In Quietness and Trust

 

They arrived weeks ago, roots exposed, bagged in plastic. Three dwarf fruit trees: pear, apple and plum. Replanted carefully into three new pots, fed and watered: the watch began.

Then the frigid May weather hit, more like winter than like spring. I watched. I waited. They all appeared dead, but gradually, oh so gradually, the apple showed tiny signs of life. The pear began to prickle with incipient green.

But the plum tree! It remained stoic and lifeless, day after day, week after week. Warm weather has, at last, arrived, and yesterday’s inspection yielded hope: tiny signs of life from way down the trunk. I’d not been examining the lower extremities, only the upper twig-like branches. Life sprouted where it was not expected, while I was looking elsewhere.

Hope restored, I am reminded how easy it is to look for life in the wrong places, and to lose heart when I see no signs. This day, Lord, set me free from arrogant assumptions. Open my eyes, my mind, and my heart, to see where life is breaking out. And as I think about growth, grow my trust in you, rooted in your faithfulness and love.

In this season, as the world awakens and stretches out tentatively, fearfully, may we all look up and inhale deep, receiving the breath of life and accepting the peace which comes from Jesus. May he guide us into a new way of living, and keep us from forgetting some of the hard-learned lessons of lock-down. Help us to be humble, to be kind and to show mercy and love. ‘In quietness and trust is your strength.’

Clinging Vine

 

Intertwining branches of a vine climb the strong trunk of a towering tree, clinging tight for support while stretching upwards, ever upwards.

After a couple of days at the amazing retreat centre in Perthshire, The Bield, this is one image I have brought back, an image of my relationship with God. He has encouraged and spoken to me through so many creative media over these rich days: in one-to-one times apart in a prayer pod; in the words of a wise spiritual director; in a Pantoum Poem; through movement during a wellness session; while finger painting in the art room; floating and resting in the warm waters of the pool; in meditative walks through the labyrinths; during chapel; in debrief sessions with Mhairi. Ours is a loving, engaging God, always ready and waiting for us to draw near.

Through your Word, I see a clear picture of my smallness anad need, and your awesomeness and love: you, my God, taking me in close.

I am refreshed and revived; filled with a quiet joy and peace. So grateful for that space, that time, those people, and our Lord.

Waterfall Coming

A generous-sized swimming hole, surrounded by spring green, leafy trees. Greens of many hues, light and dark, yellow- and blue-tinged. A picture of peace, where the water rests calm and welcoming. The swimming hole is a balloon which has swollen from the river which feeds it, a river which then continues on its journey via a spectacular waterfall.

I have had an impression of this picture for the last day or two. I sense that we at the ‘hillock, and maybe many others, are now and have been ok in this swimming hole for some time now, during lock-down. It’s safe and fun, and we are making the most of it. It doesn’t feel stagnant but neither is there a sense of any sort of current pulling us onward.

But a current there is, of course, a current of life, of seasonal change, and as I’ve been thinking about this picture I’ve sensed, not that the waterfall signifies danger, but that it signifies major change. One thing I’ve learned over the last year and a bit is that life holds unanticipated surprises, and the best way to navigate the changes is to remain in the security of the love of God, a ‘boat’ he provides to keep us afloat.

Many of us don’t like change. It is unsettling, and we’ve become accustomed to whatever norm we have been in for awhile. For others, though, I am aware that that waterfall can’t come soon enough. Lock-down lagoon has been lonely, frightening, and sad. However we feel as the current begins to pull us towards the waterfall, it’s encouraging to remember that ‘she who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.’ (Ps 91) Though everything in life is fluid and fluctuating, God is my rock. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.

I’m preparing to hold tight and ride the rapids.

  

Disconnect

 Just a note to the followers who get an email alert when I post a new blog, I am being told that things are changing and soon that alert will no longer be sent. I guess you'll just have to check back every few days to see if I've been active or not. 

Sorry. 

Not Always Zooming

 

We followed the Zoom link and joined the meeting, listening to a Palestinian Christian share what the situation is like in the West Bank, where he lives, and Gaza, where his relatives live. It was an interactive meeting where questions could be asked.

After a few minutes, though, our internet connection nosedived. Voices broke up and were lost at critical points. Eventually, very frustrated, we gave up.

Been thinking about my connection to God. Although I am sure he is always there, connected with high-speed fibre optic broadband, I am not the best receptor. I allow myself to be driven by a to-do list. I respond to interruptions too quickly; I am aware of my great imperfections and, like Adam and Eve in the garden, I ‘hide’ subconsciously, ashamed. I want to feel his presence, and if I don’t, I move on as if I caught him at a bad time.

Yet, God’s steadfast love never ceases. He continues to forgive, to love, to bless, despite my faults and fears. Unlike an internet connection, which requires me to be in a certain location to receive, I can receive from the Lord wherever I am today: at the sink, in the garden, in my Bible or writing.

