Portents

 

We weren’t the shepherds keeping watch over our flocks by night. Neither were we the angels others heard on high. Nor were we away in the manger.

We were driving down to Banchory to the Christmas Eve service, at 4 pm.

Much speculation went on in the car about what it might mean. One person was pretty sure it signified that Caesar would die. That same person suggested we stop and read the entrails of the pheasant which that driver had hit as we headed into town. But the pheasant jumped up and ran off, just in time.

It was only as we sang about the angels singing on that Christmas eve so long ago, that we realised it could be a nudge from heaven to look up, be alert, and praise God for the gift whose birth we are celebrating tonight.

Alleluia, in excelsis deo.

Immanuel. God with us.

Merry Christmas

Longing

 

Internet is a bit dodgy at our place. The extreme cold took out the antenna a couple of weeks ago, and we are operating on a makeshift temporary set-up, awaiting the much anticipated and longed for arrival of the one who can fix it. No, not Jesus. (Although I’m sure he could…) Doug.

Actually, our longing to see our antipodean family has nothing to do with anyone’s ability to fix our internet. It’s just a bonus.

The world has been longing for the return of Jesus for millennia. Many don’t recognise who it is they are longing for, but Jesus fits perfectly into the empty space in everyone’s heart.

As I have been cleaning and preparing the rooms for our anticipated visitors, I have been marinating in the accumulation of praise CDs in the kitchen. Wallowing in worship is setting me up nicely for the celebration of the arrival of our Saviour in human form.

As we celebrate the birth of Jesus, we continue to long for the second arrival of the one who can fix his world, which we have broken. Forgive us Lord, and thank you that your promise is that you will make all things new.

Prince of Peace, be born today in the hearts of warmongers and foolish men and women everywhere.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Muddy Mess

 

A glorious day to be alive! The sun is bright and has a gentle warmth in it, though the air sits on zero. I’m having a rich time, playing through our collection of CDs to choose which ones to keep. You know: decluttering. I am listening to wonderful praise music from down the decades, so as I went for my walk on this sunny afternoon, I sang out my love for Jesus. Inspired by the songs of many believers.

Every day when I walk, I pass a field which is nothing but squelchy mud and a puddle large enough to be termed a lochan. In the corner of the mud, a sad herd of cows congregates around a hay feeder, up to their knees in mud. The farmer has explained that the only way out of the field is through the water, and cows will not readily walk through water. So, until the water is absorbed or evaporates, these poor beasts are condemned to wallow in the mud.

As I headed past the field just now, I noticed one cow lying in the mire. Her back was to me, black with mud. Then I saw another cow was patiently licking away the mud from the muddy cow’s ear. A tender touch. What does a cow feel? Those poor animals. And when they finally exit the field, it will be into a truck heading to the abattoir. It’s enough to make me give up the occasional burger or roast beef…

We are all like that mud-drenched cow, lying in the mud of the world, covered in whatever mess we have fallen into, whatever filth has splashed on us. Jesus gave up his glory in heaven to clean us up. Patiently he comes to each one of us, gently washing away all the grime and dirt, preparing us for everlasting life.

Here I am, Lord. Dirty again. Cleanse me until I am white as snow.

Preparations

 

My to-do list is long: most things reflect a season of preparation. Why do I care that the house is tidied and the spider webs removed, the dust sucked up and the tarnish polished off? Yes, there is a sense of anticipation, that when family arrive, I want them to find my house in order, exuding peace and reflecting the love and longing of my heart to welcome them all in again. I want them to sense the embrace of the family home, as well as our eager arms.

Preparation. Advent. Am I expending as much energy on preparing my whole self to welcome my Lord Jesus anew? I am trying to, though distracted by so many things. Help me, Jesus, to prepare the way for your fuller, deeper entry into every facet of my being, of my life.

Our lives on earth are a season of preparation for the greater joy of eternity. May I never lose sight of the call on us believers to be preparing the way for the Lord to enter every longing heart. So many broken, hurting hearts, ignorant of the life and love of Jesus. May my life be lived as a prayerful clearing of the boulders of prejudice and anger, affront and trauma and understandable desires for revenge. Lord Jesus, use me to help shift boulders of fear today, that the King of Glory, the Prince of Peace, might enter in.

Dance to the Beat

 

Some sort of machine chugged away in the driveway, doing something to aid the builders working out back. To adult ears, it might be a slightly annoying noise, disturbing the peace. But to young ears, open to all possibilities…

The children were heading out for school and as the youngest heard the rhythmic beat of the chugging machine, his beautiful wee face creased into a grin and he began to gyrate and bounce to the ‘music’. His older brother and sister were quick to join in, joyfully twisting and turning and jumping and laughing.

See the little children, Jesus advised. Be like them.

With the right ears, attuned and calibrated to a divine rhythm, we can joyfully dance to the beat of life, trusting that our faithful, loving Lord is in everything.

May I hear the music and rhythm of heaven today, however mundane and tedious my own tasks might be.

Joy to the world! The Lord has come!

Thank you

 

‘A thank you would have been nice.’ This was followed by some invective against the person who posted an inquiry, which was asking if anyone might have a space in a car travelling from London to Banchory on December 24^th, returning the 27^th.

The writer was me. I was making what I thought was an innocent inquiry on behalf of a friend. I was unprepared for the sarcastic attack.

Perhaps I should have said thank you. I guess I would think, more correctly, I should have said please. I certainly would have said it to anyone responding with helpful advice. Mea culpa.

More startlingly, another person jumped in with a comment that Scots were never polite, which occasioned a back-and-forth between these two individuals which was anything but polite. (I did then identify myself as American, who has always found the Scots, English and even Americans, by and large, polite).

My take-away from this exchange was just how quick people are to slam each other. Perhaps I live in a bubble of friends and acquaintances who are polite in action and attitude, even if the actual word is sometimes missed out.

May I not fall prey to stresses and pressures which drive me to explode with criticism at others. May my actions and attitudes to others today reflect the kindness and love of Christ, our Saviour, who gave up the glory he had to be born in humble circumstances and walk among us, so that we might walk with him for all eternity.  

Broken

 

I broke my toe. Months ago, but when or how it happened, I don’t know.

