Glorious!

 

How blessed am I? This is the view from my prayer window this morning. I don’t take the beauty for granted. I know the golden carpet will darken and decay. Some of it will blow away. Some of it will end up in a bin bag to transform into rich compost in a year or two. Some will lie on the flower beds and lawn until next spring.

I give thanks for the beauty of this moment.

Overhead, formations of migrating geese honk and holler at each other, the flexible V transforming as they seem to argue about which way to go. This morning I watched as about seven broke away and turned in a different direction, leading most of the rest with them. A lot of noise as a few continued the way they had been going.

It reminds me of Parliament. A lot of arguing, honking and hollering. Some certain they are headed in the right direction. Others convinced it’s time to turn round.

Who is right? Praying this morning that the Lord will raise up wise leaders who listen to his voice and follow. Praying he will raise up wise leaders in our churches, who listen to his voice and follow. Praying he might grant me such wisdom, that I might listen to his voice and follow.

I’m pretty sure the first step isn’t a step at all. It’s that pause in the prayer window, drinking in the autumnal glory, heart swelling with the beauty I see in this little corner of God’s creation.

Thank you, Lord.

Golden Leaves

As we rested by the crackling fire last night, a blustery wind rose outside and pummelled the golden raiment of the autumnal trees. Raindrops pattered on the windows, as if seeking refuge inside with us.

This morning, I expected to see a thick carpet of colour spread out under and around bare trees. But no! The golden elm outside the prayer window still stuns in shades of fire. There are more leaves on the ground, but there remain many still held tight by the twigs and branches of the trees. Some are not yet ready to drop.

When I talk to my dear Mom, I always hear the weariness in her voice. Yesterday, she said she is tired out just getting dressed in the morning. At 98, reaching for the phone is an effort.

She is one of those golden leaves. Psalm 63 has a favourite verse of mine: My soul clings to you, your right hand upholds me. This is such a beautiful picture of my Mom. Her soul clings to God, and his right hand continues to uphold her. And at just the right moment, that right hand will close round her in a loving embrace and carry her home, where all the turmoil, confusion and tiredness will give way to joy unending.

Thank you, Jesus, that you made a way for this to be our future. 

The Leaves of our Lives

 

Awoke to the patter of rain on the windows. No rising sun streaked the sky with its golden rays. Rather, a dark canopy was anchored to the horizons on all sides. A light wind tussled and prised dying leaves until they dropped, wet and heavy, from swaying branches.

Autumn is here.

With uncharacteristically-mild temperatures lingering still, though, it’s hard to know when to lift the dahlias, which are still flowering, and as a novice pumpkin-farmer, when do I harvest my three modest-sized pumpkins, which are still more green than orange?

Unbelievably, I’ve been looking at my Christmas cake recipe this morning. The passing seasons don’t just swirl round and round, like a screw with a broken thread. Each new season moves me closer to reunion with my mighty and loving maker. There is forward motion in the swirling seasons of the years.

The other day I swept leaves and bagged them; in a year or two they will provide rich mulch for the veggie patch. The events of my life – good and bad – develop, flourish, mature and drop like the leaves. Most are beautiful, vibrant memories I still cherish. Some are spotted and withered, painful memories I still have. They are bagged up in me, and if I allow God to have his way, together they rot down and develop into a rich mulch which informs my hope and my faith in the absolute faithfulness of our loving Lord.

May the leaves of our lives enrich the hours of our days. Today and always.

 

Wind Turbines on the Hill

 

Seventeen wind turbines on top of the Hill of Fare. That’s the proposal. So, I am eager to transition to green forms of energy, away from fossil fuels and CO2 emissions. But seventeen structures towering over our skyline, the height, as my neighbour described it, of the Eiffel Tower, creating flashes and noise, disrupting wildlife habitats, bike paths and camping sites …

I’ve submitted my views to the company hoping to gain a small fortune from such a wind farm. It doesn’t sit well with me that this initiative is driven by profit-based commercial enterprise. But maybe that doesn’t matter as long as we reduce our carbon footprint.

God entrusts us with the stewardship of this beautiful earth he has created. So far we’re not doing very well. This situation reminds me how complicated it is to determine the best way to steward it.

Has there ever been a time of greater turbulence in this world? Maybe. Maybe we just know more now because of the digital age we live in. Or maybe it is just becoming clearer that there are so many grey areas in our personal, national and international lives, and so many different points of view, that without the guidance and leadership of Lord Jesus, we will never navigate the best route; we will rarely arrive at the right answer.

As I look out on the peaceful, pristine landscape surrounding me, and imagine the possible hum of seventeen wind turbines, I pray, Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus. Bring clarity and wisdom.

 

Glory!

