moved to another chair, and outside the kitchen window I see the Japanese rowan tree on which dangle two or three bird-feeders. This understated tree hangs heavy with pale pink translucent berries. Delicate and light, verging on creamy white, they are not a colour usually associated with autumn.

Every season of life carries inherent cultural expectations. But we are called to conform not to the expectations of the world, but to the call of God on our life.

May I never be constrained into a template designed by my culture or tribe, but instead live large and free as the individual God created me to be. Today may I use the gifts God has given me for his glory, free to express myself however I wish.

‘Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.’

 

Rooted

 

The autumn winds whine and screech round the house, buffeting the bushes and trees outside the prayer window. They sound ferocious, but they have cleared the clouds and a cool sun shines out of a blue sky, highlighting the russets, oranges and golds of the dying leaves.

My favourite tree stands firm in the assault. Three trunks of some girth twist round each other before stretching skywards. A trinity of trunks. They don’t move. All around them, thinner branches bob and bend, leaves let go and drift away. Rooted deeply in the rich soil, though, the Norwegian elm (or is it a maple? Oh, gosh, I don’t know my trees…) stands.

Having done everything, Paul advises the Ephesians, stand firm. We woke to discouraging news that the leaders of Russia and China and possibly India will not be coming to COP26. They must represent more than half the world’s population. We need them onside. Other major nations are lobbying to back off limitations on coal and fossil-fuel production and use. The news is bleak.

Even in the face of climate catastrophe, we can’t find global unity.

God help us. What can we do? Pray, pray, pray. Do what we can to reduce our own negative impact. And finally, retain faith in the Lord of Creation, that he is able. He’s not been caught on the back foot. He has a plan, an ancient, good plan.

So, even as I hear dispiriting news, I will not waver in the adverse winds. I will stand firm, abiding in Jesus, rooted in faith that he is Lord of all the earth, and trusting him to act.

Burning Bush

 

I lift my eyes and gaze out of the prayer window at the familiar, but always changing, landscape. There, set against a backdrop of evergreen trees, blazes a burning bush, a tree in glorious autumnal foliage.

I think of Moses. The thing about Moses was that when he saw the burning bush, he didn’t just press on by. He paused. He wondered. How could a bush be burning and yet never consumed by the fire? He heard God’s voice speaking to him.

Yesterday I had yet more frustrations with my mother’s health insurance and one specific issue which has dragged on since last March. The calls are draining and the confusion is Kafkaesque. Having downloaded, filled in and signed, scanned in and emailed a form back, I now will follow that up later today when they wake up on the west coast of the USA. I was awake in the night, thinking about this issue.

When I saw my ‘burning bush’ this morning, I paused. I asked God to speak to me. ‘My peace I give unto you,’ he said immediately. I breathe his peace deep into my soul. I will not be distracted by worldly anxieties but will focus on him, in whom I put all my hope.

May you know his peace today, too. May we all learn to abide in his love.

The Falling Leaves

 

A large yellowing leaf from the Norwegian elm floats to the ground, landing on the green grass verge. Something with life fading fast, lying atop something still holding potential to grow more in the right conditions.

I’ll need to get out there with a rake, or the growth of the grass will be compromised.

God wants to reveal his life in me. Day by day, if I am open to God’s voice, he reveals traits in me which obscure his beauty. They need to drop off and float away. He can enable the releasing of them, but I have to do my part. I have to recognise it’s time to totally discard them in order that true life can be revealed and grow in my life.

It is hard to let go of habits and traits which have become ingrained in me, but I need to surrender to his love and mercy and invite him to reveal himself through me more clearly. May I rake up, gather and burn all those quick retorts, thunderous looks and critical thoughts which prevent God’s grace and mercy breaking through me today.

Boundless Love

 

Abby bounded out of her house to greet me. She leapt and raced, tongue out poised to grab a juicy kiss. I turned this way and that to avoid being knocked over with her exuberant welcome. Abby is the three-year-old German shepherd owned by our neighbours.

Pure joy. She isn’t restrained by fears or apprehension; no guilty secrets hinder her welcome: she greets me with unbounded enthusiasm. She doesn’t ask anything of me; she’s just excited to see someone at her door.

No, not much of a guard dog, unless she were going to lick the intruder into submission.

Sitting in the prayer window later, I stilled myself and waited on God. I was quiet, restrained, respectful.

I wonder if he’d prefer me to bound into his presence, singing his praises and rejoicing in his blessings and love?

 

Sneaky Spider

 

I entered the shower with my eye trained on the eight-legged creature already there. He was negotiating the slippery wall, tentatively extending a long leg before inching ahead in that direction.

I wasn’t too bothered … after all, he was moving so carefully I could anticipate where he might reach. Until suddenly he abseiled onto the adjoining wall. Obviously, when he wanted to, the spider could leap a distance in one go. Maybe I wasn’t as safe as I had assumed.

I’ve just been praying for COP26 in Glasgow. The earth is the Lord’s, and we so need his leading to stop the global rot which we have initiated. Some voices are raised against action, though. Voices insinuate that we can make a few tweaks to our lifestyles and all will be well. Keep mining for coal. Keep wrapping fruit in plastic.

Those of us praying for God’s guidance need to keep our eyes alert to the opposition, whose next moves may not be as predictable as we may think. May the Lord bless all who are preparing for COP26, and inspire them with vision and perspective and courage. May he open the eyes of those leaders who talk the talk but do nothing. May they recognise their roles and lead boldly. And may he thwart the efforts of those who seek to disrupt.

The enemy is not always a roaring lion. Sometimes he is a sneaky spider.

 

The sound of silence

 

The sound of silence.

My Monday walking partner forgot it was Monday, so I walked alone. I walked, and I paused, and I listened. Apparently alone in a rural landscape, I heard the drone of work traffic from a mile or two away. A helicopter chopped past overhead.

I waited and listened. The sound of many birds – a choir of random rhythm and various keys. We used to get a regular visitor to our B&B who was a keen birdwatcher. Iain told us he heard the songs of 37 different types of birds round our back woods. His ear was trained. He heard and identified.

I heard – maybe six or seven different songs and tweets. My untrained ear no doubt missed many songs.

I ask God to speak to me. Guide me. Tell me what to do or say. I don’t always hear. I know he speaks; I need to train my ear to hear.