I thought it was the bunion flaring up. Turns out it’s possibly both causing the discomfort now. Now I am on a waiting list for feet and ankles…

Meanwhile, the toe has cobbled itself back together. It is lumpy and bumpy and occasionally sore. Until, or unless, it is put right, I imagine I will always be aware of it when I walk, or when I stand for awhile. Like in the kitchen, preparing for Christmas…

All of us have broken ‘bones’ in our lives. Broken hearts. Broken spirits. Broken dreams. We walk on, but the pain twinges, sometimes just occasionally, sometimes more often. There can be triggers which suddenly fire and fling us into a dark space.

Jesus is the healer. He is the one who can mend the broken bones, the broken memories, the broken hearts and lives. The scars remain, but he can remove the sting; he can soothe the pain.

‘Come to me,’ he invites me today. I bring to him that broken bit which is chafing right now. I surrender it to him.

Thank you, Jesus, Immanuel. Thank you for your sacrifice, so that I can be healed.

Stretch up

 

The bare, sinewy branches of the acer stretch towards the grey skies above. One or two of the twigs have grown into the corner of the house, causing them to change course and turn upwards. Others, encountering an obstacle, twist back down towards the ground.

We don’t all always have options. Some things leave us with no choice. But when we meet a blockage in our way, we always have a choice as to our reaction. We can go down, or we can rise up.

I think of Michelle Obama’s advice during a vicious election a few years ago. ‘When they go low, I go high.’

Jesus tells us to keep our eyes on him. To trust in him and be alert to his voice and guidance. Even in the apparent dead-ends, he is there to guide us up, to help us to choose the better way, to inspire us to soar rather than to slump or crash.

As we near Christmas, one or two of the lines from the ‘Night before Christmas’ poem which my dad read to us every year on Christmas eve, and we read to our children, come back to mind. The most awkward line usually slowed me down, ‘As leaves before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky’.

May we all mount to the sky today, whatever obstacles we encounter.

Preparations

 

From my prayer window, I saw the hungry birds fluttering round the empty feeders. I went out and filled them with peanuts and seed. Heading back in, I was suddenly aware of the sprinkled sand on the porch, and went to the garage for the stiff broom.

When the ice was thick and slippery a few days ago, Don sprinkled sand there so we wouldn’t come a cropper as we went out the door. He made a safe path for our feet. Now it’s been raining for a day or two, and there is no ice, just sand waiting to be tracked into the kitchen.

As I swept, I gathered the needles from the larch tree, burnt sienna and blown into corners and scattered across the porch. Sweeping them, I realised that by not gathering them earlier, we’d allowed their little piles to provide fertile ground for weeds to take root, in the corners and the crevices. Not where you’d particularly notice them. But as I swept, I noticed them, having to push harder to dislodge them.

Prepare the way for the Lord. It is Advent, the time of preparation for the coming of Immanuel.

I took a walk, asking God to reveal to me the things in my life which I’ve allowed to invade my thoughts and spirit. Which have been there so long I don’t recognise that they don’t belong in me. Which have taken root and grabbed a foothold in my thinking and my actions.

Vengeance is mine, says the Lord. I have allowed thoughts to form and threaten to become default attitudes, thoughts which judge others mainly in the global scene. I hope I have swept those thoughts out, that quickness to judge who is in the right and who is in the wrong. Today I hold up the hot spots around the world, laying them before the throne of grace and praying that those involved in violence and brutality will be set free from their anger and distrust and fear. That they will allow God to dish out vengeance as he sees fit, and that they will be given faith and hope to trust in him to do that.

It's a big ask, when the legacies of pain go numbingly deep. But nothing is impossible with God.

So on this advent morning, I lift my face to the Lord and ask for miracles. Starting with my own attitudes, fears and doubts.

Flibberty gibbets

 

Hungry song birds flutter round the feeders, jockeying for purchase on the wire containers. The feeders swing gently as they land and peck and quickly give way to the next hungry bird. The woodpecker appears and quickly commandeers the feeder, which sways wildly for a moment.

It’s relaxing and mesmerising to watch the graceful creatures alight and take off after only a moment’s pecking. I’d have thought once a bird landed, it would peck away like mad until it had its fill, but no. A few pecks usually before they lift off and make way for the next.

Sometimes I sense that I do an awful lot of fluttering around God’s Word without doing much ‘tasting and seeing’. I peck in and nibble a morsel perhaps, without really hanging on and getting all the nourishment God has available to me.

May I learn to lean into and savour the spiritual food God provides for me, and stop flittering around and flying off to the next task without properly ‘reading, marking, and inwardly digesting’ the words which come from the mouth of God.

May the often frenzied activity of my life be tamed so that I really wait and watch with the Lord, feasting on his word.

The School Run

 

We set off for the school run. Literally, as I tried to keep up with three energetic grandkids on bikes, headed for school and nursery. I realised how bitingly cold it was, and when my foot slipped slightly, I began to move with greater caution.

How often do I head into things spiritually, full of enthusiasm and good ideas, only to slip slightly and belatedly recognise my need for Holy Spirit shoes?

May I move into this day wisely. May I move in faith and the assurance that God will not let my foot slip when I put my trust in him. May I sit in hope that he knows the end from the beginning … and the end is even better than the beginning. May I rest in the peace of Christ, knowing that one day there will be no more war, no more separations, no more death, no more tears. No more frozen pavements.

Advent is coming.

Through the Valley

 

Such an uplifting service at the West this morning. Thank you to all who participated.

Again and again, through worship lyrics, prayers and teaching, I heard God’s reassurance: keep going even in the valleys, even through the hard times, because I am with you and I see where this is all leading.

So encouraging when things are challenging on many levels, just to remember who it is that leads and guides, protects and saves, loves.

This is my Thanksgiving offering. My heart is full of gratitude to our triune God, the one who gave his all so I can give my all, the one who enables and who never gives up on me. Thank you, Lord Jesus. Thank you.

Noisy Consumption

 

Noisy consumption. The fire snaps and crackles in the grate, whooshing as it eats through the logs and coal. The sound of silence in winter in our house is cold; the snapping and spluttering coming from the fireplace warms my heart and my limbs.

