Did you know...?

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Mary, did you know….?

The haunting tune and meaningful words of this modern Christmas carol swirl in my mind and play on my lips.

The Word was God from the beginning, yet he was born in a humble stable as Immanuel. ‘Did you know…when you kissed your little baby, you kissed the face of God?’

This year I am sitting with the mystery that is Christmas. The mystery that says that Almighty God who threw the stars into space was born to a young virgin in Bethlehem, vulnerable and dependent on the fallible humans he had created. Totally dependent on their kindness and love. He entrusted himself into the hands of those who are often totally untrustworthy.

Mary did you  know … the child that you delivered, would soon deliver you?

The Saviour of the world first had to survive an uncertain childhood as a refugee, then as the child of a carpenter, before he could embark on his divine mission to save the world.

He did it. He loved the world so much, no sacrifice was too great.

He was in the world but the world didn’t understand, didn’t accept him. But to those who did, he gave the right to be children of God. No longer servants. Children.

The light shines in the darkness. Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come again in my heart; come in the hearts of those I know who don’t yet know you; come in the hearts of the perpetrators of violence and distress; come in the hearts of those who have no knowledge of you. Maranatha.

In the beginning was the Word. He is the alpha and the omega. Hallelujah.

Immanuel

 

I don’t know how Santa’s doing with his list, but I know mine is getting longer by the minute.

Yet I find myself sitting here gazing at the beautiful faces smiling at me from my wall of love. I’m smiling back. Sitting here, doing nothing, smiling at images that can’t see me. Images of people I love.

That’s all God wants for Christmas. He wants me – he wants you – to sit and gaze at his beautiful face, and not do anything. Maybe not even say anything. Just gaze in love, smiling at him.

Not much to ask, but I need his help to do it. To push aside that to do list, and worship the King of Kings. Immanuel.

Maranatha. In my life, in the lives of those I love, in the lives of those who don’t yet know their Saviour: maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Blizzard or Peace?

 

I look out the window and at the moment, there is a white-out. I have an appointment requiring I drive to Aberdeen soon, so a blizzard is not welcome.

Then I glance down at my lap. Oblivious to everything, Indy purrs contentedly.

The Bible promises that God’s love is constant, unconditional, everlasting. Whatever storm is swirling round me at the moment, underneath are the everlasting arms. Whatever global situation of violence or injustice is clamouring for my attention now, I hold it up before the throne of grace and ask God to help me focus on him. The Father encourages me to curl up like Indy, knowing that the Lord is in charge.

It’s all about focus and perspective.

The sun is out now in a watery-blue sky, but it may slip away again behind the passing rags of clouds heavy with more snow. I will head out with caution and with confidence, not in myself or my own abilities, but in the care of the loving God who never sleeps, never leaves me, and always loves me.

May you do the same.

Potica and Traditions

 

During my childhood, my mom was good at keeping traditions. Especially at Christmas. Certain Christmas cookies were made every year: Pfeffernusse, Viennese Nut Cookies, sugar cookies, candy cane cookies, gingerbread. My dad did the candy making: Divinity, chocolate fudge, and rocky road.

For a household that rarely ate desserts, Christmas was a real celebration of sugar!

In my teen years Mom began baking a morning sweet bread called Potica, which she read was from Yugoslavia. When our Bosnian friends  stayed with us in the 90s, though, they’d never heard of Potica, so I’m not sure…

Over the years here I have kept many of these culinary traditions. Potica is one of them, and today is the day. I’ll make it today and then freeze the two sweet bread rings for Christmas and new year.

It was one thing making Potica in warm southern California, where yeast could stretch and grow in the heat. In a Northeastern Scottish December, in my cold home, it is a challenge to get it to rise, but the last few years I’ve made use of the bread-maker to get the dough started, and that has undoubtedly helped. As long as I can remember how I did it last year …

Traditions are touchstones with the past, tunnels into times of laughter and love with people who may no longer be here. Traditions can draw us to recollect truths about who we are.