I need to be still - even in the midst. To listen. To listen in the cacophony of a busy household; to listen in the silence; to listen in the reading of his word; to listen to those I meet. He speaks. He sings. Zephaniah writes that he sings over us with joy.

May we all sense his song over, around and through us today. May we rest assured that he is with us: his love, mercy, peace and kindness are his gifts to us today.

Leaves

 

A gentle breeze ruffles the autumn leaves, just beginning to change colour. After yesterday’s soaking, the sun winks through the shifting leaves, dazzling me.

The autumn leaves will soon drop, carpeting the ground. Jesus encourages us to stay connected. It’s as we abide in him, that we are nourished and flourish. When we allow other things to distract us that we release our hold on him.

Even when we do that, though, his promise is that he never releases his hold on us. I am so grateful for the faithful, loving Saviour we worship.

Order, Order!

 

Everything in its place, and a place for everything.

That was one of the adages my mother used to say. She lived by it. I’d like to say it took root in me and my house reflects that. But I can’t. The mess in most rooms gives me away.

It does hold true, though, for the important things. Official letters; tickets; jewellery; passport: some things I take care to keep in places I will always remember. 

Yesterday, I had the fun of spending most of a day playing with Callan who, at five, shows an orderly mind which helps him to separate Lego into boxes of colour, for instance. I can learn a thing or two from my grandson.

God called the universe into being. He established order where there had been chaos. Scientific laws govern the movements of planets and stars, the turning of the earth, the rhythm of the tides. May I learn to establish an order in my life, an order which leads to peace.

(I wish I could just speak order into my chaos with the uttering of a word or two, but alas…)

 

Raglan buttonholes

 

Back in the days when I sewed my own clothes, I always found making buttonholes tricky. Even with the modern sewing machine (back in the day), which had a ‘button-holer’, the fabric needed to be positioned with greater accuracy than I always had.

Mom used to make a different kind of button hole sometimes. I think they were called raglan button holes. I never graduated to that degree of expertise.

But last night, as I prayed, in my mind’s eye I saw a raglan buttonhole, beautifully made, but not cut through. It looked perfect, but it was still useless for joining two bits of a garment together, because it remained intact and uncut. That final step – the cutting through perfectly-good fabric in order to achieve a new join – is a nerve-wracking move to make.

God has made each of us just as he wants us. In his sight, we are perfectly made. We are like the perfectly formed raglan buttonholes that Mom used to make. It is as life’s challenges and sorrows cut into us, though, that we become useful to God, and to others. As we walk through the tough times with him, the fabric of our lives is rent. It is uncomfortable, painful. But as we remain close to him, depending on him for our next steps, people around us glimpse the beauty of God’s presence and the faithfulness of his love, and they, too can be joined to him. Buttoned into eternal life.

May I yield myself to the divine tailor today, willing to be cut into so that others can know his perfect love.

Everlasting Infrastructure

 

I was told that the potholes in the roads round our house, at one point, are so deep that ancient cobbles have been revealed. An old Roman road, or a medieval track, still intact beneath the crumbling asphalt of modern technology.

Our midday walk came at a time when roadbuilders had completed just half the task, finally patching some of the many cracks and crevices in the surfacing. What a half-baked job, we complained. Why didn’t they fill them all in? One of us took a picture to send along with a further complaint to the council.

Fortunately, before that email was sent, we saw the workmen return to complete the task. It’s still just patched, and not completely resurfaced, but at least, I think, all the holes are filled in now. No more blown-out tires and bent axles. Hopefully.

The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in mercy. May I also be slow to anger today. May I be spared from jumping to premature conclusions and firing off complaints. May I show grace to those who are trying to repair the broken infrastructure of our society, and be ready to encourage efforts even when they appear ‘half-baked’. I do not always see the whole picture.

Though our global society is cracking and pot-holed in many ways, I put my trust in the Lord today, knowing that underneath are the everlasting arms, like the ancient, unseen cobbles.

Ghosts from the Past

 

The ancient projector whirred into life. Don threaded the film onto the empty spool and started it ratcheting its way through the machine. White screen soon gave way to an amazing blast from the past.

The film was one my dad took. 1960. My hair was still in ringlets or a pony tail. Still naturally dark brown. At one point, there was my nine-year-old self playing with paper dolls (remember those?) with my big sister Judy. Sweet memories of carefree hours.

The film included a compilation of events during that year. Christmas dinner with Dad’s side of the family. So many no longer with us. A silent film, we could imagine the banter, hear the laughter. Both my Grandma and Grandpa were there, and Aunt Norma, Uncle Gordie and Aunt June, and all six of their children, one still in a high chair. Six of them have gone before us. There was Dad, capering, and Mom, looking like a film star with her striking dress and scarf. Judy and I, giggling with our cousins, just before the slide into awkward tweenager years. Now only Mom and me left.

The film segued into New Year’s Day, gathered with Mom’s side of the family, Aunt Wynne, Uncle Nobby, and their three boys. Three have preceded us into the Lord’s presence.

I smiled through the tears. In every tear there is a rainbow. Happy memories of times long gone. People we can no longer see. Places we can no longer go.

Beside the bereaved Martha and Mary, Jesus wept. But then he revealed his power over sin and death, raised Lazarus, and continued his ministry.

So this day, may I be inspired by the lives of loved ones now gone, and move on in my calling to follow Jesus. May he strengthen my weak knees and help me to reveal his image today.

‘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.’  

Don't Blow your Top!

‘Don’t blow your top!’ my mom used to admonish my sister and me if we were in danger of over-reacting and getting angry.

The earth itself seems to be blowing its top in the Canaries just now. And it’s shaking up Melbourne. Honey bees are killing penguins in South Africa. Covid continues to kill thousands.

Nature seems to be imitating human activity. Afghanistan and Haiti are in melt-down; Tigray and Eritrea, Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and so on…

Like the lava flows in La Palma, rivers of refugees flow out of disaster zones seeking peace, seeking safety, seeking acceptance. In Belorussia, they are being treated like tennis balls, being shoved across the borders into neighbouring EU countries, only to be pushed back into Belorussia. In the US, enforcement officers on horseback brandish whips against Haitians cowering beneath a bridge. In the Med and the English Channel, desperate people board flimsy boats, first parting with all their cash, and are often welcomed into internment camps before facing deportation.

‘Are you tired? Worn out?’ Jesus asks. ‘Come to me…I’ll show you how to take a real rest…Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.’