Life usually generates noise at some level. And yet…

Be still and know that I am God.

The noisier we live, perhaps, the more important and central we see ourselves. As we consume more and more, louder and louder, like wildfires racing through dry terrain, we are left wasted and empty, pondering existential questions or just feeling like the writer of Ecclesiastes when he wrote, ‘All of  it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.’

It is as we pull back and listen that we know Life.

I have come to give life, life to the full, Jesus said. Jesus lived large, preaching to multitudes, interacting with kings and princes, priests and magistrates. Yet he took time to pull into lay-bys regularly, breathe deep, wait, and listen.

May I find the way to achieve such balance and openness to the divine spark, today and every day.

Support

 

A solitary post supports the weight of the upper floor of the house. In the 50’s, when the house was built, this met the regulations. This past week, the nervous owner had a shear wall built to join the single post: a wall, running the width of the house, and fully supporting its weight.

This is prudent. Possibly life-saving.

In my spiritual life, I only need one post to hold me up. Jesus advises that we abide in him. He is the vine and we are the branches, fully supported, fed and watered through him. Yet so often, I act as if that is not enough. I rely on relationships. I depend on bank accounts, insurance policies, other peoples’ encouragement or support.

May I fully surrender to putting all my trust and hope in the Lord. It is that which can set me free from anxiety and fear. It is that which releases me into joy.

May the truth of the gospel be increasingly realised in the life I lead.

Life

Two folding deck chairs on the cliff top. The older gal goes back to the car, returning with a couple of blankets. It’s a few minutes before sunset, which promises to be a second-looker, and the air is edged with a damp cold that could chill to the bones. The two ladies wrap up and wait. 

A young guy rolls up on an e-bike and exchanges familiar greetings. Maybe they planned to rendezvous up here. Or maybe they sometimes come, sometimes overlap. He draws their attention to the chunk of rainbow glowing in the clouds, then takes a call, walking off into the scrub and speaking with authority and assurance.

As I start the descent, I pass a car, engine running, idling. Inside, a young couple are delving deep into bags. Picnic dinner in the car, despite it being relatively warm outside. Another young couple further down, their car also idling, but their deep delving doesn’t look like a picnic.

It’s not quite five pm. 

A woman strides by in her serious hiking boots. Hi, she says over her shoulder as she passes.

The little white police parking patrol rolls up the hill, does a u turn and heads off. A greybeard struggles up the hill with his surfboard. Really? It’s nearly dark.

Last night in LA for awhile. Leaving part of my heart here on the coast, but a far greater chunk in the assisted living home where Mom had asked sadly, when will you be back? 

When indeed. The usual six months? Sooner if there is a need? 

‘My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.’

Without God, who never leaves any of us, where would we be? How could we do life?

War and Peace

 Veteran’s Day. 86 degrees in Seal Beach. Cloudless, blue expanse of sky. So good to connect with my university friend. We’ve known each other over fifty years. Memories of trying to get a tan together at UCR: before jobs, husbands, children. 

On the way to meet her, my GPS knew there was an accident bringing traffic to a halt, so she directed me, three times, to take the off-ramp, stay left, and rejoin the freeway. I’m not sure that is quite legal but there was a line of us doing it until we got past the accident scene. All had the same GPS guide I guess, and it kept some traffic moving.

On the return journey, she took me on a different freeway entirely, because the 405 was totally clogged with another accident. I was back near Torrance in under an hour, thinking about Veteran’s Day, thinking about Dad. Mom received a thank you certificate the other day for her service in the Marines, but Dad was the one who fought on Saipan.

I detoured to the cemetery. I know he isn’t there, but still. There is a connection in place.

They fought. So many died. And yet still wars pepper the globe, people suffer and flee, are traumatised, injured, and killed.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus, Prince of Peace. 

He provides

The November sun was warm on my face. I walked along the Pacific shoreline. Runners passed me, shirts dark with sweat stains. Bikers zipped by, either through their own effort or aided by electric propulsion. A couple of skaters swayed gracefully as they stroked past me. Other walkers stared straight ahead, ears plugged with air pods, listening to music or wisdom or entertaining chat, or talking animatedly on their phones. 

The light sparkled on the salty ocean as the waves dropped with regularity. I watched and walked, letting the rhythmic sound soothe and draw me to God. I began to pray the 23rd psalm. Slowly, line by line. 

I had just come from the Veterans Day commemoration, watching Mom be honoured as the only female resident who served in the armed forces in World War 2. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. 

I had attended a meeting about future care needs and services. I was still trying to resolve a bank issue. I had to figure out insurance dilemmas. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. I visualised a table laden with good, nourishing foods and refreshing drink. God is providing all I need to be nourished…and he opened my eyes to see that as I focus on the issues and problems, complaining and worrying, these anxious thoughts become my enemies. 

The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. … he restores my soul. 

My cup overflows. 

I am so grateful that he invites me to eat at the table he has prepared. May he help me to retain the joy and freedom he gives, as I walk on in faith and trust.

Jesus said he would never leave us. He is true to his word. 

Dreaming Big

 

Shivering in a cosy sweater, long-john shirt, and a shawl round my shoulders. Ah, Scotland. 9C.

I can’t imagine what it feels like at 25C. Los Angeles.

We were encouraged at ‘Worship and Waffles’ to dream big, to imagine big, and that fuels hope. Looking at the state of the world, it is challenging to imagine peace, to imagine reconciliation, to imagine love.

With God, all things are possible.

I am dreaming BIG. I am imagining PEACE.

(and I am looking forward to the warm sunshine of 25C…)

 

Mickey Ears

 

Awoke to a power cut yesterday morning. The woman who took my call was courteous and polite, apologetic and helpful. She assured me we should be back on by 9 am, and we were.

Later in the day, I turned on my laptop, only to discover we had no internet. Were the two things connected? No idea.

Without any younger person in the house for back-up, Don and I opened the instruction book Doug wrote before they moved to Australia. He installed our internet, a bespoke system using 4 or 5G from a mast nearby, as rural internet speeds are rubbish. So grateful for his talent and foresight, to leave us with an instruction manual…which worked. We easily found our issue and how to rectify it (basically unplug something with Mickey ears and wait 30 seconds before re-plugging in – easy if someone tells you So glad that computer geeks identified the socket with a word conjuring a visual image. Everyone knows Mickey Mouse). A few minutes later, we were back online.