On my heart this morning are those cases of injustice I mentioned yesterday. So I am going to mount a counter-attack: looking to God for his intervention, I raise a hallelujah in the presence of my enemy. I’m singing, new songs and old. Praising the God who died for the oppressed and the marginalised, those without a voice. In Jesus’ name, we have the victory. Hallelujah!

Action Stations

 

As I stared out the window, lost in thought about the injustices which I’ve heard about this morning on the radio, in messenger and in my inbox, I became aware of a riot of almost invisible bugs swirling and swarming wildly beneath the cherry tree. What are they? Fodder for the swallows and bats? Do they have any greater purpose in life than providing nutrition for the creatures further up the food chain? No idea.

The world is in a chaotic and confused state. Nobody really knows how effective any one of the vaccines is long-term or in the face of mutating viruses. Gather together again? Travel? Venture out without a mask? Hug a friend?

In the midst of global pandemic, nations create more crises. They squeeze up against each other in violent aggression. Wars and rumours of wars. Injustices on every side.

The temptation is to allow one’s boiling blood to paralyse action. What can I do? Still under demi-lockdown, I can fire off emails, sign petitions, attend seminars to better educate myself to the truth of situations. I can be a voice for the voiceless, to the best of my ability. So can you.

That’s what love does. It steps up and speaks up. James wrote, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

May God give us all wisdom to pray and act for those suffering injustice, oppression, and brutality, in all its diabolical forms.

Clematis

 

The clematis outside the dining room is leafing out; the rose climbing up on the other side of the window is beginning to stretch upwards again. Both outgrew their vertical supports a couple of years ago, and every year, other priorities have side-lined the need to provide an upper trellis. The plants have drooped forlornly as a result.

Over the weekend, Don and Doug bolted a horizontal trellis above the windows to carry the profusion of growth. This year, there will be no gloom in the dining room because of branches hanging limp and unsupported.

We are never so spiritually mature that we have no need for divine support. We get into trouble when we move ahead prayerlessly, confident in our own abilities and insights. I don’t want to live a life like a hanging stem, blown here and there by every breath of wind. I don’t want to throw others into shadows of doubt because I am freewheeling and unsupported by my Father. I don’t want my faith to grow weak because I have arrogantly presumed I know what the Bible says or, even worse, I know what God thinks about this or that.

This day, Lord … every day … may I approach the throne of grace with humility and clear-eyed vision of my own limitations, and trust in you to guide and lead me through the highways and byways of my life.

Tree Thinning

 

The dawn chorus has gained a heavy bass percussion, which is jarring and unrhythmic. It is a dinosaur of a tree-thinning machine, and its operator rouses it into life around 6 am.

It’s always sad to see trees go down. But I have to admit that this morning, I noticed that the deep dark woods were no longer deep nor dark, but dappled with trees displaying their lovely spring foliage. Previously these magnificent trees were hidden by an arboreal crowd, but now they strutted their stuff, so to speak, like divas on the catwalk. The sunlight, whenever it returns to us, will now reach the forest floor and no doubt warm seeds long dormant there, teasing them into growth. New life has a chance.

Our Father is the heavenly gardener. Never mind starting work at dawn: scripture says that he never sleeps. He’s always working, pruning and cutting out those things in our lives which plunge new shoots of faith into shadow and prevent our flourishing and living the lives to the full which Jesus longs for us to have. May I be open to receive whatever thinning operations he deems profitable to my faith and life.

The Heart of the Matter

The heart of the home. The recording studio was set up in the corner of a front bedroom, where it was vulnerable to all sorts of sound incursions, including rain, wind, and birdsong. Needing to create a more sound-proof environment for Mhairi to record an audio book, we settled on the walk-in closet in our bedroom. Securely built into the interior of the house, tucked away under a staircase, with no windows nor even outside walls, this closet, we hope, will prove ideal.

Proverbs 4 has something to say about the heart. ‘Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.’ I recently had a scan, and the doctor explained that the rib cage is designed to protect the vulnerable organs like kidneys and spleen, but above all else, the heart.

The world is filled with cacophonic sound. Some ideas are obvious denials of truth, but others are subtly nuanced. We are constantly tempted to accept or even embrace perversions of truth.

A ribcage of relationship with Jesus through the Holy Spirit; a ribcage of scriptural truths; a ribcage of a network of relationships with other believers (otherwise known as church): these are what we need to guard our hearts. Otherwise, we are open to many noises off, where we are not recording the purity of God’s love and truth, but rather becoming deformed by the distortions peddled by the world.

Guard my heart today, o Lord. 

Falkirk Wheel

 

On our way back up from Edinburgh yesterday, we detoured to visit the Falkirk Wheel, and the Kelpies. We’d heard much about both but never visited. Short of time, we contented ourselves with a drive-by of the Kelpies, delicately sculpted horses rising from the earth, before parking and going to the Wheel, an impressive feat of engineering which lifts canal boats from one level to another, having replaced nine locks which previously had been necessary.

