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.