Still Smiling

 

We got there early and sat in the front row, surrounded by cellists eager to enjoy a feast served up by maestros of the instrument. In the humble surroundings of the arts centre known as The Barn, three miles down the road from us, a cello trio of consummate professionals were performing as part of the Aboyne Cello Festival.

The technical expertise was dazzling. The musicality mesmerising. The joy palpable. I smiled throughout the evening, especially as one of the cellists rose rhythmically from her bench as she became fully immersed and engaged in the piece they were playing. Vivaldi, Beethoven, Faure … incredible virtuosity finishing with a playful romp through the title song of Oklahoma. They made it look so easy…

How refreshing it is to be in the presence of creative genius! The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. How gracious is our Lord to inspire creativity and skill in us, his humble creatures. It is so easy to focus on the wickedness abroad in the world rather than celebrating that which is beautiful and good.

Jesus told those who were seeking to trap him, to give the coin which bore Caesar’s image to Caesar, and to give God what bore his image: their lives and love and loyalty. May my eyes focus on the joy and beauty of God as revealed through us his creatures today, and not on the misery and evil inspired by the enemy.

I’m still smiling.

 

Everything is gonna be fine

 

Don’t worry about a thing, Bob Marley sings, and I’m bopping gently in my chair. Every little thing is gonna be all right. The jaunty rhythm exudes joy and confidence.

This is my message to you, he sings. Every little thing’s gonna be all right.

Jesus told his disciples, ‘Never let anxiety enter your hearts. Never worry about any of your needs, such as food or clothing…Be carefree in the care of God!’

I need a watchman on the door of my heart. A bouncer to reject those irritations that try to insinuate their way into my heart and mind and spirit.

Don’t worry about a thing. Be carefree in the care of God.

 

Whatever the Season

 

Banks of grey clouds are swept our way, breaking in tidal waves one on another. Soft tidal waves: the breeze is definite but it’s not unpleasant. The heat has broken (darn), and though I am in a skirt and sleeveless shirt, that will soon be changed as it’s a bit too cool for my liking.

A lovely time with in-laws this morning to share breakfast and catch up on each others’ lives. The thought we all expressed was, how did we get to this age so suddenly, so fast? Where did those years go?

Carpe diem. (Grateful for spell-check…)

Seasons come; seasons go. Only God remains the same. The eternal God never changes, never sleeps, never stops loving, never leaves us.

Whatever the season is, I am grateful for these moments today.

 

Bonfire!

 

We stood side by side, hand-in-hand, my nearly-five-year-old grandson Eliott and me. The heat and noise of the bonfire as it devoured dry branches and leaves caused us to take one or two steps back.

‘I’m afraid of fire,’ I confessed to Eliott.

‘Me too,’ he replied.

‘So I guess you don’t want to be a fireman then when you grow up?’

‘No.’

‘What do you want to be?’

‘A police officer.’

Pause.

‘What do you want to be, Gramma?’

I chuckled inside, nonplussed and amused and unsure how to answer.

‘I’m kind of at the other end of that question,’ I replied. ‘I’ve already been. I’ve been a writer, and a homemaker for my family … ‘

Silence.

‘But what do you want to be, Gramma?’ he asked again.

I smiled.

‘I think I’d like to be a police officer, too.’

I’ve never considered being a police officer, at any point on the spectrum of my life, but somehow it seemed a good reply for Eliott.

I want to be with you, I hope he heard.

Jesus never considered being in many of the places in which I find myself. He never hankered after some of the negative and poor choices I make. But he says again and again, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’

‘I am with you always, even until the end of the world.’ It’s a  promise from the one who is faithful.

Wherever we are, Jesus is there with us, sharing our joy, shouldering our suffering. What a God we have.

 

Symphonic

 

My memories of playing cello in good, big orchestras are wonderful. There is something so awesome about playing away at your own particular part, coming together with others who have practiced their parts, and all looking to the same conductor to get timings right, crescendos and diminuendos, etc.