I pray today for all those whose lives on earth are a daily challenge to survive. May those of us who love Jesus be Jesus to the traumatised, the exhausted, the frightened and the lost, wherever we meet them today. May we, with our own challenges, walk in the unforced rhythms of grace, inspired and strengthened by the Holy Spirit.

May I have learned the lesson my mom tried to teach me all those years ago, and not blow my top, but instead sink back into the loving arms of Jesus and trust him to direct my words and actions. 

Treasure!

  

I was doing the mundane. Wiping the ledges in the conservatory, where tomato plants soar and collapse, nearing the end of production. I was clearing away the corpses of numerous dead flying insects.

We had noticed that one of the tomato plants shared its pot with a rogue vine. We’d admired some pretty yellow flowers it bore as it entwined amongst the geraniums. We’d wondered if it were perhaps a cucumber or courgette that had somehow been left in the compost.

Yesterday, though, my intention was clearing up the tangled mess. As I unwound the vine from some geraniums, I realised it carried weight. I looked again.

Treasure! There in the corner of the windows sat a melon. A small melon, true, but unmistakably a melon. Suddenly I realised I needed to keep watering! How exciting to harvest a melon! What a surprise!

It’s in the midst of the mundane, everyday that we sometimes unearth the gold, the treasure. A routine conversation can suddenly light up when something precious is shared.

A routine quiet time with God can be transformed into holy ground as he sweeps in with words of encouragement or comfort, calling you into a new season or re-anointing you to persevere in the season you’re in.

‘Your name is like honey on my lips,’ we sang a decade or so ago. ‘Your Spirit’s like water to my soul; your word is a lamp to my feet.’ Jesus, we love you.

May we all discover the treasure which lies concealed in unexpected places today.

A time for everything

 

Seed pods pop in the autumn sunshine, as I lean past the broom and gorse to pick yet more brambles. The freezer is pretty crammed with the tasty fruit. We’ll be glad of it in a few months’ time.

A light breeze flutters through the gently fading leaves. Victoria plums continue to provide a daily harvest – for about four days.

The house is a mess. Who can bear to be inside tidying when the sun blazes out of the sky?

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. It can be heartbreaking to move from one season to the next, to leave behind something which is rich and fulfilling and move on into an unknown future.

But God has made everything beautiful in its time. Enjoy this day.

The Joy of Bramble Mousse

 

I made a bramble mousse for the first time the other day. I made it in honour of my sister-in-law, who was celebrating her Golden Wedding Anniversary: it reminded me of my early years here, when we spent a good amount of time together and every year she made bramble mousse.

It was the first time I have ever used gelatine. It seems there is a knack to it.

I didn’t use quite enough, as I was doubling the recipe and only had enough gelatine leaves for one recipe, used the powder for the second amount, which fell short by 1/5^th. I reasoned that I don’t like things too solidified, but what in fact happened was that it split slightly, with the bottom layer being more like jelly and the top majority a little on the soft side.

Tricky to get the right proportion of gelatine: something that will give the pudding cohesive body so it doesn’t remain runny, but not so much that it hardens.

Awake in the night, I was drawn to read a passage which spoke of the anointing of joy. Hebrews 1:9 talks of the anointing of the oil of joy setting Jesus above all others.

Is it too wild a flight of fancy to think of the oil of joy as a sort of gelatine in the Christian life? In the challenging times in which we are living, it is natural and tempting to be hardened into cynicism and / or pessimism. Filled with the Spirit of God, though, we can receive the anointing of the oil of joy which can balance us and keep us filled with peace, hope and love.

In a world rocking with violence and environmental upheaval, joy is a rare thing.

May the Lord anoint us all with the oil of joy, so that we can sit at God’s table in the presence of our enemies, fully focused on Jesus and trusting in his promises.

Joy is at the heart of the gospel.

Under our Noses

 

‘We had a great three-day break in Edzell,’ our neighbours enthused as we paused to chat this morning. ‘Did you know there was a great little museum in Forfar?’

Edzell? Forfar? Aren’t these just places you pass through on your way to somewhere more interesting?

Not in Covid times! How many of us have discovered treasures in our neighbourhoods that we didn’t realise were there?

And again. There they were! Right at the end of our driveway, turning to the right instead of our usual route left: clutches of big, juicy brambles begging to be picked. We nearly missed them.

And again: right in the garden itself, behind the scaffolding slide the grandkids play on: more ripe, juicy blackberries.

Why is it that we can be so eager to rush off in search of sweet things far away, when they are often right there under our noses?

I am so enriched by the wisdom of the women in my Bible study group. So well-fed by them and other dear sisters in Christ. May I never be guilty of overlooking or taking for granted the beauty that surrounds me, while seeking beauty far away.

God has created a beautiful earth for us to enjoy, wherever we are, and he provides for us day by day. May we learn to harvest the bounty without destroying the matrix.

Made for More

 

So I joined the first day of a 12-hour, 3-day webinar. Led by a Christian, she promised to teach the secrets of how to get your God-given vision published and out there. Monetised, actually. Taking what you believe to be a vision or calling from God and putting that into a formula which would yield six-figure incomes within weeks. Guaranteed.

I didn’t stay the course. Interesting, for sure, but also sad. Sad, as I read the comments on the chat line, where other participants encouraged one another to trust God to provide that four-figure sum that the woman charges to join the special group hand-picked to be moulded by her ideas.

Don’t think of yourself more highly than you ought, I just read. Thinking of some of the things said at this seminar, which often returned to a declaration that ‘I was made for more than this!’ by someone longing to step out of a tedious, low-paid job and into a lifestyle where the money dropped into the bank account while the person was off enjoying herself somewhere else.

I was made for more than this.

The Eyes Have It

 

The eyes have it! Blue, green, brown, grey, hazel, and all shades in between. Aren’t they one of the best bits of a human body?

Too much light, or long life, and cataracts can form, clouding vision. As years go by, the macula can degenerate and the damage is irreversible. A stroke can pinpoint the eye and steal vision. These are the three enemies I know of and mention: there are many ways vision can be diminished or taken away altogether, plunging a person into darkness.

The eye is the lamp of the body, Jesus said. If your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. Many whose physical eyes have failed have a clear inner vision which guides the rest of us home.