 

I think I probably write about this every autumn, but the beauty this morning is breath-taking. Walking down to meet my neighbour for our regular walks, I walked through low fog, its damp fingers wheedling their way under my knit hat and causing some shivers. Then I noticed the spiders’ hammocks slung between thorns of the gorse bushes, bridging the gaps between barbed wire fencing, their delicate, lace patterns picked out in glistening dew drops. Oh, I love this time of year.

As we walked, the mist lifted. First there was a tiny tear revealing a glimpse of blue sky, and then before long there was blue sky stretching from one horizon to the other. On the way back, pausing to photograph the spiders’ webs, I admired the fiery foliage on the acer tree, and its orange counterpart on the elms.

Jesus said the stones themselves would declare the glory of God: certainly, this morning, nature at the ‘hillock is singing out his praises. And so am I.

All things new

 

The writing was on the screen.

A warning. ‘You’ve used up almost all of your memory...’

Hah! There are days that I think that…

‘Buy more now, or you are in danger of not being able to access your emails…’

Deep breath. I don’t need to buy more memory, to build another barn to house my old emails. I need to clear the clutter, delete the dross.

So far I’ve spent several hours looking back and deleting. I’m back into the 11,000 era now, having shed about 4,000. It’ll take me awhile longer and it is tedious, mostly.

Doug advised that there is a way of deleting everything older than however many years you want, erasing them in one fell swoop. But that would wipe out beloved voices from the past. Emails from my dad, who passed away nearly twelve years ago.

I want to get rid of the rubbish without losing the gold.

In amongst the pages of emails, I am finding poignant reminders of situations of heartbreak and distress over the years, as well as reminders of successes and joys. Both laughter and tears are scattered along memory lane.

My own inner life has parallels. In some ways I would like God to just wipe away a lot of the junk that clogs my memory. But as with my emails, I don’t want to lose the great memories that glisten like diamonds on the bare earth. Nor, really, do I want to miss the sad memories which revive relationships now dormant or gone.

God has taken on a lot with me! I am so grateful that I don’t have to trawl through my memories, as I am with my emails, looking for things to delete. I can trust Him to bring back those events which he wants to heal, to remind me of those relationships he wants to restore, and consign to the chasm of oblivion those things that just pull me down.

‘Behold I am making all things new,’ God promises. His patience and perseverance are astonishing, and I am so grateful.

 

 

 

Flames against the Grey

 

The sky is an unbroken canopy of pale greys. No tears for a welcome shaft of yellow sun-stream. No textures of types of clouds. Just a wash of grey.

It’s a perfect background for the increasingly vibrant show of autumn leaves. In their russets, oranges and yellows, they explode across the landscape, sprouting from the fading greens and tans of weeds and grass.

May my life be the canvas for the richness of God’s beauty. May his life erupt out of me, spilling love and light into the hatred and darkness and confusion all around.

The light shines in the darkness, through those who love the Lord. So let it shine in every aspect of my relationships and decisions, revealing the God who gave his life so we might live forever.

Acer beauty

 

Not all the changing leaves on the acer are beautiful. Some have great ugly black spots on them. Disease from within? Some have been chewed and nibbled by elusive insects, leaving them light and lacy but not particularly beautiful. Some are curling and weathered.

All will drop, whether or not they transition to a flaming red. They will drop, providing rich nutrients for the soil, sustenance for seeds scattered by the wind.

The flaming colours of autumn consume the beautiful and the weathered, withered and worn.

It can be a relief to release the withered and worn during times of transition. To just let them go.

Be still and know that I am God.

Autumn can be a time of peaceful quiet, of rest after the frantic liveliness of summer spurts. It can be a time of focus, finding faith deepening in the God who flung stars into space and who holds time in his hands. Transition invites introspective and imaginative engagement with the moment.

As I seek stillness in God, I ask him to take me deeper into all that he has for me, right now, in this moment of transition, where doors may be swinging shut, but new networks are revealed.

Flames in the Grate

 

Dinner was ready. The diners weren’t.

I wondered if I should clear out the dying cantaloupe plants from the conservatory. Then I noticed the fire, blazing in the grill. And for once in a long time, I pulled the chair closer to the fire, and sank into it, doing nothing. (Mae, I know this will gladden your heart!) I just sat and watched the fire dance.

The flames rose and fell, lurching left and right, disappearing and reappearing and stretching trembling fingers up the chimney, as if trying to flee. But, of course, it couldn’t. it was rooted in its source, the fuel which it consumed.

It was beautiful.

Jesus told us to abide in him. He is our source. He is the fuel even our errant lives can never consume, because he is endless, everlasting, everything.

When we remain rooted in him, our source, we can dance and stretch and lurch and lean, appear and reappear and disappear for a time. Because of Jesus, we can be beautiful. We can give off his warmth, his light, and his love.

Remain in me, he said. Remain in me.

Transition

 

Transition. Change.

As I did the laundry this morning, I glanced out the utility room window, and paused, gazing at the garden acer tree which I so love. It is a pretty tree at most times of the year, with its undulating branches showing bare in winter, its pink buds in spring and of course, its magnificent deep reds in autumn.