The godfather of tradition is God. He calls his people to remember all the times he has been involved in their lives and salvation in startling ways, and he establishes traditions to help the memories revive. Passover and other festivals on the Jewish calendar. The bread and the wine on the Christian calendar. They reveal the unconditional love of Father God for his children.

Not all tradition is so profound of course, so my prayer is that those traditions which really matter I will embrace with love and enthusiasm, and that those which have become a chore performed out of a sense of duty or perceived expectation, I will drop.

So far, I’m still finding joy in producing potica, so here goes.

 

Wall of Love

 

We spent an hour rearranging the ‘wall of love’: the family room wall covered in photos of close family. Grandchildren have grown; activities have taken place. We needed to make room for new photos, and still there is not enough room on the wall for all the wonderful pictures I’d like to display.

Our kitchen table abuts with the wall, so I have the joy of contemplating these beloved faces three times a day. Don may get the view, but I get these precious, smiling faces.

One of the best gifts our Father has given us is the gift of love. There is nothing more valuable than the smile of a loved one. There is nothing more heart-warming than the familiar voice coming over the phone or the image and voice on a video call. There is nothing more peaceful than sitting in front of a blazing fire or sunset with someone you love.

It’s no wonder God made the universe so vast. He declares to each one of us, ‘I have loved you with an everlasting love.’ Considering the number of people who have passed this way in the millennia since Adam and Eve, God’s ‘wall of love’ must stretch for many light-years.

The only trouble with deep love is that it makes us vulnerable to deep hurts. Look what it led the Father to do: ‘For here is the way God loved the world – he gave his only, unique Son as a gift. So now everyone who believes in him will never perish but experience everlasting life.’ Jesus went to the Cross because he loved us so much.

We sure don’t deserve his grace, mercy and love. It’s beyond comprehension, why he puts up with the way we behave.

God so loved the world. Immanuel. God with us. Everlastingly grateful.

A Global Gooey Mess

 

We shared the memory of a truly delicious meal of pumpkin gnocchi. We’d made them together twice. In our arrogance of thinking we knew what we were doing, we altered the ingredients. Slightly, we thought. The recipe stipulated pumpkin or squash – crown prince, kabocha or delica. Never heard of those, but we had a butternut squash so grabbed it.

It nearly fulfilled the quantity, but we felt we needed some pumpkin in if they were truly going to be pumpkin gnocchi, so we opened one of the ones from the garden and adjusted the recipe accordingly.

We thought.

A ton of flour later, trying to get the right consistency, we were left with a gooey mess which we did cook and heroically try to consume. Some of it we managed to choke down without gagging on the gluten. The rest is in the food recycling.

That little effort took nearly two hours.

Dinner was late and nearly inedible.

Take-aways from that? (Yes, a take-away would have been welcome…)

Don’t alter the recipe unless you really know what you are doing!

Jesus said, I am the way, the truth and the life. He is the way. In the arrogance of collective humanity, we have veered off the recipe and it seems the whole world is heading towards the cliff/shore like lemmings. We are in a global gooey mess.

Today I will keep my head, with my heart and my thoughts focused on Jesus, the light of the world. In my preparations for Christmas, may I truly prepare a space in my heart/mind/spirit to welcome Jesus anew. May I truly listen more carefully to his inspiration, and follow his recipe for life.

Pearl Harbor Day

 

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, a day which President Roosevelt said ‘would live in infamy’. The day when Japanese bombers swept out of the skies over Honolulu and wreaked havoc in their ferocious attack. Were there warnings which, had they been heeded, would have avoided the bloodshed? I don’t know.

I just listened to a Radio 4 program on Putin and the lead up to the invasion of Ukraine. There were warnings, which were largely disbelieved.

The Met Office has issued a yellow weather warning for the northeast of Scotland: snow flurries followed by clear skies and plunging temps. Winter is about to sweep in. We should prepare.

We ignore yellow weather warnings at our peril, though it is not always clear what response there should be to threats to peace.