We were asked in church what word could headline the week we each just lived. Chuckling, I thought chaos (happy chaos with visiting family). But upon reflection, the word is symphonic.

There was a distressing video call with the carers at Mom’s residence. I enlisted family and friends to begin praying. There had been talk of hospice care: I emailed two cousins, one of whom spent her career in geriatric care. There had been notification of Mom’s new – and only – pair of glasses being lost: I emailed another cousin and his wife once I knew they were going in to visit yesterday. I contacted Mom’s doctor through the portal, and called her insurance company.

Late Friday night, I called the residence, as I’d had no updates on Mom’s condition for four hours. Spoke to a different carer, who knew all about these episodes and comforted me that it is normal with dementia, and informed me, to my amazement, that Mom at that moment was outside enjoying the garden with other residents! I had thought the end was nigh.

Responses from the first two cousins, one in Wisconsin and one in Oregon, came in quickly. Great words of comfort and encouragement as well as professional insights into the whole management of hospice care and so on. A response from the ones near Mom, who went in, and located the lost glasses under the bedside cabinet. A reply from her doctor, agreeing that hospice agency care would be helpful. A response from the insurers that it is covered on her policy.

We’re still in the practice room, but the music is beginning to come together.

God has been the maestro in the symphony of my life these last few days. With the soft rhythm and harmony of prayer constantly undergirding everything, he has orchestrated the answers to the situation, bringing in the appropriate ‘musicians’ at just the right moment.

It’s clear that the tempo has changed in Mom’s condition, and that some new melodies have been added.

Whatever is going on, knowing that the Lord is the consummate maestro is such relief, such joy. I may not have chosen this particular piece of music, but He is working through it to bring about a masterpiece. Praise Him.

Midgies and Misery

 

I just want to swat all these flies that are buzzing round the house. In fact, I did swat a couple (but missed) while I was doing my Bible reading, and felt kinda bad about that…

After the bonfire we had the other night, I felt a familiar soreness which has happened enough that I can readily identify it: a tick had crunched its jaws into my ankle. The most precious thing we have in this house is the little tick remover which looks like a credit card and effectively wheeks ticks out of flesh.

I’ve just ordered a couple of spray bottles of Skin so Soft, as an upcoming week on the west coast carries the ‘promise’ of clouds of midgies, which swarm and bite and cause misery.

This is a beautiful world the Lord has blessed us with … but why, oh why, is it full of such creatures?

Life mirrors nature: taxes, MOT tests, parking fines: irritants abound which can steal our joy.

Where is God in all these minor miseries? Walking us through them, guiding our steps, willing to influence our moods if we only would depend on him more.

Hmmm. The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. Not so sure he created taxes and parking fines, but he certainly made the flies and ticks and midgies.

May I trust in him today, even when I don’t see the point of some things…

 

Ping!

 

Ping, went the phone.

My former neighbour Ann, who moved to the south coast over twenty years ago, and I have connected through WhatsApp over Wordle. Every day we compare our results.

A simple connection which leads to brief exchanges about gardens, family, tennis … Ann is struggling in the isolation that comes when one is widowed. I am enjoying our renewed friendship. She was a great help to me when our family was young.

Yesterday’s theme at church was the familiar story of the good Samaritan. May I apply the message in every opportunity the Lord gives me today, whether it be interactions with neighbours or strangers, challenges through media outlets, or nudges to call or write or support someone else.

Lord Jesus, so fill me with your Spirit today that your light shines through all I am, all I do, and all I say. Amen.

Tendonitis

 

And so I sit with my right foot up on a chair, an ice pack balanced on the sore bit above the arch. Yes, I did google it. Could be a tendon. No, I didn’t run or do anything strenuous. All I did was pick strawberries (yum) and weed (yuck).

But maybe those chores kept me in the same bending, crouching position for longer than my old tendons like. Unfortunately, I see that one predisposition to tendonitis is age …

Maybe it’s time to readjust my posture and change my positions.

