Walking each other home

 

Walking each other home. One of my favourite phrases and concepts.

This morning, we put on our funeral attire. We prayed for the bereaved family. We got to the crematorium in plenty of time and were the first ones inside. A programme was handed to me. I didn’t recognise the lady, but I hesitated. We were there to support the family of a neighbour who we didn’t know well, but had great respect for. We nearly sat down but then agreed in a whisper: ‘This is the wrong funeral!’

Departing against the incoming tide of mourners, a quick check with the funeral director confirmed it: we were a week early.

There is a time for everything, and God knows those times. Sometimes we get them wrong. We object when things don’t follow the pattern we marked out, or assumed. We cry out to God: the death of this very kind and helpful neighbour of ours came too soon (like we did).

Sometimes the world intervenes and destroys what should have been. Young lives cut short by the evil actions of a disturbed young man with easy access to deadly weapons of mass destruction. We cry out to God: open the eyes of the blind, Lord! Restore common sense to those wielding power through the cheque-books. Help us, Lord, help us.

We are in the middle of the days between ascension and Pentecost, set apart by the Archbishop of Canterbury for an initiative called Thy Kingdom Come. We were encouraged in church to note five people we know who have yet to step into the kingdom, and focus daily prayers on them. I shared the list with one of my precious granddaughters, Felicity. Every morning I am praying these five precious girls and women into the Kingdom of God.

Walking them home.

Fill us with love and compassion, Lord, so that we can fulfil our calling to walk each other home. And we humbly ask that you intervene to prevent the violence that shortens natural lifespans, the violence going on globally in so many ways.

As we endeavour to walk others home, Lord, please walk us home, into your glorious Kingdom. Amen.

 

Family Legacy

 

One project always on my list is to ‘do’ the genealogies. I have a filing cabinet drawer stuffed with family information stretching pretty far back. Mom started compiling things but never finished. Now I just need to organise and present it in a readable form.

I got some of it out last night, and was delighted to read in a chronicle from 1890 that my great-great grandfather (maybe there should be another great there…) was praised for ‘never allowing any worthy object of charity to leave his door empty-handed, but gives with a liberality that has won the lasting gratitude of many; by his upright life he has won the confidence of all with whom he has come in contact, and none rank higher in the community than he.’

It's intriguing that this worthy ancestor was born in Perthshire and married in a small village church (Forgandenny) where Don worshipped when he was in boarding school. He emigrated to Wisconsin with his parents and siblings when he was 17. And now I’m back in Scotland. How things have come full-circle!

Nobody outside the family remembers William Scobie, but I can’t think of a better epitaph than this comment by his contemporaries. God explained to Samuel that he looks at a person’s heart rather than the outward appearance we judge one another by. I would rather have my great-great-grandfather remembered for his upright life than have him be famous for anything else.

May I leave a legacy that reveals God’s love for the world he created.

 

More Blood

 

Sorry. They couldn’t process it. We need more blood.

Great. Back down to the surgery to be bled again.

I’ve made my plans for the day, but the Lord directs my steps. And they are not the direction I thought they were headed…

But does it matter? Yesterday I felt the full impact of God’s words in Jeremiah: I have loved you with an everlasting love.

An everlasting love. Despite the mess that I am. Despite the mess the world is in. God loves us with an everlasting love.

How can I respond? One day at a time. One moment at a time. This is the day the Lord has made. So I’m off to give more blood…

That is Love

 

What a dreadful headache I had with the Covid, over two nights. I mentioned it to Mom on the phone.

‘Oh,’ she said sadly. ‘I wish I could help you with that. I wish I could take it for you.’

I laughed. Once a mother, always a mother. At nearly 98, she is still wanting to take the hard things of life off of her child and onto herself.

That is love.

Jesus looked at humanity bowed down by sin and shame.

‘Oh,’ he thought. ‘I can help you with that. I can take it for you.’

And so he left his Kingdom with all its perfection, beauty and love, was born a baby into this world with all its traumas and tragedies. After showing us the way to live a perfect life, he took our sin and shame on his shoulders and allowed himself to be pinned to the cross.  

‘It is finished,’ he said. He has taken it for us. He has taken it, overcoming it through his resurrected life, winning for us the battle with evil. It is finished.

And he sent his Spirit to live in us to enable us to live in the power of his victory. No more headaches. No more sin and shame. Jesus saves us from it all.

That is Love.

Belt and braces

 

Sweet peas all in now – the ones I couldn’t find room for have gone to Mary, my neighbour.

I was late getting them in, so although they looked healthy, they were long and leggy and twisted round each other, and the roots were just as tangled. Desperate to get out of their wee pots and into the wide open space of the garden … though they will probably take a few days to recover from the shock of the transplant. I had to break some of the peas’ tough and sinewy threads which wind round and round any apparent support and cling tenaciously, whether it’s an actual support or just another weak sweet pea, or even just a stray bit of string or fibre.