‘Blessed are those whose strength is in God,’ Psalm 84 says: ‘they go from strength to strength.’

So many issues in the world today are beyond my understanding. I have no idea. I am so grateful that God has given us an instruction book, on which we can rely. Not that there is anything so straightforward as unplugging something with Mickey ears, though sometimes it might be something as clear as to be kind or compassionate or forgiving. When we look into the Bible and listen for God’s guiding voice, relying on him, in him we are strong.

Lord, I pray today for those who have no options but to rely on you. Help them to do so. Help them to put their trust in you. We cry out for those in the firing lines all over the world. Lord, have mercy today, and come to their aid. And for those of us with options today, give us the self-discipline to rely on you and not on our own understanding, that we might not be judgmental, unkind and narrow-minded.

Self Portrait

 

I noticed this self-portrait this morning, drawn by one of my grandchildren on her first day of school.

It looks just like her.

A lovely big smile lights up, not just her face, but the room. Even her eyes are smiling. Hairstyle is a little wonky, a little messy. Arms are extended as if awaiting a loving embrace, or waiting to give one. Clothes are unimportant.

I had a shortened walk this morning in the rain, and out of my bank of past worship songs, I found myself singing one from my early days as a newly committed believer: Wind, wind blow on me; wind, wind, set me free; wind, wind, the Father sent the blessed Holy Spirit. It was a real favourite in the early 80’s, when people like me were newly aware of the third person of the Trinity.

One of the stanzas which I remember is: ‘Set us free to love our brothers; set us free to live for others; that the world, the Son might see, and Jesus’ Name exalted be.’

We are being bombarded in the media with heart-breaking pictures of injured and terrified children caught in the strife of the Middle East. My heart weeps to think what sort of self-portrait one of those poor kiddies would draw.

In all places of violence and war, Lord, I pray that you would raise up believers who love – not just other believers – but enemies. Inspire those in the crucible of hatred and strife, Lord: inspire them with vision and forgiveness, with courage and faith, confident that You never leave nor forsake them as they do what they can to calm the storm.

Be exalted, Lord. Speak Peace, Jesus, into the storms raging in our world today, and restore innocence and joy to the little children.

Pumpkin Prep

 

Three or four hours later, I’d managed to cut the whole pumpkin, and roast about half of it. As my energy waned, I chucked the other half in cubes into the freezer to deal with later. That which I’d roasted, I pureed, and drained half of it through a muslin jelly bag overnight. The other half is draining now.

This morning I extracted the seeds from the spongey pulp, boiled them briefly, dried them, coated them in walnut oil and some pepper, and am now roasting them. (Thank you, Google…) I hope they are good enough for me to add to the granola I make for breakfast.

There were moments when I questioned my sanity for spending so much effort in treating a pumpkin to eat and store. I can buy pumpkin in cans, seeds in bags.

While working, I’ve been thinking about Thanksgiving. I’ve been feeling grateful for the indigenous peoples in America who not only shared what they had with those hungry first settlers, but who also modelled a way to live, which we’ve largely rejected, that respected creation. Although they inhabited a vast land teeming with life and richly resourced, they lived gratefully, only gathering or killing what they needed. It is shameful that the western world has developed a culture of wasteful profligacy, where we use and squander, nibble and discard, wasting many of the gifts God gives us.

God has given us stewardship of the world. We have let him down badly.

So, the tedious nature of cutting and cleaning, roasting and pureeing and drying, and then cleaning and roasting the seeds, drew my thoughts to how I can be more respectful of the world I inhabit. There was a richness almost spiritual in the manual labour of dealing with That Pumpkin.

I sense there might be some divine delight in this most basic discovery.

Tough Exteriors

 

I am still wrestling with apples from our trees, some only about the size of golf balls. As I peeled my way through a bowl of them on Saturday, I slipped and peeled the nail of my middle finger, quite far into the quick. Ouch!

Now our green-fingered neighbour Shirley has brought us a perfect pumpkin from her patch. Pies and cakes and soup here we come…if I can penetrate the tough outer skin without peeling a fingernail or stabbing myself with the knife. (I’ve accepted the offer of help from Don, whose track record with sharp implements and fingers is not impeccable…)

Sometimes – or maybe always? – a tough exterior conceals a tender richness of heart. May the love of God so soften my heart that I persevere in relationships which might otherwise repel me. ‘People judge by the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’ May I be given the discerning eyes of the Lord today and every day, and never cancel or diminish anyone because of a tough outward attitude which may have been formed from pain, in self-protection.

May I leave all judgment to the Lord.

Fallen Leaves

 

The calm after the storm. This afternoon, I spent some time raking and sweeping leaves.

Such diversity of shape and colour, life and decay. Scooping them into bags, I don’t even notice most of them. I just gather them up, eager to finish the job.

We heard the parable of the lost coin this morning. The thoughts the preacher shared drew my thoughts to Jesus, who must see the diversity of people in his world much as I describe the leaves: a motley collection of colours, shapes, and ages. But unlike my carelessness in stuffing the leaves into bin bags, Jesus treasures every single one of us, and is eager to gather each one in, not losing even one.

He created every individual on whatever side of a conflict. He knows each one intimately. He loves every one and longs to bring them home.

How he must be weeping over his world.

Prince of Peace, have mercy. May we beat our weapons into farm machinery, and by grace learn to live together in peace, respect and love.

Wet Saturday

 

A person plans her steps but the Lord directs her way…

Once again, we are reminded of our impotence in the great scheme of things. Storm Babet continues to make herself known in the northeast. We count our blessings, that we rest on a hillock, above threat of flooding, and this time, we did not lose our power. Blessings indeed.

Flexibility is a virtue when plans change. A walk with a dear friend on Thursday – already postponed twice – postponed yet again because of this storm. We thought we’d meet anyway for a bowl of soup, but red alerts put paid to that. So, the pink roses that were bought for her, grace our dining table instead.