Right now, it is in between. The leaves are starting to turn, and soon the whole tree will be ablaze. It's not yet at its best: at the moment it is in transition.

There is beauty in the transition, if I open my eyes to see it. I nearly started this blog by saying how much I hate change and transition, but looking at the acer, I had a revelation: there is beauty in the transition. I only have today, so where there is transition in my life, I ask God to open my eyes to the beauty in these moments, in this day. I want to live in anticipation, not trepidation. Anticipation that beyond winter is spring, with all its hope and promise.

Though I felt the message was a direct word to me from our loving heavenly Father, it had an immediate application for Mhairi, clarifying a situation and enabling a decision which instantly relieved stress and anxiety.

Life is precious and it is short. I don’t want to waste a moment dreading something, or ploughing through something with grim determination or anxious thoughts, both dreading and yet almost wishing for a coming change to be over. Jesus came to give us life, life to the full, and that does not include anxiety or dread.

God is so loving and gracious. I was awake in the night, and in prayer I asked him to transform my thoughts to his. By his grace he did that as I looked at that acer tree this morning. Isn’t he wonderful?

Ear Tags

 

Somehow the cow lost one of her ear tags. Without it, she can’t board the truck with the rest of the herd tomorrow. The farmer waits anxiously. The new tag is in the post. But the post is on strike.

They’ll be back at work tomorrow, and if the postie gets to the farm ahead of the cattle truck, the day will be saved.

So grateful that the price for eternal life has already been paid, and my ticket is my heart, not a cross round my neck or a degree paper. When its my turn to board the transport to eternal life, my confidence is in my Saviour.

And then there were two

And then there were two.

I guess Lockdown has lifted at Barehillock. Our precious daughter has moved out and moved on. My cooking partner for the last two-and-a-half years, during which we explored so many plant-based recipes. During which we clocked up thousands of miles walking the neighbourhood. During which we engaged in endless discussions about politics, God, the environment, taxes, justice and fairness issues.

We’ve done the empty nest before, but it’s a different feeling when the one moving on has become a best friend rather than a bolshie teenager eager to explore the great big world.

Shortly after arriving home last night, my body was wracked with a gastric upset which was violent and almost shocking in its ferocity. Not only my house was empty: my body was empty too!

Another new season, and with God, it, too, will be beautiful, full of surprise and delight, laughter and serious conversation. When things shift, it is time to ‘lift my eyes to the hills, knowing that my help is in the name of the Lord.

 

The Pianist

 

The pianist’s nimble fingers flew with apparent ease across the keyboard as she breathed vigour and life into the explosions of notes. Written long ago, the music of Chopin and Bach, Beethoven and Britten sparkled in her interpretations.

We were an intimate gathering, a select few, and she was a star, giving us a glimpse of heaven, so with each conclusion the applause reddened the palms of the audience, eager to show our appreciation of the technique and talent, embarrassed at the poor numbers. Another hangover from Covid lockdowns? Or a sign of the soaring cost of living? Where was everybody?

No-one lights a lamp and covers it under a bowl, Jesus taught. Instead, it is put on a lampstand or a hill, where it can give light, where it can shine and reveal the beauty of the one who is the light of the world.

The renowned pianist revealed the light within her magnificently. She was given a talent and she shared it with all who would listen.

Jesus has lit a light in every believer. I may not be a talented musician, but I pray that the one who is the light of the world will shine through my every encounter today.

 

Vicious Weeds

 

While I’ve been distracted harvesting some of the fruit – raspberries and strawberries, currants, cherries, brambles, and now apples – couch grass and nettles have crept in among the roses, entwined themselves among the sweet peas and marigolds. I never noticed, and then suddenly, yesterday, it was all I could see as I passed them on the way to water the greenhouse tomatoes.

Choking the flowers I nurtured, these unwanted weeds were ferocious in their resistance to my trowel and fork. A rogue cherry tree had taken hold, its roots resting on the roots of a rosebush also gone rogue, bearing rose hips this year. I had just enough time before the rain fell, to dig and cut and wrestle the roots out as best I could, leaving a small expanse of bare soil.

It won’t be long before that bare soil is filled with another scattering of weeds.

When Jesus expelled the demon from the man, he encouraged the delivered individual to be filled with the Spirit of God now, lest an even more vicious cohort of demons should invade the vacuum of his soul. A vacuum is never stable, always open to accept whatever will stabilise it.

Go on being filled with the Spirit, Paul encourages. Coming to God, being cleansed of sin and restored through the blood of Jesus, is a daily routine for a serious believer, and offers the delight of being filled again with the Holy Spirit so that God’s beauty and love and presence can be fully experienced in the daily routines of life. May I be filled again with the Spirit today, strengthened and enabled to walk in the peace of Jesus and extend kindness and hope to everyone I meet.