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.

 

Always winter?

 

Oh, the joy of a summer morning. Clear blue skies. Swallows nesting in the eaves, swooping and chatting to each other. Bees humming and flies darting here and there. Warmth in the sun. Muscles, usually tensed to the cold, can relax.

I am very aware how blessed I am.

I’ve started into the Narnia world again, a world where it is always winter, never Christmas. I am grateful that God did not give us a world like that. Jesus in our hearts has the power to make it always Christmas, never winter.

But, of course, there is the equivalent of the White Witch working to subvert the perfect plan. So in this fallen state, millions suffer in conditions that are harsh and unrelenting. In some of the camps in Syria, where children are sentenced for the crimes of their parents, creative imagination is warped to focus on schemes to fight back, to claw back some freedom. Where people feel abandoned to injustice and cruelty, summer never comes.

May God help our leaders today. May he inspire their thinking and help us find a form of justice that does not leave children in a world which is always winter, never Christmas. May I double down on my commitment to pray for a world in which Christ’s peace reigns in the hearts of all.

May Christmas come in our hearts today.

God is Good

 

Breakfast in the garden; the sun hot on my face; the breeze cool and light on my skin; the sound of busy bees, insects, and children moving all around me. God is good.

Much in the world draws our concern, our despair, our tears. Much in the world is beyond our power to change. It is not beyond the power of God.

So before the day sags into sharing a litany of the world’s transgressions, and our amazement at how heinous the crimes are, how heartless the people, I want to repeat, God is good. This is the world he created, the world he loves, the world he died to free from the power of sin and evil. I step out of its grip and into the hand of our loving, powerful God, and I declare that this is the day that he has made. It is a good day. He is a good God, and I look to him to bring justice to the marginalised and oppressed, to bring hope to those languishing in despair, and to bring joy to the most jaded of souls.

God is good, and his mercy lasts forever.

Sigh ...

 

Sigh.

Most years, we work hard to plant a veggie garden.

If we had to survive on what we produce, we might last a week.

This year is already showing disappointing results. Not much fruit has set in the trees: probably too cold or frosty or windy or wet or dry or … just at the critical moment.

I did get 5 jars of strawberry jam made yesterday. Sigh.

Praying for China this morning, I found my thoughts turning to the megalomaniac urge to be in control, an urge sustained to the nth degree in a country centrally controlled by a man who claims a lifetime right to rule.

Most of us have an urge to control. We might not be ‘control freaks’, but we hope for  - even expect - certain results for the effort and input we invest. Like the harvest from my garden.

Covid-19 is teaching me, though, that whatever small measure of control I thought I had over things, it was always an illusion. No amount of input or planning guarantees a certain outcome.

So how to live responsibly in such an uncertain world? Just as the Bible counsels. Don’t worry about tomorrow. One step at a time today, and trust God to be in whatever the resulting outcome is.

This morning I am grateful for my health, and that nearly halfway through our isolation still only Doug has tested positive. I am grateful to be living in a rural setting where we can actually take a walk and not meet another soul. I am grateful for friends doing our shopping and praying for us.

This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it, and not worry about tomorrow. (with his help)…

                                                      

Nailed it

 

One of those nights when sleep eludes. I finally rose before 5 to sit in the prayer window. A July morning in Scotland means it is light as day by then.

My eye was drawn to the white smears varnished into the pine cladding lining the window enclosure. At waist height and above, they can barely be seen. That’s where Don did the finishing decoration, meticulously. But below waist height – the putty that masks the nails was sanded off too fast, too carelessly, and then varnished over. Those are the ones I did. I think I assumed the varnish would erase the marks, but instead it highlighted them, making them stand out with prominence.

Thinking of the power of words. How carelessly they can fly from our lips, landing like nails in someone else’s heart. How hard it is to try to make amends, to putty the holes our words leave, to hide the scars they cause. But unless our own heart is changed, harsh words can fly again.

There is so much rancour and division in our world. So many harsh words fly carelessly, wounding and disabling wherever they land. The world is broken into bits as nations slur other nations, peoples slur other races, religions or genders.