Friends of friends were coming from the US, via Ireland, then Edinburgh and up to us for the weekend. Everything is cleaned, beds made, food purchased and prepped: the red warning continues, though, and the A90 remains closed between Dundee and Aberdeen. We won’t be meeting these people this time.

So I’ve lit the fire in the good room, put on some Georges Moustaki records from fifty years ago, and am feeling very blessed.

Nothing is as we thought it would be. Our disruption is so inconsequential; our inconveniences so minor and so easily redirected. I am acutely aware of those everywhere whose disruptions have necessitated fleeing for their lives; for those who have received bad news of health challenges which will change life itself: Lord, have mercy.

May those reeling from their disruptions be encouraged today; may they cling to you with the assurance that your right hand upholds them and that underneath are the everlasting arms.

 

Stormy Weather

 

The potted fruit trees went down, their autumnal leaves scattering as the branches hit the ground. A rainbow of alerts has been issued by the Met Office, ranging from red to amber to yellow; trains from Aberdeen have been cancelled in anticipation of what is to come. Plans are being changed; bread is in the bread-maker lest we lose power and can’t make a sandwich; all eyes are turned on the skies.

And that’s just the weather in northeastern Scotland. What about the agonies in the world today? Can anyone bear to hear the news these days? Truly the storm winds are raging round the world, and many are toppling in the violence aimed in their direction. Anxiety levels compound as prices rise, employment is threatened, and with heightened anxiety comes a plethora of ill health.

Jesus recommended we batten down the hatches, that we remain on high alert while still living in his peace. Alert and aware of all that’s going on, yet at peace in the core of our beings.

How? By hanging on to the promises of Scripture.

They are not just words, the words of the living God. They are living words which impart power, light and life. ‘The Lord is near,’ Paul wrote the Philippians. ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’

The peace which is beyond understanding. May it be yours today, despite whatever storms may stir in your neighbourhood.

‘I cling to You. Your right hand upholds me.’

I am so grateful to be anchored on the Rock.

Giggle and Guffaw

 

A glorious autumn morning: blue skies, a kaleidoscope of leaves, a sharp crispness in the air.

Time to draw breath, to inhale that clean air deep into my lungs, turn my face to the warmish sun and … just stand.

There is a time for everything. Chaotic play, laughter and fun need to segue into these times of quiet meditation.

Young life is exuberant, intense, and immediate. Full of joy and laughter, and sometimes tears. These autumn years afford – even demand – time to reflect on that exuberance, intensity, and immediacy. How precious it is to mingle the generations. We all have much to share.

Vinyl records were a new phenomenon to a couple of my grandkids this weekend. I explained the concept; showed them the fragility and need for care when putting them on. They sat colouring, listening to the same LPs we played our children forty years ago. I’m still smiling, remembering how we all giggled when the laughing policeman laughed. Contagious laughter.

When they got home, I told them, they could instruct Alexa to play the laughing policeman.

The delivery will be different, but the joy will be the same. Memory made.

God bless the children, growing up in these days. Give them wisdom and courage, faith and hope, and time and space to giggle and guffaw.

Reunion

 

At 6.45pm I opened Zoom and connected with others living five or six miles away. We prayed for peace in the world, for peace in the church, for peace in each other. We prayed for healing and wholeness for friends and family. We praised the Prince of Peace for his love and care and faithfulness.

Half an hour later, I checked out of Zoom and answered a video link on WhatsApp, joining nursing staff, Mom and Jamie about six thousand miles away. We spoke of practical things, of care options, of next steps. Our hearts were warmed to see the two Birthday Buddies reunited, hugging, heads leaning towards each other, faces beaming.

A few hours later, I received an e-mail from my cousin’s wife, containing a picture of Mom and Jamie relaxing at my cousin’s house over lunch.

I give thanks today for the blessing of technology. I pray that we would exploit its possibilities to reunite people, to build relationships, to enhance effective communication. And may we stand against its possibilities to exploit people, distort relationships and twist meanings through deep fakes and fake news.

Prince of Peace, we need you. Maranatha.

 

Yellow Weather Warnings

 

Yellow weather warnings prevailed in Scotland over the weekend, with buckets of rain pouring down and flooding rivers and lochs, closing roads and pleasing ducks and frogs.

Down south, I’m told, a yellow sun shone out of a clear sky and raised temperatures to summer levels.

World events of every type escalate daily to yellow warning levels, and it is so easy and natural to focus on the next startling disaster and be swamped by the tsunami of dire news. It’s so easy to be drawn into pessimistic assessments of where it’s all heading.

May I live south of the border mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, Lord, focused on the trustworthiness of the Son. May I be given the words of encouragement needed when fears are voiced, words of strength and truth which draw attention away from events and up to You. Be my centre; be my focus; be the light and life inspiring my days and weeks.

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. I put my trust in you this day, and it is well with my soul.

Licked to Death

 

A short walk to the neighbour’s to give her some apple cake. She’s been feeding the cat while we were in Glasgow helping Mhairi get settled.

I phoned ahead, hoping they would corral their exuberant German shepherd Abby, who, if she doesn’t whap you onto the ground in sheer delight, is likely to lick you to death.

My hopes were in vain.

‘You don’t mind Abby, do you?’ he asked.

The thing is, I am a doggy person. I don’t mind Abby; I even like Abby, but I don’t like her wet tongue lashings and her sharp claws, which are likely to tear skin or trousers.

My parents were US Marines in WW2. They ran a ‘tight ship’, we were often reminded, where we had to ‘shape up or ship out’. There was lots of laughter and banter, but my sister and I knew they weren’t joking about the self-control. We had to behave, mind our manners, respect others and respect property.

One of the fruits of the Spirit is self-control. Obviously Abby needs work on that one … Probably a lot of us could use a good dollop of self-discipline.

Funny, that I often ask God to help me to respond with kindness and gentleness, to be understanding and patient, to fill me with his joy and peace. Not so sure I ask for him to swell my store of self-control.

I’m not likely to lick anyone to death. But I’m sure there are many things I do which are pure self-indulgence.

Tranquil or a Threat?