Maybe many of us are feeling a little like those sweet peas. We have been ‘locked down’ on and off, to greater and lesser degrees, for two years. We’ve stretched and grown in ways we may not yet even recognise: for one thing, we may have a truer picture of our own limitations than we had before. But maybe we’ve been leaning on a friend or family member, an on-line preacher or favourite author. We’re counting on other weak ones to support us. Those dependencies need to be broken off. Lean in to God, who is our refuge and strength and our real support. Our roots have been contained … constrained but cosy. Safe. It's time to stretch them out, to sink them deep into our Lord once again and receive his nurture so that we grow. So that we grow, bud, blossom, and bear fruit.

‘God is striding ahead of you,’ The Message interprets Deuteronomy 31:8. ‘He’s right there with you. He won’t let you down; he won’t leave you. Don’t be intimidated. Don’t worry.’

I feel good. I trust that Covid, if not totally eradicated, is definitely on the way out of my body. I feel ready and eager to release the fragrance of our sweet Jesus again, ready to fully embrace life, life in all its fullness. Leaning into God, who is my shepherd, I have a heightened awareness of my own weakness and dependency now. Deep-rooted in Him, I’ll twine myself round him as well. Belt and braces.

 

 

Prevailing

 

Prevailing climate: a symphony.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, my return flight collected an unwanted bit of baggage along the way: the Covid germ hitched a lift. So here I am, Day 3 after testing positive on Saturday, feeling pretty reasonable probably thanks to the vaccines. And prayers.

But isolated, in my room, hoping to contain its spread, and having to rearrange appointments.

My current prevailing view on the world reveals a snapshot of the garden waking up to hoped-for warmer temps and arraying itself in all shades of spring green. The graceful droop of the acer and willow; the alert stretch of the darker cypress; the dropping pink blossom from the flowering cherry as new leaves open to the season.

Prevailing colour: green.

Half a world away, last week the prevailing colour I saw was brown, as every morning I navigated the route to Mom’s residence, winding through undulating eucalyptus trees towering over dirt trails for the horses and joggers. Occasional explosions of deep blue/purple jacaranda trees added intermittent riots of colour.

And after a day spent with Mom, I would wind my way back towards the coast, where I took a daily walk on the bluffs in order to clear my mind and gain perspective.

Prevailing colours: blues and greys.

However monochrome and routine my day may seem, all around me God sings out in technicolour beauty. When he created the earth, he spoke out his approbation: he saw that it was good. When he created you and me, he spoke out his approbation: he saw that it was good.

Remember today that ‘the Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.’ Zephaniah 3:17

When you see the colours of spring, can you not hear him singing?

Prevailing mood: joy and abundance.

 

Gifts of God

I heard this morning that one of my sons, his wife and one of their children have all tested positive for Covid. My first instinct was to wonder how I could help. Could I go in there, risking infection myself? Could I send meals? What could I do?

In my morning meditations I was encouraged to think of God as being the God who says ‘Yes!’ to his children. We were considering the story of Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding. His willingness to treat us with love and care, delighting us with surprises small and big.

I look back at my two weeks away and see his hand in so many blessings, small and big. Timings of appointments, parking places, choosing the right direction when lost on a road because the satnav lost signal. The unstinting generosity and kindness of my cousin and his wife, looking after me with food and lodging. The caring attitude of staff towards my mother in the home where she lives. Even the detail that I was able to get there in time to attend a memorial service with Mom for a lovely lady who was once, in the far-distant past, my Sunday school teacher.

We have a God who says Yes to us. So often we miss his smile and his Yes, because we are looking in the wrong place or we just don’t even expect it. I bet each one of us could look back over the last week or day and see many signs of the hand of our loving Lord helping us carry the load, smiling down as he gives us treats large and small.

What a God we have, who gave his life for us. You don’t get any bigger a gift than that. 

Home

 

I was born in the Los Angeles port city of San Pedro and spent nearly a quarter century there. I’ve lived for forty-seven years in Scotland, yet when I come out of the concourse at LAX and feel the warmth embracing me, see the traffic challenging me, and breathe its fumes (which must be much less with all the TESLA cars I saw zipping around), I know I’m home. When I see the Pacific rollers, smell the spume, hear the rhythmic pounding of the surf, I know I’m home. When I see my Mom, I know I’m home. My childhood memories replay in my head, and they are great memories.

But what I don’t feel when I arrive in LA is safe.

Not that I worry about shooters, though I probably should. Nor do I feel anxious on the seven-lane freeway, though if I had any sense I would. My unease is triggered by the thought that if, in fact, something goes wrong with my health, it could cost a fortune which the insurance might find a way to wriggle out of covering.

So, after two weeks in southern California, when I arrive back at Heathrow and sit munching an almond croissant, watching the aircraft moving under leaden skies, I also feel home. When I arrive at Dyce Airport and am drawn into an armful of love, I know I’m home. When I listen to the incredible time Don has spent in Berlin helping Ukrainian refugees register for UK visas, I know I’m home. Home with Donald the Lionheart, emotionally recounting some of the anguish he’s witnessed. When he pulls out a bunch of roses for me, having only arrived back himself the previous night, I know I’m home. And when I enter the kitchen where Mhairi is cheerfully preparing to cook dinner, I know I’m home.

Home safe. Safe, thanks to the blessing of our NHS.