Lord, make my eyes clear today, both physically and spiritually, so that my life reflects you. May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart, always glorify you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Grace to Flourish

 

Hearts and flowers. Don and I have just celebrated our 46^th wedding anniversary. We went to the V&A in Dundee; celebrating Scottish designers and their global pioneering leadership in many areas, I came away wondering why there is often such a lack of national self-esteem here. So much talent in such a small nation!

It’s good to step back and take stock. In the midst of busy lives, it is hard to see the success sometimes. An anniversary is a great time to pull out of the usual and take note of where we’ve been. We look back, and see the hand of God and his great grace bringing us to where we are now.

A visit to the V&A is a great way to encourage national self-esteem. St Mungo is reported to have prayed, ‘Let Glasgow flourish by the preaching of the word’. ‘Let Glasgow flourish’ is the shortened version in the city’s coat of arms. A connection perhaps to the flourishing of Scottish creativity and innovative design over the years?

May God continue to give us all grace to flourish, in relationships and in life.

Extra Time

 

Extra time. In a football match, (as I understand it), when the score is tied – or maybe it’s when they’re making up for injury time (I don’t understand it well, obviously) – they add on extra time at the end to try to achieve a resulting win.

It’s a defined period of time. I think 15 minutes. I imagine that concentrates the minds of the players  to go at it even more energetically, running as fast as they can, targeting the goal as well as they can.

This year, I turned three score and ten. In the Bible, that is the allotted time we have. Now I am in extra time.

I sense that same urgency that the players in a major match must feel. I hope I can use any wisdom I’ve somehow gathered through the years to be a more effective witness to the love of God, to bring hope to the despairing and joy to the despondent and faith to those who stumble in the dark, seeking the light.

It’s an exciting time to be alive. I am grateful for being granted extra time, for being healthy and enjoying many blessings. May I ‘play’ well during my allotted final period of time – which I do hope is longer than another 15 minutes!!

Wild and productive

I’ve found a kindred spirit. Doug is a squirrel, too, eager to store up the bounty we find in the wild. Our lunchtime walks just now include carrying a couple of tubs in case we can’t resist another profusion of brambles.

Another kilo of brambles came in yesterday, and now sit, ready to be turned into jam. They are big, juicy and plentiful this year. So abundant that in a week or two I may be satiated totally, but I doubt it.

Our own vegetable and fruit garden has not been so fruitful this year. All our effort and toil have not brought much of a harvest. Yet out there on the edge of the woods, untouched by human hands, these beautiful fruits have grown. Tended and husbanded by our Father the gardener.

Thinking about the fruits of the Holy Spirit. In my own strength, I am no good at achieving inner peace, bucketloads of patience or self-control. As I trust in Jesus, though, the Spirit can bring out a harvest of fruit that I don’t even see. But others sometimes glimpse these fruits, often lying quiet and plump under a canopy of thorns and spiderwebs in the shade. These divine fruits can revive the weary heart and encourage the crest-fallen.

Some aspects of my life are wild and untamed. I am challenged daily in managing my Mom’s affairs, for instance, and if there is any fruit growing in this tangled undergrowth, it is all nurtured by God. I know that if I can just keep taking one step at a time, trusting in him, all will be well. All things will be well. He will weed out the bad and water the good. I pray that someone else, equally challenged and feeling ill-equipped for a task, will see the faithfulness of God revealed, and will be encouraged and fed, as if on plump, juicy brambles.

I am always finding God’s fruit in the lives of my friends and acquaintances. I am so grateful that the heavenly gardener knows exactly what type of soil and fertiliser each of us needs. I am so grateful for the family of God.

 

  

Harvest

 

The weather is soft. Brambles swell and blacken in the warm sunlight. Seedpods from gorse and broom are popping. A gentle breeze ruffles the leaves and dries the sheets. Round haybales rest in the harvested fields, beckoning kids to climb on and play. The local farmer tells me it’s a rare year when the harvest is in by the end of August, and this is one of those years.

Life is demanding, hectic, sometimes chaotic. The news harvested from around the world is dire. Many feel anxious, understandably, for the future.

Be still and know that I am God. He is a good God. He is still bringing a harvest of goodness. Weeds of violence and disrespect grow among the tares of kindness and love. Lost in the middle, our gaze needs to rise to his throne room. Focusing on the tragedies and disasters leaches our hope in the God who is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. He doesn’t sleep. He is our refuge and hope in times of trouble.

He will bring in a harvest of righteousness. He will usher in an age of peace. We have a sure hope in the Lord, because of what Jesus did for us. So grateful.

 

 

 

Spider Hammocks

 

Overnight drizzles led to spider hammocks in the gorse bushes this morning. I love the way the moisture picks out the intricate, lacy patterns woven by the spiders. The webs look inviting, but are of course deadly to those insects caught in them.

I wonder if the entrapment rate declines when the webs are revealed. Do flying insects notice and avoid the otherwise fairly invisible webs, when they are highlighted in droplets?

I made a decision about Mom’s physicians a few months ago, which I now regret. At the time, I was being encouraged to go for the change, and there were sensible reasons to do it. But as I explored the option, each step presented a challenge and my instinct was to walk away, and to keep the doctor she already had. But I went ahead and worked through and made the change.

Bam. Now we are caught in the web. It isn’t deadly (I hope) but it is presenting challenges in getting out of.

I should have followed by instincts, despite the apparent common sense of making the change.

Even though the Lord goes before and behind and within me, I can still miss is still small voice. Not that every instinct is God’s leading, but I think at least some of them are.

Be still and know that I am God, the psalmist wrote. God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. May we all hone the hearing of our inner ears, and recognise his voice today.

 

 

Knotted Wood

 

It’s one of the decorating jobs that doesn’t require a perfectionist: painting over the knots on the new pine wood so that they don’t bleed through the paint after a few years. So there I was yesterday afternoon, wiping down the wood which Don has so carefully sanded, and painting over the knots.

The stuff works pretty well, but there are some spots in our house where, despite my best efforts, the tell-tale brown of a knot beneath is bleeding through.

I can stuff things down in my life; I can try to cover up my feelings or minimise the effect something has had on me. I can paint over the wound. Sometimes I can do that successfully. But sometimes, like the knotted wood, the hurt or the fear eventually bleeds through.

Only God can clear up the knots in my life. Only when I completely surrender them to him and wholly trust him to make me new, can I live in the freedom Jesus died to give us.