Lord, purify my heart today, that my thoughts would inspire words of wholeness and health, that all judgmental and critical thoughts are rejected to wither and die.

God so loved the world that he gave his only, much-loved son Jesus to die for all.

Pure Joy?

 

We’ve decamped to another bedroom: Doug tested positive for Covid so he is isolating in our en suite, while the rest of us isolate at home. Cancel all plans. More challenge. More change.

He took the test and had the result right after burying his beloved cat Prince, who was knocked down by a car overnight on the small country road in front of our house. Heartbroken and ill. Yet more challenge. Yet more change.

The load of washing I hung outside last night still hangs out in the rain, under cloudy skies which show no breaks of blue, of sunshine. I can see a relation there as we all hang out, pegged in place, under stormy skies.

But the break of blue is there. The birds still sing. Jesus is here. In him all our hopes rest. He never leaves us nor forsakes us. He died so we could be unpegged and freed from hanging helplessly under life’s onslaught. Though I don’t want my sheets and towels dancing across the surrounding fields, I do want our spirits to lift and rise as we put our trust in God.

Consider it pure joy, James famously wrote, when faced with trials of all kinds. May we persevere not with gritted teeth but with singing lips as we expect God’s glory to be revealed.

 

Buried Deep

 

The tractor arrived early, a digger secured onto the trailer behind. Great excitement for Gregor. The operator has now commenced work, digging a hole for a septic tank. When his job is done, there should be no sign of what lies beneath the ground. Pipes will connect the wastewater system to the tank, and all dirty water from the new flat will flow into it.

God promises that when we are born again, we hook into his wastewater system. Well, he doesn’t say that in so many words. But his promise is that he takes our sins and buries them beyond retrieval. He forgets our transgressions when we repent with sincerity and love.

May I stop trying to dig up what he has discarded. May I truly trust that the past is done and dusted. Paul counsels that we are to ‘forget what is behind’ so that we can shake off all that would hold us back as we run the race with perseverance.

May I run the race with freedom and joy today, grateful for all Jesus has done for me.

Complete protection

 

The green plastic netting stretches over the strawberry patch. Big berries, swelling in the rain, struggle to ripen and sweeten without more sunshine. But they do ripen eventually. Red and juicy.

I hate the netting because it can trap unsuspecting wildlife attracted to the sight and smell of the fruit. One year I found a frog entangled in it, and spent a half hour working to free it. Doug released three birds who had hopped in through an opening and couldn’t find egress. But if we’re going to harvest any strawberries, I have to protect the patch.

Of course, the netting does nothing to deter the slithering slugs. And beak-shaped damage reveals that somehow, some birds are managing to get in, enjoy a treat, and sneak off without discovery.

I am grateful that when Jesus gathers us under his wings, there are no gaps. When I lean in, in full trust mode, his love and reassurance cover me totally. I have to confess, though, that I am prone to pull away when things happen. I pull out of his embrace, and peek out at the insurance confusion for Mom’s health care. An hour on the phone yesterday only clarified what a muddle everything is, and how, without that phone call, Mom’s bills could have soared. Not yet completely understood nor sorted, I am extremely grateful to Stacie on the line who went extra miles to help clarify and is now chasing things down.  While I’ve got my gaze away from the protection of Jesus, I am astonished at the newly-discovered fact that few, if any, UK travel insurance companies are offering cover for the US because of Foreign Office restrictions on travel to amber countries. At the point of making a flight reservation, I have to pull back: I can’t go without insurance. My longed-for reunion with Mom may have to wait beyond November. My heart is heavy.

Although Jesus’ cover is complete, when I allow fears to flourish, it is as though I have a green plastic netting offering partial protection. Anxiety creeps in through the gaps. Sadness dampens joy, the joy of the Lord.

I read two encouraging words today: ‘The Lord himself will fight for you; you need only be still’, (Exodus 14:14) and ‘Be still and know that I am God’ (Psalm 46:10).

May I take these words to heart today and live in the joy and freedom of faith in these trustworthy promises. May I draw in close to Jesus: The Lord himself will fight for you. Singing out: ‘I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm…’

What has this pandemic been but a perfect storm? May I see the possibilities, the opportunities, for Jesus to be glorified and revealed during dark days. May I allow myself to be gathered close to God.