The Samaritan who helped a stranger, binding his wounds and putting him up in a hotel at his own expense, comes to mind. Our NHS is like the good Samaritan; as one who still has many dealings with the American health insurance system, I cannot sing the praises of the NHS loudly enough. If for nothing else, for peace of mind when the body is in trouble. No, it may not be perfect, but commercialising health care as they’ve done in the US is not the answer.

May God bless all those NHS employees who work so valiantly under difficult conditions to deliver healthcare which is first-class. May we give them the appreciation they deserve, honour their dedication and skill, and support them as we should.

And may God bless the silent ranks of pray-ers who have supported me over these last two weeks. I am home and feeling better than I was, having had a telephone consultation today, an in-person appointment tomorrow and another one next week. Thank you. God bless you all.

Trust

Deteriorating vision. Reduced strength and balance. Challenged hearing ability. Living a short life is tragic. Living a long life is difficult.

I’m sitting beside Mom’s bed as she sleeps off the injection in her eye. It’s my last day here, having had to shorten the visit by a couple of days due to my own health concerns. I don’t know how anyone walks a loved one home without one hand in the hand of Jesus.

I wonder how she’ll manage if she goes blind. She needs the walker for balance. She is confused and lost, forgetful, alone. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, the old version of the Bible says. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Trust in God. 

Help us both to trust in You, Lord, as I leave her today until I’m back in several months. Help us to trust in you. 

Hot Town

 Hot town, summer in the city. Sirens scream from somewhere over the hill. Mustard grass blooms in profusion, swaying gracefully in the offshore wind. The breakers crash two hundred feet below me as I sit in the car on the edge of the ocean. On the landward side, adolescent palm trees dip their frayed fronds, their motion singing softly as their sharp fingers lift again. 

A cooling breeze caresses my neck. Perfect. Hot sun, cooling breeze. Garden of Eden weather.

Our day has gone from a Covid booster, to ordering a second pair of glasses, to visiting the cemetery to put flowers on my dad’s grave, and those of my aunt and uncle. Then Mom, bless her heart, lay down on the bed and commenced snoring, so I took my leave. 

There is something so healing and restorative about the sound of the surf. I sat along this coast many times in my first twenty-four years of life, soothed by the same sounds, comforted by the same breezes. The same, but different. The same surf, but not really. The same me, but not as I was then. Some change is subtle, other change is sudden. 

Only God remains the same. Only God never changes. He is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. There is something poignant about being here helping my 98-year-old mother, when my cousin’s son’s wife has just given birth to a baby girl. As one nears the jumping-off place, another life has just begun.

It’s a mystery. A beautiful, moving mystery. Carpe diem.

She ain’t heavy; she’s my mother

A dragging anchor or the wind in my sails?

I hate being a burden, Mom said plaintively. A burden? No, I replied, thinking of the Sixties hit with the line, He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother. 

We’re coming up to Mother’s Day here on Sunday. What a joy and rare privilege to be able to celebrate and thank my dear Mom as she nears her 98th birthday. She ain’t heavy; she’s my mother, who sacrificed so much so that I could live my best life. Always behind me, always encouraging me, always my biggest fan: she is the wind in my sails.

Honour your father and mother, God instructed Moses to inscribe as one of the Ten Commandments. I have been so blessed to have a mother who is easy to honour, who has never been a tempest but always a gentle trade wind. She continues to model patience in the face of shrinking options, steadfast faith despite confusion and the challenges of dementia, loving and putting others’ needs before hers though hers are great and increasing. 

She has been a steady support across the thousands of miles, despite the heartbreak of having her only living daughter and her only grandchildren, and now great grandchildren, living on another continent. She can still muster a ready laugh. She can still listen with thoughtfulness and contribute a wise insight. She can still accept a disappointment with stoicism and never puts demands on me, always reassuring me that I am doing the best I can. That is her catch phrase at the moment. Just do the best you can. God will take care of the rest.

So I just want to pay a loving tribute to this amazing Mom God blessed me with, an inspiration to me, to my family, and to so many others.

May God enable me to continue to do my best for her, and may he take up the slack and provide help when it can’t come from me. And may she continue to be the wind in my sails for as long as the Lord wants her to be his ambassador in the place where she lives, to the people she knows.

Thank you, Lord, for my Mom.

Patience

 ‘What’s the doctor’s name?’ Mom asks me as if it’s a new question, though it’s the tenth time in as many minutes as we wait for the doctor to come into the consulting room. My patience is wearing thin. Dementia is a cruel disease.

As I walk along the ocean later, I’m asking God to speak to me, something new that reveals another aspect of his wonderful nature. 

Then I realise I am like my memory-challenged mother. How often I come to God with the same requests, the same moans, the same needs, as if I’ve never asked him before and revealing I’ve certainly forgotten his answer. 

His patience never wears thin. (Though as human, Jesus did sound exasperated when he asked how long he had to put up with this unbelieving generation?!) 

Hmm. I thought I had an insight and now I’m wondering. Does his patience wear thin?

Whether yes or no, I know mine does so as I get up to start another day here, my prayer is that the loving Lord will give me patience in abundance today.