Lord, I pray that this day, I will do things differently spiritually, as I sit nursing this sore foot. May I hear your voice through media new to me; may I see your hand of grace in new ways; may I extend your hand of grace to any I meet who need it today.

Lord, may I not develop age-related tendonitis in my spirit. May my spirit remain supple and flexible, ready to adjust, quick to forgive, full of grace and mercy to all.

Save me, Lord, from a spiritual brittleness that causes pain … to myself, to others, and ultimately, mostly, to you. Against you and you only Lord, have I sinned. Thank you for your restorative mercy and grace.

Sweet Cherries

 

I hear a pigeon cooing nearby. Has he just been stealing the unripe cherries? We’ve always blamed the fat pigeons for rarely having any cherries to harvest ourselves, but yesterday Don noticed a cohort of song birds flitting through the trees, too. Oh well. We don’t work for those cherries – unlike the strawberries, which require some in-put to result in a sweet and bountiful harvest. I net those – though a few wily birds manage to scoot in underneath.

As Christians, we should live like the unnetted cherries: there for others to savour and experience the sweetness of Christ. We don’t need to be mature and ripe for others to experience the goodness of God through us. Sometimes it’s the enthusiasm and joy which draws others to Jesus.

I don’t want to be precious about tradition or dogma; Jesus wants me to be a sweet smell, a sweet taste, wherever I am today. So may I drink deep at his well, and take refreshing attitudes and actions into the weary, worn-out world.

 

Lord of the Dance

 

We haven’t been to a ceilidh for far too long. The Scottish dances, much like American square dances which probably developed from them, are energetic and joyful. Many of them require partners to cling on to each other as feet fly out and up in a frenzy of grace and hope.

Sometimes dancers switch partners as the dance progresses, but partners always work together to maintain balance and forward movement.

Jamie ‘danced’ into our reel of life this weekend, helping Don reduce the meadow to the lawn I knew lurked beneath. As Don and I sat entranced by the Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat production we enjoyed with our three eldest grandchildren, Jamie quietly put his younger twins to bed and prepped the food for the next day’s BBQ. No fanfare, no fuss: he just quietly slipped into the harnesses and walked us towards our destination.

I was reading about Barnabas and Paul this morning. Barnabas slipped into the yoke alongside Paul, helping him move forward and steadying him for the next dance to which God had called him.

May I slip in beside someone today, Lord, someone who is flagging and who just needs that little bit of help that I might be able to provide to enable them to continue on their own dance through life. Thank you, Lord, that you are Lord of the dance, and that in you is joy.

Re-wilding diversity

 

I strolled through the meadow (used to be a lawn, but Don is really embracing the concept of re-wilding), under the overhanging foliage where lilac and cypress meet, and into the eastern corner of the garden. It’s a corner of an area we euphemistically refer to as ‘the orchard’ because it has a plum and a couple of apple trees in it. Other than that, it has long been an overgrown wilderness in which the compost bin squats.

This year, though, Don cleared part of it, planting potatoes in a small section and constructing a frame for the peas and beans to clamber up. I was looking for a place to plant my three pumpkin seedlings a few weeks ago, and he swept his hand across the area, indicating, or so I thought, that quite a stretch of that patch was unplanted and I was welcome to it.

However. When I took my stroll yesterday, I discovered that the two pumpkin plants which have survived, and are even beginning to flourish, are now sitting shoulder to shoulder with sprouting potatoes.

Sometimes, I can put my roots down somewhere, expecting to harvest a certain crop, unaware of what expectations might have been sown there previously. My pumpkins, and Don’s potatoes, are now rooted to their spots, but may my roots be firmly established in Jesus, so that I have the grace and humility to shuffle and adjust my desires to make space for the hopes and dreams of others.

May I tread gently on your earth this day, dear Lord, allowing diversity to flourish and welcoming – even delighting – in the unexpected.