The icy fingers of winter continue to grip us. Overnight, Jack
Frost flung a bucket of crystals on fence posts and skeletal bushes; I admire
the look from inside, where I hear the boiler working hard to keep the room
temperatures tolerable. I may not venture far today.
Yesterday I heard of good friends who responded with
enthusiasm to a sunny morning, discarding ‘Yak Traks’ as they headed to the
riverside for a walk. Finding themselves slipping and sliding alarmingly, they
took what they thought would be a safer short-cut home, only to become marooned
on sheet ice and forced to crawl to safety on hands and knees. They knew there
were over fifty locals getting bones set after jarring falls on the ice, and
they didn’t want to follow suit.
Yak Traks would have given them surer footing on the
slippery surfaces they found themselves on. I find spiritual Yak Traks in the
Bible, in prayer, and in the encouragement of others. Enticed into paths of
thought which sometimes become treacherous, it’s only through gripping tight to
the truth of Jesus’ life and words, and trusting that he is gripping me, that
save me from a fall.
The airwaves crackle with cries of fake news and conspiracy
theories. People become convinced that they hold the truth. If that truth lines
up with the Yak Traks of Jesus, then fair enough. But if it leads to bigotry and
violence, then the posters and banners claiming adherence to Christian values slander
Christ and are perhaps one of the worst aspects of current unrest.
Praying for peace in tomorrow’s hand-over of leadership in
Washington DC. We don’t want any slips.
.
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