Jesus encouraged us to be wise as serpents, innocent as doves. To be alert to the signs of the times. He issued yellow warnings and my take on it is that the only way through storms is to share the boat that Jesus is in.

I’m in. I just need to remember that while he is in it, there is no need to be anxious or afraid. He is in control.

Honest

 

I look out the prayer window at the stripped-down nakedness of winter. Bare branches blow in the icy breeze. Shades of brown fields fade into a sky showing shades of grey.

And then my eye is arrested by something different. Entangled in the barren bush near the window, the mother-of-pearl-y seed pods of stray ‘Honesty’ wave. Their translucence reveals the few seeds borne within the pod. Signs of life contrasting with signs of suspended animation.

Honesty. A rare characteristic amongst many leaders these days, where truth is spun to reflect well on those who spin it. Honesty. A challenging concept sometimes in my own inner life.

A reading I had this morning is from Zechariah 3. Satan stands before God’s throne proudly pointing at the filthy rags the failure Joshua is wearing. Does God agree the guy is a loser? No. He tells satan to shut up, basically, and tenderly cleans the dirty Joshua and clothes him in heavenly raiment.

The retina of God’s eye picks up not so much the dirt and shame, but the seeds of life Joshua carries. Perspective.

God is for us. I don’t want to believe the lies which drop into my mind, suggesting that I or someone else is not good enough. I choose to believe the One who is the way, the truth and the life, who looks at my skinned knees and dirty trousers, knows I’m not good enough, and draws me towards the heavenly sink anyway, gently washing the grime of the world away and re-clothing me in clean robes I don’t deserve.

Because the honest truth is that is exactly why Jesus was born in that stable long ago. Thank you, my Lord and the Saviour of the world, grimy and filthy as it is. You see the seeds of promise, and you will bring them to flower.

Deepening Darkness

 

The darkness deepens as December days draw in. There is a stillness in the air today, a hush as the hibernating landscape huddles under a canopy of low-lying cloud cover. A heavy lorry lumbers into view, fanning grit from the spreader it drags behind.

Despite rising energy costs, I notice homes with Christmas lights ablaze. Part of me bristles at the waste of energy in this resource-depleted world. Part of me cheers at the bold celebration.

The light has come into the world, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Monday morning blahs warn me that I, too, am resource-depleted. Lord, help me to plug into the everlasting light of the world, that your glory might be fully displayed and celebrated as I put all my hope and trust in you.

Advent has never felt more relevant, as we walk in faith, anticipating and celebrating the fullness of God living amongst us, now and forever.

Security?

 

Airport security confiscated the jar of moisturiser, because it exceeded the 100ml limit (125ml) and the Duty Free Bag had not been sealed by the vendor at LAX.

They – and security at LAX – failed to spot something else which should have raised huge alarm bells. Lying forgotten in the bottom of my handbag was my father’s US Marine Corps field knife. I’d seen it at Mom’s and dropped it in my bag, wanting it for sentimental reasons. I’d forgotten it until I was unpacking at home.

I am greatly relieved it was not seen, but I am greatly concerned too. While they are busy confiscating new tubs of moisturiser because they contain a dollop more than is allowed, they are missing items which could, in the wrong hands, be used for violence and aggression.

How often in my own life does my eye get drawn to something I find offensive, overlooking that which has real power to harm? How often does my own inner security x-ray accept a new social norm or cultural opinion which has the power to undermine my standing on the rock?

Stolpersteine. Stolpersteine are scattered amongst the cobblestones on German streets. Each ‘stumbling stone’ is inscribed with the name, date of birth, date of deportation, and date of murder of a Jewish person who once lived in the nearby apartment or home, and who fell victim to Nazi persecution. Innocent people who caused others to stumble, just because they were there.

Lord, may I always see with the clarity and discernment of the Holy Spirit, that I might not be concerned about that which has no power to harm, and overlook that which kills. Jesus warned us about this. May we not be deceived; may the Holy Spirit’s security system in us detect that which has the real power to harm eternally.