May trust in the promises of God outweigh any hesitation in me, so that my faith in his love releases me to be all that he made me to be. May the same be true for you, today and every day.

As Job eventually declared, ‘I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted.’ Praise God.

Painting by Number

 

A cylindrical package sits propped in the window ledge, awaiting my attention. It was a birthday gift, a paint-by-number canvas. When completed, it will recreate a photo of my two eldest children, playing in the backyard of my childhood home in Long Beach. Happy memories of happy days.

It’s been waiting since April, as summer gardening and activities took over. Now I’m looking forward to doing it.

I am no artist. But my sister and I spent hours of together time in our bedroom in Long Beach, working on various masterpiece paint by numbers. My mother still has two of them on her wall: a Rembrandt and a Gainsborough. Happy memories of happy days.

I am not gifted to paint a recognisable picture free-hand. But I can paint within the lines.

God has created a canvas of my life. He knows the way I should live, the attitudes I should have, the choices I should make, to bring out a perfect picture. I have not always lived within the lines. I have slopped over some slightly, and pushed the boundaries of others in a major way. But our Father is a dynamic creator, who never scrunches up or discards anyone. As I return to him, he cleans up the mess I have made. At the end of my life, whatever I am will be a partnership of his design and my execution of it.

He makes everything beautiful in its time. I can trust him with the finished product, knowing that even if my life has become a piece of abstract art, in his eye I am beautiful, and he loves me all the same. Don’t we have an amazing God?

Skipness Brambles

 

Sunlight shimmered on the flat calm of Loch Fyne. We poked around the ruined castle at Skipness, across the sound from the isle of Arran. The lightest of breezes teased our hair.

We moseyed along to explore the nearby cemetery, reading the headstones which had not yet been scrubbed flat by years of weather. So many died so young. So much heartache behind the names of children who died in infancy. So many tears shed in this place, over lives lost, lost to the sea, lost to disease, lost to hardship: lives known to God alone now.

In the far corner I spied a bramble bush, laden with ripe, sweet, juicy fruit. We had no bag with us, so I emptied a section of my ridiculous handbag and started to fill it. There are crumbles to come, and jam.

Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, Jesus taught, it will bear no fruit. In this remote corner of Scotland, people have come and gone: the Picts, early Celtic Christians, conquering kings from Denmark, Viking raiders. Ordinary people, too, living the lives God gave them to live. Lives with their challenges and sorrows and joys. All gone now into the compost of history, but still alive in the heart of the Almighty.

And in the corner of that walled garden of remembrance is a cluster of bramble bushes bearing a crop sweet and juicy, available to anyone with eyes to see, and a ridiculous handbag waiting to be filled.

Audacious

 

Found: one tiny bat, hanging upside down under the bathroom door. Fortunately, Doug found it, and he has removed the odd bat from the house before. It is now resting outside, hopefully preparing to swoop off as night approaches.

Bats have such a bad rep. Mom used to say they carried rabies. I don’t know. I do know Covid could have come from them. So, not a creature welcome inside, for sure.

Still, this one looks cute, in a weird sort of way.

Walking with my neighbour this morning, we had to pause as the farmers moved a herd of cows, mothers and babies, a couple of which were the long-haired Highland cows seen in pictures. Aw. So cute, in a cuddly sort of way.

Two types of creatures, both created by God.

I’ve just read 1 Timothy 2:2. ‘Pray…for kings and all who are in authority so that we can live peaceful and quiet lives marked by godliness and dignity.’ The world is watching the horror unfolding in Afghanistan, and I am convicted that we’re not praying enough for those in authority, because our leaders are failing dramatically.

Today I am praying for leaders. I am praying also that the Lord will change the hearts of the Taliban. Is that too much to hope for? Nothing is impossible with God. He turned Saul around.

I’m praying protection for all those who have been marked for punishment by the Taliban, for taking on western values or collaborating in some real or imagined way. Is that too much to hope for? I’m praying to the Almighty God who released Peter from chains and sent angels to lead him to safety.

Two types of humans, both created by God.

May the Lord show mercy to Afghanistan. May he deliver the long-suffering residents of that beleaguered nation. May your prayers join with mine, and we all be given faith to believe these audacious prayers are rising even now to the throne of grace.

 

Gratitude Gap

 

I reversed the new-to-us car into the parking bay, concerned that my water bottle had leaked onto the passenger seat. I uncharacteristically slipped the gear into neutral and turned off the engine, distracted by the wet spot on the seat. I didn’t put on the hand brake.

Fussing needlessly over the seat, I was startled when the car suddenly crunched into the perimeter grille of the parking building. I had rolled across the line of traffic coming into the structure, through an empty parking bay and … crump.

It didn’t look too bad. Until Doug looked at it when I got home, and noticed a tear, an impact result and a few more scratches.

First time I’d driven the car. A moment of carelessness and a resulting saga of body shop repairs and bills.

This morning, though, I’m thanking God for what didn’t happen. I didn’t broadside some unsuspecting driver looking for a parking space. Nobody broadsided me. I didn’t mow down a sick or elderly patient staggering towards the hospital (that’s where I was). Or a child.

Trying to get my head into the gratitude gap this morning rather than the if-only mode. I do thank God for his grace and mercy, for the protection he affords daily, even when unfortunate events happen.

It’s only metal. Could have been so much worse. Thank you, Lord.

Pack up your Troubles

Weeds canopied the carrots and parsnips. In a summer where fruitfulness has been compromised by the weather, I waded in yesterday to try to give these struggling root veggies a fighting chance.

Turned out, it looked worse than it was. The weeds entangled the crop with gangly arms of tiny, once pale blue flowers, now dead and brown. The weeds lifted out easily, only very occasionally dragging a tiny carrot with them. In under an hour, the rows of vegetables were once again visible and open to the sun. They were granted a fighting chance to mature into something substantial, hopefully.

There are times when it is easy to feel overwhelmed by life. Thinking may be muddied. Emotions may run high. Fears may proliferate, and paralyze.

I was blessed to be in a worshiping atmosphere on Friday night. To hear inspired teaching, speaking into my life. As I received Spirit-filled prayer, those spindly fingers of anxiety which so easily entangle my thinking and attitude were rooted out. I was refreshed and renewed, able to lift my head and see the Son clearly. To feel his touch. To hear his voice. To respond.

