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.