 

A decade and more ago, Don and I visited the Great Barrier Reef off Cairns, Australia. My dad had died a month before; Dad’s mom had died three weeks before: we were in Australia for the wedding of our youngest son Doug.

Heightened emotions then.

I am not comfortable on the water. Even less comfortable in the water. I’ve just never been any good at swimming, despite many lessons and attempts.

All glory to God, who enabled me to relax and absolutely love the experience of entering the warm waters twenty-five miles out to sea. That’s a different story from what I’m thinking of this morning, but all glory to Him for gifting me an experience of a lifetime.

As I snorkelled (for the first and only time in my life), the waters on the surface were choppy and rough, as a hurricane was brewing. When I rested my facemask on the waters, though, the sight which met my eyes was one of serenity and calm and beauty, with a cornucopia of fish of all colours and shapes and sizes weaving in and out of the corals.

It was a scene of tranquil perfection.

And yet, we were attired in onesies as barriers to any box jellyfish which might brush past, and warned we might glimpse reef sharks or other slightly alarming fish. Neither Don nor I saw anything but beautiful creatures.

But that doesn’t mean there weren’t predators around, with evil intent.

I’ve been reminded this week of the presence of dark spiritual predators in our world, perhaps closer than we imagine. I’ve been awakened to the reality of the forces which Paul warns of so eloquently in his letter to the Ephesians.

Lord, please sharpen my vision and give me the gift of discernment, so that I can more accurately target the predators in my neighbourhood, in my circle of friends, in my family. Thank you, Jesus, that there is no match for you anywhere in the universe. Thank you that you have defeated evil at the cross. Help me to live in the reality of my life today, seeing things as you see them, and taking on and defeating any force that would kill or destroy one of your precious ones.

Grey Skies and Rainbows

 

As I shed the heavy traffic in Glasgow and began to head north, the skies were a swirl of leaden grey clouds and blue swatches. Rounding a bend, I chuckled to see a full rainbow sprouting from one side of the motorway and arcing across it to a distant hill. This is just a beautiful sky picture: I was driving when I saw the rainbow, so couldn't capture it.

Is there any more beautiful sign of God’s promise of love and nurture, of empathy and compassion, of his presence in every detail of our lives?

Challenges will come, and they are, but ‘I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm’, and as I sing, the rainbows reassure me that there is power in praise, that Jesus can move mountains and that in him, the battle is won.

Have a great weekend.

Mariah

 Listening to the gusts of wind squeezing through the gaps, whipping the bushes against the windows, echoing down the chimney. Storm Agnes they’ve named these winds. A couple of years ago, Storm Arwen roared through Scotland from the wrong direction, breaking millions of trees and wreaking devastation across the countryside. 

As a child, gathered round a campfire with others my age, we would sing a song with the line, ‘They called the wind Mariah’. It was a song that conjured images of lonely cowboys in hostile territory clumped round a fire, listening warily for wolves and mountain lions and wishing for home. 

Interesting that we name winds and storms and hurricanes. 

We were created for relationship, and we often look in the wrong places, imagining that we can interact with inanimate weather phenomena. We often anthropomorphise animals too, as anyone with wee kids knows. Or even trains and cars. 

We were made for relationship. In the garden of Eden, the first man and woman walked in the garden with God every evening. One imagines they chatted and laughed, maybe shared deep thoughts and dreams. They had a bond, a bond of love that was strong and absolute. 

The worst thing about the fall from grace was the breaking of that bond, of that relationship.

Praying today for all who are lonely, and for all who are bereft of meaningful relationships. The good news is that Jesus promised never to leave or forsake us, a huge promise redolent of comfort and love, hope and peace. Relationship with him is everything.

Recalculating

 At the roundabout, take the first exit, my gps instructed this morning as I drove Ava to nursery. 

But no, I said to Ava, usually I take the second exit. I followed my instinct rather than the gps. Which got us to the nursery, eventually, but only after spending some time sitting in stationary traffic.

Sometimes in life, I think I know the way. I’ve done this before, I think. This is the way I’ve done it. I ignore, or don’t even listen to, that still small voice which is whispering urgently to me…This is the way: walk in it. 

I end up at my destination, eventually. But perhaps I have gone through more hold ups and ordeals than God had chosen for me. He knows the better way.

May I be more thoughtful today before striking out in the old paths. May I remember to go to God in everything, so that I am not held up in detours and blockages and heavy situations. And so that I don’t miss out on the delights he might have in store for me on a new route. 

Little foxes

 Last time I was here, I was awoken by a skulk of foxes. 

Sitting here now as the rain drums a cadence on the window, I am thinking of a verse from Song of Solomon, 2:15. Catch us the foxes. The little foxes that spoil the vines.

As I tend the garden in which God has put me, I am often distracted by thoughts and actions which disturb and threaten to deface the beauty, uproot trust and undermine faith. May I keep my eyes trained on Jesus

 today and always, and allow my Father the gardener a free hand in keeping the garden of my thoughts, emotions and spiritual landscape flowering, fruiting and flourishing.

Catch the little foxes, Lord.  The little foxes that spoil the vines.

Small Things

 

Today our eldest grandchild turns 9.

How can that be? It seems only yesterday she was born, and we were smitten. I hadn’t suspected I would be so overwhelmed with love for a grandchild.

Flick led the way for eight more to follow, and each time, we were smitten.

Don’t despise the day of small things, Scripture advises: God transforms the small things in our lives into beautiful works of creativity and genius. Who knows what his plans are for these young ones, his good and perfect plans?

May God bless the socks off these young ones, and those in your lives. May they face the storms of life with courage and faith, trusting that in everything, God holds the keys. May they be filled with the Holy Spirit of God, alive to the direction Jesus is moving, and alert to the whisper of the Father.

Happy birthday dear Felicity, halfway around the world.

Winter approaches

 

Seven hundred years of ownership. Seven hundred years.

Not that we’ve been owned, but the estate on which we live has been owned by the same family, generation after generation, since the time of Robert the Bruce.

So the Laird and his Lady treated us lesser mortals to a piece of pizza, a glass of prosecco, a piper, bonfire and fireworks last night to celebrate with them. He expressed the thought that they might just carry on another seven hundred years…

We milled around with our neighbours, layered against the cold.