I was reminded of a strategy I already knew, but had neglected following. Every morning, package whatever is on my mind and heart in the form of a worry or burden, and give it to the Lord. He is already carrying them anyway, but this reminds me I can let go. I can release the weight and be released into joy, trusting him.

He who flung stars into space is more than capable of sorting out my areas of concern. It’s as I trust him to do that, that I might bear fruit. I am so grateful. 

Use your power carefully

 Just listened to a powerful and profound message from a friend, Mary Haddow, who ministers in the beautiful village of Pitlochry. If you have twenty minutes, or even if you don't, take the time to listen to what she has to say. https://fb.watch/7nWouw3hye/

Sunflower Seeds

 

The sunflower head drooped heavily. Its last petals wavered, then dropped. ‘Oh no,’ Flick cried. ‘My sunflower!’

Planted in her Primary 2 classroom, brought home and replanted in the rose bed, that sunflower has been carefully tended and watered in dry spells. Flick has asked for help to support it, and delighted in it as it opened its full face to the sun.

She’s been gathering seeds to start a seed shop, so we consoled her that this gigantic head will now provide product for the shop. We googled what to do to prepare the seeds. They need to dry, so the bloom was cut off, to more cries of dismay.

Nothing stays the same.

It’s painful to watch life age and decay. But what seems like the end is, of course, only the beginning. ‘Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit,’ Jesus taught.

Only God never changes. The rest of us are moving along on that continuum. I pray that I might sow as many seeds as that sunflower is carrying, and that each might sprout and grow into a star bringing light into this dark world.

Jesus taught that the smallest seed of faith can grow into an impressive tree of life. May we all be encouraged to believe that even though our efforts, influence or visible results may seem miniscule, God has the last word.

Go Figure

 

The garden soft fruit, cultivated so carefully, has been disappointing this year. The canes which used to yield juicy, sweet raspberries, have barely produced. Not enough for jam, that’s for sure.

But the wild ones! Yes, admittedly, it took me over an hour to collect a couple of pounds of the tiny red rasps on a walk the other day, but I’ve got them now, and I’m about to head to the kitchen to make the resulting jam. Those tiny berries, so time-consuming to pick, so sweet and juicy.

Go figure, as my American friends say. Same weather, within a mile of our garden. Rubbish dirt never fed nor watered, and yet the wild ones proliferate and the husbanded ones wither.

Sometimes our most carefully cultivated friendships, or even our diligent efforts to raise Christ-centred children, don’t seem to yield results. We look around, crestfallen, to see wild shoots bearing fruit for eternity. As Tennyson wrote, and my dear dad often quoted, ‘ours not to reason why; ours but to do and die’.

I can’t make sense of it, but I know someone who can. Over to Him. I’m off to make the jam.

 

The Agony

 

It’s almost too painful to listen to the news. Why do I do it? Masochism? I hope not. The reports from Afghanistan are appalling – women on the run as the Taliban fighters sweep in, preparing to usher in a dark age for that beleaguered nation. Tales from east Jerusalem, where Palestinian families are being forced to tear down their houses with their bare hands and move on, make me cringe and weep. The accounts of wildfires burning in large swathes of one of the coldest areas on earth, Siberia, reveal the terrible damage we humans are causing our environment. I know I am helpless; without God these situations are hopeless.

That’s only three of the thousands of black holes in our world today, and yet God, in his might and majesty and love, is working in them all. There is a light shining in the darkness, and the darkness hasn’t overcome it.

The news is so bleak it should bring me to my knees, and as I join my prayers with the millions of others around the world, we partner with God to turn these disasters round.

May I pray in the Spirit throughout this day, confident that my prayers don’t hit a glass ceiling, but penetrate to the halls and throne of the Almighty God, whose promise is to answer the cries of our hearts. In Christ alone there is hope for this world, so mangled and twisted by greed and pride and power-hungry humanity. God so loved the world, that he sent his one and only, much-loved Son.

Hosanna. Come, Prince of Peace. Maranatha.

 

Break in the Clouds

 

Drops like giants’ tears soaked the earth overnight, but it was dry as I headed south. Dry, but the sky was a textured ceiling of shades of grey. The summer warmth, always welcome to me however it comes, arrived in a muggy heaviness.

Suddenly there was a break in the clouds. A glimpse of blue sky, growing as the swirling mass of moisture shifted in the wind. The sun shone through.

Sometimes life is heavy with worry, with work, or with responsibilities. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, hemmed in, trapped.

Last week, I had such a day, such a moment. We don’t have a choice with the weather, but we do with our moods, attitudes and reactions. God opened a space in my day and called me out to walk with him. Miraculously, given the steady gnattering of my thoughts, I heard his invitation and responded. He changed my thinking; he healed my hurt; he quietened my heart and shone his light into my life.

God doesn’t want us to power through, to go it alone. He provides breaks in the clouds which hang over us. It might be a walk, to listen, to draw near to him, just to be. It might be a song. A call from a friend. A verse from the Bible. A voice on the radio. A beautiful sunset.

It’s our choice to go with our own self-centred thoughts, or go with his.

Be transformed by the renewing of your mind. It’s a decision. A choice to make every day.

May I make a good choice today, and respond to the prompting of our loving Creator.

Clean Water

 

Today the forecast was right, and the promised rains have come. Sheets of water drop from the sky and are driven by the wind. The thirsty ground drinks it in greedily, gratefully.

We noticed fields of grain as we drove back from Lunan Bay the other day. Fields of grain which looked stunted. They hadn’t had the water they needed as they grew, and though they were warmly golden in the sunshine, they had not developed to their full potential before maturing, before ripening.

I’ve just read the annual report from Signpost International, based in Dundee. One of their projects focused on providing clean water for an area of Uganda where children were deprived of valuable learning time because they needed to walk for hours to find drinking water. In Uganda, 51% of the population has no access to clean water, and drinking dirty water causes illness and even death, but also contributes to the country’s high levels of stunting. Stunting is not simply physical, but also affects cognitive development.

Like the stunted grain, once children pass a certain point of development, the clean water is welcome but comes too late to counter the arrested flowering of potential and promise.

Something so basic as water. I am the water of life, Jesus declared, and if we go to him, our spiritual thirst is slaked and we are nurtured and supplied with all we need to be the people he created us to be.