There we lingered, opting for the longer tour which included a canal boat negotiating the wheel and then moving a short distance along the higher level before turning and riding down again. We were told that the two boats in use for such tours are called Archimedes, because of the ancient principle on which the design is based, and Antonine, for the Rough Fort built by the Romans nearly two thousand years ago on which the Wheel rests. Coming off the boat, we walked to the remains of the Antonine wall which stretched across Scotland to hold the barbarians back. It didn’t work, and after a few decades of struggles, the Romans abandoned Scotland, deeming it unconquerable.

Engineering feats both ancient and modern, both successful and unsuccessful. Both aimed to conquer the beautiful, wild terrain. The earth declares the beauty of the Lord. Privileged and grateful to have time to enjoy the countryside from a different vantage point.

Throne of Grace

 

Sitting in the prayer window as dusk deepens and grey skies give way to darkness. ‘You are here…’ echoes in my mind. I hum as I write. Turning lives around. Healing broken hearts. You are here, Jesus.

He has been here always. He’s never not been here, but I … I don’t always appreciate his presence. Tonight, I am full of gratitude. I had an eventful week last week. Tomorrow we get to have some time in Edinburgh. A little business to do, and then maybe an art gallery, a walk, a meal out (literally…)

Unable to sleep last night, I read through the book of Jonah. Then one of my grandsons acted out the story of Jonah at church today, and told me, with great self-assurance, ‘I already read that story. I know that story.’

Well, so did I. But last night, I was reminded of a great verse I’d marked years ago. Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs. That isn’t the verse Greg will have learned today in his junior church class, probably. But isn’t it challenging? Isn’t it amazing?

Time for some soul-searching, to ferret out any worthless idols I’ve tucked away in my heart. With a heart full of praise, I approach the throne of grace … on my face.

Mercy and Gratitude

 

Sitting in a wheelchair awaiting an MRI, I watched a young orderly from another continent. He waited for a second orderly to come to help him wheel the old lady on the gurney back to her hospital room. With compassion and kindness, his gloved hands clasped the agitated woman’s hand as she shifted and protested. His quiet voice reassured her as she, in some stage of dementia I imagine, expressed her anxiety and fear. The other orderly appeared and they went out, the orderly continuing to hold the old woman’s hand and comfort her.

Earlier, in my peaceful hospital room, I had chatted with a friendly nurse named Blessing. She was a blessing indeed. The previous night, one of the consultants, whose shift should have ended at 5pm, came to see me at 7 pm, still doing his rounds, looking exhausted. He, too, came from Africa.

When I was mercifully given the all-clear, it was a young doctor from the Indian subcontinent who told me. Headaches as a result of the vaccine. No underlying causes. A real relief, and I’ve woken with a clear head today, after a week of pain.

I have come home feeling blessed, relieved, grateful and humbled. The heroes of the NHS, many from continents in desperate need of their skills, ministered to me here in northeast Scotland. May my prayers have power to minister to them today, and to all those in continents where there is no NHS, no vaccine, no oxygen. Lord, have mercy.

I am praising the Lord with an awesome chorus by Brandon Lake, which I have just heard for the first time yesterday. Gratitude. Mhairi and I have been doing this month-long exercise in gratitude. We’re crescendo-ing to an amazing finish I hadn’t anticipated. I have so much to be thankful for. Blessings, pressed down and overflowing. Thank you, God. And thank you, all who prayed for me. Our God is a powerful God, who loves justice and mercy. May they flow through us all today.

 

Kingdom Coming and Now

 

Most Sunday mornings at 10.30 am, we can be found Zooming to church. Yesterday was an exception. Rather than staring at our sisters and brothers on a screen, we were sipping coffee in a fairly cold but sunny garden near Dundee, re-connecting with our wee grandchildren there and our precious son and daughter-in-law. Blessed be the Lord. May the scourge of Covid-19 fade into the history books.

Four months makes a big difference in the lives of two-year-olds. What joy to engage with them again, to marvel at their dexterity and comprehension, to exclaim over the growth of the four-year-old big brother. What a blessing to celebrate the birthdays missed during lockdown restrictions.

What a joy to harvest Callan’s bear hugs and to steal kisses from Joel and Ella.

The Kingdom of God is all around you, Jesus taught, and certainly, yesterday, we were surrounded by the Kingdom of God. Not just surrounded, though: filled, pressed down and overflowing. The Kingdom of heaven is within.

Giving thanks today as we hold on to the hope that a pandemic-free dawn is breaking, not just in Scotland, but in India, Brazil, Pakistan … worldwide. May we emerge from enforced hibernation, wiser, and may the sorrow of these long months give way to joy.

At last.