I suspect I may not be the only one struggling with challenges today. May God bless us all with renewed faith and joy. Let it rise. Eventually the strawberries will ripen, and they will be sweet and juicy.

 

 

Divine Insurance

 

I’ve heard it said that some people hedge their bets by paying lip service to faith in God, as a sort of eternal insurance policy just in case … Just in case it’s true and there is a God, on arrival at the Pearly Gates, they want to be able to point out that they did acknowledge his existence in some sort of way while on earth. They hope that will be enough for an entry ticket to heaven.

I am challenged yet again by my mother’s health insurance, having received what is called an EOB, Explanation of Benefits, which is a euphemism for explaining why the insurance isn’t fully covering whatever the bill was. But it’s not a clear explanation, because some things are considered out of network and yet are partially covered … I don’t understand, so will be on the phone again today asking for clarification.

One would think that having insurance would bring the blessing of peace of mind, but I’m afraid that where Mom’s health insurance is concerned, I carry a bubble of anxiety that never quite goes away. Despite assurances from the provider, before an action is taken, that it will be covered, very often it turns out that it is not.

I wonder if nominal Christians carry a constant bubble of anxiety about their eternal outcome.

I am so grateful that Christianity is not about a divine insurance plan, but rather an incredible relationship with a divine being who loves us unconditionally. The premium I pay is my love for him. Even when I stray and sin, I can’t go out of network, because Jesus has paid the premium price on the cross. Full Stop. Period.

Hallelujah. A heartfelt thank you to Jesus.

Predators

 

The cat left us a present. Another dead mole on the garden grass. It’s awful the way cats have such a killer instinct, not because they need the prey as food, just because they can kill. The mole is a beautiful creature. Don showed it to Flick and Greg. We all admired the mole’s beauty, and felt sad at his violent demise. Then Don took it round the back, to deposit it as a sort of sacrifice to the red kites which soar overhead daily.

Flick had an idea. She rushed into the kitchen, excited to write a thank-you note to Don, as if from the red kite. She dashed out with Doug, who hid the dead mole while she placed the note. Awhile later, as she followed Don outside to ‘check whether or not the red kite has taken the mole’, she winked at us.

Yesterday was a heavy day as news broke of Cosby’s release from prison on a technicality, having shown no remorse at the lives he ruined through his many sexual assaults, sixty who were willing to testify, probably others who kept quiet. Like a cat, he preyed on his victims and discarded them. Survivors of such attacks abandoned to face the cruelty of life, robbed of self-esteem, molested and discarded.

A dark day for women. So much injustice in the world, in all sorts of guises. So what does the Lord require of us? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. May the Lord inspire us to speak out, to lobby, to reach out and to pray, that those who feel their lives have been stolen and their violation has been deemed worthless, may know the truth that the core value of who they are is that they are beloved by the Lord, the God of creation and the God of justice, who will make everything right one day.

I set out to raise a smile, recounting yesterday’s episode with Flick’s joy at setting up a practical joke on her grandfather. I didn’t see any connection to yesterday’s set-back to women’s rights, until I started to write.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus. Restore your creation to the way you made it to be. Let justice flow like a river. Help us to treat one another with respect and love, giving those of every race, religion, and gender the dignity and care you give them.

Roofing Techniques

 

As Don’s listening post, I know more about septic tanks, soakaways, and the construction of roofs and doors than I really care to know. I know that it is wiser to have a roof overhang the gable ends of a house than for it to abut against those gable ends, because the latter has more potential for weak points allowing water ingress and interior damage.

Jesus yearned to gather his people under his wings like a mother hen gathers her chicks, but they wouldn’t be gathered. I’m thinking of him as a sort of roof over us all, a protection from weak points and the deterioration which can happen in relationships and situations due to stresses and strains of life itself. Without his covering, a slow leak or a sudden break can bring about inner rot which eats away at the core of who we are created to be.

May I lean in to Him today, fully covered by his love, impermeable to destructive incursions which can rob me of the fruits of the Spirit he wants me to have: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. May you, too, feel his strong hug drawing you close as you trust in him.