I had a challenging day yesterday. I could feel my spiritual tongue hanging out, dry and cracked, and I headed out into nature. I knew that I would meet with my Lord as I walked in his creation, and that I would be open and receptive to his restorative watering. An hour later, I returned home, a new creation, refreshed and strengthened.

Nothing had changed except my attitude. How grateful I am to live in a place where I have such ready access to a thin place, a touching point with our loving Creator God, who gives me water which bubbles up to eternal life.

Even as I am grateful for this spiritual water, may I be aware and active in doing what I can to help those who are deprived of clean water, both physical and spiritual.

Lunan Bay

 

Lunan Bay: who knew there was such a piece of paradise accessed down a beautiful coastal road? We missed that, somehow, in raising our family, and always went north to the beach we knew, Sandend. Which is equally paradisical but a bit further and on busy, main roads.

A day out, celebrating Jamie’s birthday with his lovely family. It is so refreshing to laugh and tease two-year-olds. The simplest thing is hilarious to them. I could feel cobwebs of concern blowing away in the onshore breeze, in the tinkling joy of their laughter, in the sparkling water and warm sun.

Now I am back at it, working through a list of concerns re Mom’s care and situation, reminding myself that God has given me the gifts I need to do this. Paul told the Corinthians that God said to him, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

May I trust in his grace today, and expect him to strengthen me to make wise, even if difficult, decisions, and to guide me through the Kafkaesque health insurance morass.

May you, too, be blessed in seeing his hand at work in all that you face today.

 

Fruitless?

 

I felt a lump under my foot as we paused under an apple tree in the garden. I looked down. Several marble-sized apples litter the ground, and only a few remain on the tree. I had high hopes for that tree this year, as Don cleaned the ground round it and planted grass, fertilised it and tended it well. It’s always been a tree with a prolific crop, but the apples were marked and needed to be consumed quickly. I thought this year the tree would still bear a lot of fruit, this time unmarked.

But no. This year, like most of the rest of the garden, the crop is disappointing. Fruitless even. Effort wasted, apparently.

How many times are our hopes dashed in this world? We tend and feed a project, a relationship, an idea, only to find it falls to the ground, wasting away? I work hard, over years, on a piece of writing – the historical novel I’ve written with Onesimus as the main character, for instance. I feel inspired, even guided, and yet, it falls to the ground, bearing no fruit.

Paul wrote to the Corinthians, ‘Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort.’

Today, even if the outcome of my labours seems to bear no fruit, I choose to put my confidence in the Master. Something good will come of it. May you, too, be encouraged even in the face of disappointment. God is good.

 

Gifts of the Season

 

Mhairi is scheduled to fly back to LA next week, for an extended visit. I wrapped a few small gifts for Mom, who will be able to celebrate her 97^th birthday with Mhairi. What a blessing, though I do confess my heart is sad that I won’t be with them.

The gifts are small – dark chocolate with nuts, shortbread, a tartan sheep. Mom doesn’t need anything, but I know what she enjoys, and the sheep will remind her of Queenie, her pet when she was a teenager on the farm, and the tartan may remind her where I am. Small gifts, but tailored.

Paul talks about gifts to the Corinthians, teaching that God gives each of us gifts. Suddenly this morning I saw the endless tedium and anxiety of sorting out insurance and banking situations for Mom in a different light. He has gifted me, in this season, with all that I need to walk Mom home safely. And more than that, because I can be her support team, her life in Sunrise can be her final mission field. I’ve been told more than once by one of the care managers there that she loves enabling a skype call between us, because of the love and laughter we still share.

Praying that Mom will continue to shine with the light of Jesus, and that I will trust that he gives me all I need to oversee the complications of the American healthcare system, to make sensible banking decisions, and in all of that, to remember the more mundane – the renewal of clothing and restocking of toiletries. Those are just the gifts I need for this season, and the gifts that will bring me joy as I successfully walk her into his arms. From six thousand miles away.

God’s goodness never fails. With the amazing gift of the Holy Spirit come all the treasures of heaven. We are each gifted with what we need, when we need it. Why don’t I trust more in that truth, that promise from God, and not wake up in the night thinking about details I don’t comprehend?

Today may I, and may you, not only receive the gifts of God which are special and unique to each of us, but actually open them and smile with delight to see that he has chosen to give us exactly what we need for this season.

Plugged the Prius

 

The garage mechanic plugged the Prius into the computer. All the warning lights flashed, bells went. He investigated further, concluding it is a hydraulic brake problem. We’ve tipped the balance: it will probably cost more to fix than it is worth.

Scrambling to find a replacement: never a fun job when we are both car-averse, meaning we want a car that will get us from A to B and back again, (and for me, is, preferably, red, or a bright blue, but not the boring silver we usually end up with).

I did entertain a moment of madness on Saturday when we stopped to see what the car lots had in Perth. There was a little, convertible, red Mazda sportscar. The sun was out on Saturday, and this convertible had charisma. It was calling me. I want to be that Gramma who zips around in a totally impractical little red sports car. (I did grow up listening to ‘the little old lady from Pasadena’…)

Except. Flick asked me if there was room in the back seat for her car seat. No, sweetheart, there is no back seat. No back seat.

I reckon that in life some of us have choices. We can choose the zippy red sports car which doesn’t even have a boot big enough for a suitcase, and drive around in lonely splendour, or we can pick that clunky silver people-carrier, but then fill it with people we love.

Not to mention, how could my conscience cope, knowing there are people all over the world in dire straits, who could have benefitted from some of the money squandered on a fast car. And the environment! What sort of emissions would that baby spew out?

There for a moment, I flirted with taking a walk – or a ride – on the wild side. Reluctantly, I suspect if you see me driving around, it will be in yet another generic silver, maybe white, car. It will have a back seat.

I’m trying to connect this to Jesus somehow. But I don’t want to infer that he lived a conventional, boring life. He enjoyed life. He was accused of being a party-person. Of drinking and eating with unsuitable people. If he were choosing a vehicle, I think he might choose a bus, big enough to carry a crowd of disparate people he picked up along the way. Maybe that’s what I should be looking for…

 

 

Dirty Hobs

 

With seven people living here, our stove top (hob) is in high demand. An induction hob, it was fairly new to me when our household numbers expanded, and I wasn’t aware of the need to clean it well after every use. Especially when frying.

I’m aware now.