Community. We were made to live our lives together, not staring into devices, alone in our rooms or cars. Churches are great gathering places, but with so few committed believers these days we need to find other ways of being with people who share some sort of connection, even if it is nothing more than living in the same neighbourhood.

The world will know you believers, Jesus said, by the way you love one another.

May I live my life as Jesus did, lit from within by his love and light.

 

Yesterday

 

Yesterday I wrote about hearing the still small voice of God in the beauty of creation and people. This morning I’ve been soaking in YouTube praise music: what a gift of God to be reminded that ‘you made a way when there was no way, and I believe I’ll see you do it again.’ We may be living at a time of great upheaval and change, but we are also living at a time of great blessing with our access to worship music and encouraging, inspiring words at the touch of a key.

There are three situations I’m in at the moment which are beyond me. (Probably I’m kidding myself: there are more than three, I’m sure!) All I can do is look up and keep praising. ‘You’ve never failed me yet. I never will forget.’

Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever. I am so grateful.

My eyes are trained on him, with expectation of seeing the waters open. Scary but exciting.

May God bless you today with reminders that he has never failed you yet, and never will.

Short Summer

 

The short summer is rapidly segueing to autumn. I stare out my window at the rowan berries, profuse and heavy. The pastel shades of autumn crocus catch my eye. These fragile flowers, forgotten by me, surprise me each year when they appear.

Gifts of beauty, with perhaps no other purpose than to bring a smile to my face, a skip of joy to my heart. They took no work, and require no work now. I won’t make jelly with the rowan berries: wouldn’t know what to use it with. I won’t try to figure out how you get saffron from the stems of these crocus.

I will simply enjoy them. I will sit and stare, drinking in the beauty, asking God to whisper to me in his still, small voice.

Perhaps that is the meaning of apparently meaningless beauty: to draw our attention so that we pause from the clamour of life, so we listen for the gentle voice of God.

May I pause many times today, alert to notice the signature of the Lord in the landscape in which I live. May I notice it not just in the natural landscape, but also in the welcome from the hairdresser, the smile from the grocery clerk, the cheery greeting of the postman.

May I be more aware this day of the many gifts of beauty and love showered all around me, than of the relentlessly depressing news droning on about flawed leaders, violent injustices, and impending disasters.

God bless your day.

Words, Words Words

 

‘Words, words, words, I’m so sick of words!’ I love the classic movie, My Fair Lady. I have very fond memories of watching it with my parents and sister, and of listening to the LP many times in my childhood home. Eliza Doolittle’s outburst against words sprang from her frustration with empty words, spoken by a soppy suitor, Freddie. But the real source of her frustration with words stemmed from being the object of a heartless experiment to retrain her London street-accent and transform her pronunciation to RP, impeccable enough to convince the Professor’s aristocratic mother and friends of her acceptable origins.

James cautions believers to be careful, not with their pronunciation but with their choice of words. We can so easily wound others by a hastily-spoken observation or criticism.

I love words, though. I am so grateful that my mother tongue, (English, obviously), has an enormous choice of words, often drawn into it from foreign languages. There is a richness and diversity which add colour and depth to communication.

In the beginning was the Word: the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.

We don’t really need a dictionary of words. We only need the one Word. Jesus.

There is no more meaningful, rich and nuanced word than Jesus.

May I choose my words carefully today, both as I write and as I speak, so that all my communication springs from a place of love, of kindness, of gentleness, of compassion and empathy.

Sunday Morning

 

Sunday morning. I up my game on Sunday when I choose what to wear, but usually the starting point is: how cold is it today? This is the northeast of Scotland.

There is what we in CA used to call a ‘fall nip’ in the air. It may be sunny, but don’t be fooled. So I discarded thoughts of a dress and went for nice trousers, sweater and blazer.

Helen welcomed me at the door of the church. ‘Oh, you look so American!’

Do I? Did I?

I realised that, in fact, the three things were all purchased from discount houses in California, over the years. But why did they look American?

I don’t know. Neither did Helen. Maybe they didn’t.

But it made me think about perceptions. I’m not bothered about what nationality I look like, but I do want my words and actions to identify me as a follower of Jesus Christ.

That thought segued into the theme of our service: the refreshing and renewal of our minds as we let them be transformed by the Holy Spirit. We were encouraged to train ourselves to think of those things listed in Philippians 4, (whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, praiseworthy) and to rest in the Lord so that we can perceive Kingdom reality and not be dragged into the negative and cynical mindsets our natural thoughts would entertain.

And so the recurring prayer of my life goes on: please, Lord, let my default thinking be that of Jesus Christ, so that my words, actions and reactions will glorify him.

Juicy Fruit

 

The season of plums. Victoria plums.

A month or two ago, Don and I stood beneath the plum tree, hoping to see a good crop of the fruit forming. We saw very few plums. Maybe half a dozen.

So disappointing. Last year we had an amazing crop. We love them raw, or stewed on our cereal at breakfast. They freeze well and give a taste of summer in the depths of winter.

But this year we had low expectations of enjoying many plums at all.

However, Don brought in a second harvest of them last night. Lovely and plump, blushing pink and juicy. Not enough to freeze any, but enough to enjoy now. There are still a few ripening in the autumn sunshine.

Jesus is looking for fruit in my life. When I look at my life, I see only a small crop of beautiful fruit, for whom I am so grateful. But Jesus sees those tiny buds which are still nascent, still forming behind a flutter of leaves. Some for whom I pray; some who I perhaps don’t even know.

Jesus is the gardener who will bring in the final harvest of my life. I am so grateful that I don’t have to do the final reckoning. My job is to keep my feet on the path of truth, my eyes on the hope assured because of Jesus. To fertilise my words with wisdom and love, my actions with kindness and patience, my outlook with faith and hope.

I love you, Lord. All my life you have been faithful. I will sing today, and every day, of the goodness of God.

Bucolic Bliss

 

I sit down at my desk and glance at the list beside my computer.

The to-do list you will always have with you, Jesus said.

Did he?

No, of course not, but he could have.

Earlier, when I sat down in my prayer window this September morning, I gazed out at the bucolic peace beyond the autumn finery on the driveway. Cows grazing luxuriant grass. No bellowing. No jostling. Focused on one thing: getting enough nourishment.