I’d vaguely noticed a dull circle developing around the central ring, and I did give it a wipe between one dinner production and the next, but my cursory cleaning didn’t do the trick. So, a couple of days ago, I thought I’d just get rid of it.

Hah. I’m still working on it. Last night Don joined in the fun. Maybe in another day or two …

It made me think of how easy it is to overlook the dirt as it accumulates, the dirt in my life. The critical thoughts. The quick-tempered words. The despair over politics and the environment.

Keep short accounts with God, is the advice I’ve often heard. Go to him daily for a clean-up. Otherwise, as happened to my hob, we stop reflecting the light of God and instead live dulled-down lives. The joy that is ours in Jesus goes.

We are really working hard to remove the last vestiges of solidified grease and dirt. Jesus worked hard, too. He paid a high price to clean me up. He paid the price once and for all, but I still pick up dirt in my daily life. May I be more mindful of the toughened stains on my hob, and clean them daily as I also take time with God to allow him to restore the me he created.

Singing in the Rain

 

Oh! I’ve just sat down to write about how dry the garden is looking. Like California, the tall grass on the verge is brown and bent, dying back already, and it’s not even August. But what’s that pounding out of the heavens? Yes, the rain, long-predicted, has arrived.

So, I can score off a couple of items on the to-do list. No need to water the pot plants. I might, however, have to race round and unplug the internet and telephones if the thunder and lightning, also predicted, arrive.

The house is quiet this morning, except for the sound of the falling rain. I’ve been sitting in my prayer window, drinking in God’s words, drawing near to him in my imagination, in my words and prayers, in my sitting – trying to silence the random thoughts that flash like lightning through my mind so that I can be renewed, revived, refreshed.

Peter told the crowd in Jerusalem that when we draw near to God, he sends us times of refreshing. The world itself is parched and languishing, battered by violence, pestilence and the results of greed. May God bless his world with times of refreshing. May he enlighten us to live in harmony with each other and with the natural environment. May we all drink deep of his love, so that we no longer limp into each day, but rather dance into it.

May we sing in the abundant rain of God’s love today and every day.

 

Butterflies!

 

This is why I don’t normally grow brassicas. As I walked down the garden path, I noticed that the anti-butterfly netting I had positioned over the broccoli didn’t reach the ground. My eye travelled up to the skeletal remains of several of the broccoli. What did remain supported an army of ravenous, spiky, black and red caterpillars devouring the leaves.

They give me the creeps, but I know someone who loves all things creepy and crawly.

‘Flick!’ I cried. ‘Look, more caterpillars for you to collect!’

She grabbed the ice cream tub in which she had gathered the last lot, who had chomped their way through the Jacob’s Ladder in the garden. Happily, I gave her a few under-leaves of the lettuce, so they wouldn’t go hungry.

Now, I confess, I am in a moral dilemma. Flick is away for the week on holiday with her family. My instinct is to squash those guys and get rid of the evidence. But I could never confess to doing that. So, maybe, I will need to make sure they have enough leaves and water to survive and pupate.

I do love butterflies. Flick knows I love butterflies. So how can I be so hard-hearted towards caterpillars? Like a lot of things about me, it doesn’t make sense.

Hmm. Just read the story of the prodigal father. Seems to me the younger brother was a real ugly caterpillar, but still his father loved him. Turned out, when the younger brother returned and was being feted, the elder brother was also a real ugly caterpillar.

But in the eye of the father, they were both beautiful butterflies.

In the communion service, there is an invitation from Jesus to ‘feed on me’. It is as I feed on him, that there is hope for me, too. One day, I will be a beautiful butterfly. In the meantime, though, I’m a creepy crawly caterpillar. But still, my Father loves me.

Incredible as that is, it’s true.

Scattered!

 

Squeals of delight as the two-year-old twins rush off in different directions. Each is focused on a different climbing frame, with curving ladders intended for older children. The four-year-old has just mastered a two-wheeler and he is joyfully and proudly zipping off through the park, occasionally looking to check he still has an appreciative audience.

Today there are three adults to mark their safety. I gain a new level of appreciation for the importance of having children while still young!

My thoughts rise to God. ‘I am with you always’. ‘I will never leave nor forsake you.’ ‘I will lead you.’ ‘I hold you by the hand.’

How many billions of people are in this wonderful world we inhabit? Scattering in all directions – up mountains, down caves, through cities, across deserts, in relationship crises, bereavements, and joys: and he’s got everyone covered.

Blows my mind.

Riding the Rapids

 

A picture hangs above the bed, taken years ago in Colorado. Robbie, Kyle, Craig, and other young folk perch inside a raft, everyone wearing an orange life vest. All eyes focus forward, on the white water bubbling up from rocks tumbling down a hillside. Some faces smile with delight and anticipation; others register alarm.

At the back of the boat is a slightly older person, showing no surprise, only careful attention to the action. He’s done this before.

We can look at the news, hear of disasters, and be disheartened, overwhelmed even. It feels as if we are pitching down a precipitous and dangerous river. Which, in fact, we are. But Jesus is our safety; he provides the life jackets which keep us afloat when we do fall out of the boat and get into difficulties. He is also the captain, overseeing our direction, adjusting the rudder to steer us away from disaster.

We have a choice when we look at our world. We can be disheartened, or we can perceive opportunities. Each of the teenagers in that boat holds an oar. Each one has it in their grasp to alter the course of the boat. Presumably, as every oar is gathered into the boat in this picture, the captain gave them instructions not to use the oars just yet, but to ride it out.

Jesus is giving us instructions today. He is calling each of us to pray, a powerful oar which can change seemingly catastrophic situations. He is calling some of us to sign petitions, write to our politicians, join marches, and use whatever platform we have to speak out for justice and mercy, to bring light into dark situations. Sometimes he is guiding us to ship our oars and trust that he has it.

I lay awake through some hours of the night. The radio droned out interesting World Service programs: interesting, but discouraging. Femicide in Mexico. Covid-19 in 87% of the bodies tested in a morgue in Lusaka. Re-instatement of masking requirements in Los Angeles as Covid cases soar again. The UK government’s heartless cutting of the overseas aid budget, and the disastrous effects that will have. Unprecedented flooding and deaths in Germany. And on and on.

The canoe is pitching downwards but Jesus is at the helm. May I be alert to his voice today, responsive to his directions, quick to obey, able to trust. May I grasp the hope of Christ and seize any opportunity I have today to bring glory to God.