Contrast that with the skulk of restless foxes the other morning. They’d woken me with their disturbing cries. They shifted position warily, constantly on edge, jumpy, alert to every noise.

May I be like the cows today, Lord, content and trusting. May I never be like the wary foxes, nerves jangling, unsure and anxious.

I will never leave you nor forsake you, Jesus promises us. May that truth sink deep into my psyche, and yours, today, so that whatever the day may dish up, I know I don’t have to face it alone.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and our minds in Christ Jesus.

Thank you, Lord.

 

Fallen

 

‘Look at my leg!’ my friend invited me. She rolled up her jeans and revealed a purpling, swollen leg pocked and dotted with scarlet.

She’d fallen over last week walking her dog. Doesn’t know how it happened or why. Nobody else was around. She just fell.

Thankfully, no bones were broken and she was able to limp home on a swelling ankle.

It is easy to mis-step in life, to lose one’s balance and find oneself floored and bruised, or worse. Innocent actions can lead to unpleasant consequences. Why?

Jesus alerted his followers, ‘In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world!’

Not all consequences are the result of our sin. Some of them are simply because we live in this fallen world, where we have trouble.

Whatever the trouble, Jesus is the answer. He is the way, the truth and the life. And as we shelter in him, even in the trouble, we are encouraged, assured of his love.

So if you’re feeling bruised and swollen today, take heart. Jesus has overcome the world. By grace we have been saved.

A Skulk of Foxes

 

A visitor myself, I was startled awake by an agonised, pained cry from outside. It was just past six am, and the street had yet to rouse. I lay still, listening, wondering.

Again it came, prolonged, pitiful. Opening the curtains, my eyes widened as I watched a skulk of foxes hanging around on the divide between houses. (Yes, a skulk! Isn’t that an evocative word?)

We have lived in a rural setting for over forty years, and I rarely see one fox, let alone a skulk of them! But there they were on the outskirts of Glasgow, looking like a few dissolutes hanging out together outside a bar somewhere.

There are cries of pain in all sorts of unlikely places in our world today. This morning, hearing the news, I know there are cries of pain and grief in Morocco as they get to grips with the aftermath of a powerful and deadly earthquake. Floods in Hong Kong; wildfires in Greece, California, Texas and Oregon. Oregon? I thought it rained all the time there…

There are cries of pain inflicted by hardened aggressors all over the world, too. Skulks of people with evil intentions in positions of power. Inflicting pain. Pain: physical and emotional, mental and spiritual, as innocents suffer at the hands of these dissolutes in places of authority.

The other morning, I rustled the curtains and knocked on the window and the foxes, with wary glances my way, scuttled off across the street, into the bushes of the opposite house. Would that the warmongers could be as easily disbanded.

May I never walk away from situations I encounter, or which suddenly overtake me. Keeping my eyes steadfastly on the Lord of Hosts, Jesus Christ, may I pray constantly for this groaning, hurting world. ‘We have erred and strayed like lost sheep,’ and the foxes are hunting. Forgive us, Lord. Help us to walk in your ways, with hearts of compassion, eyes of love, minds transformed by your Holy Spirit.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

He rides shotgun

 

The stillness of a summer morning. Late summer morning. A light breeze barely brushes the plentiful orange rowan berries. Even the birds seem hushed by the beauty.

Before me lies a busy week, but for this moment, I rest in the peace of a green landscape bathed in the glow and glare of uninterrupted sunshine.

Come away with me, Jesus invites us. I will give you the rest you need. I will refresh and restore, renew and restart you. Come away with me and rest.

I hear of so many situations, so many reasons for anxiety and apprehension. Jesus walked through horrendous situations of threat and danger; he walked through them not just in peace but in power, not just in confidence but cheerfully.

For the joy set before him, Jesus could face the cross and see beyond it. I am so grateful that I am not facing any such testing situations as he did. And I am so grateful that whatever the day and week hold, Jesus is riding shotgun with me.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. May you, too, spend a moment to rest and be refreshed, to be encouraged and assured that whatever it is, wherever you are, Jesus is with you.

Sunday

 

Sunday. I love Sunday. I love gathering with others in our church, sharing each other’s burdens, laughing with each other, sometimes shedding tears.

We all need community. We were made for community. Don’t give up gathering with other believers, Paul told his friends. The world will see Jesus when it sees how we love each other. In these days, (maybe as in former days), when some churches hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons, we want to remain steadfast and true, quietly revealing the glory of the Lord through lives laid down in love.

May you have a blessed week.

Quiet Beauties

 

A quiet walk on a quiet morning, the first of September but it feels as settled as a good summer day. We walked beneath a canopy of trees, hearing the birdsong trilling above us. Leaves are beginning to fade and change as summer slips into history. The feather-light down of dying thistles are highlighted in the sun before a breeze scatters the seeds far and wide.

Turning into our drive, I notice the ageing sign, behind it rising the historic Hill of Fare, on which a company has designs to plant over a dozen towering windmills. I’m passionately in favour of green energy, but as I’ve written before, this proposal, if built, will have no infrastructure to carry away the energy generated. It’s a whitewash of the government’s green credentials.

Enough of that rant. It’s too beautiful a morning. I was just reflecting on the fading beauties all around me.

I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? (not from an out-sized windfarm…) My help is in the name of the Lord, who has made heaven and earth. And what a glorious world he has given us to steward. May we each do a better job of it today than we did yesterday.

Super Moon

 

What is a super moon? 

We saw it last night, and Google tells me that it’s when a full moon occurs during the moon’s closest point to earth in its orbit. Jamie got this great picture of it shining through a porthole-style window in Glasgow.

I sat in my prayer window this morning, gazing out at the beauty of a waning summer.

‘Where are you, Lord?’ I asked silently, not a cry of despair but a desire for greater revelation.

‘Closer than that,’ I sensed his response.

‘Abide in me and I will abide in you,’ Jesus reminds me. I know this statement to be true. I know where he is.

He is the reinforcing steel within me, enabling me to do more than I could ever do on my own. Sometimes love requires strength beyond what we have, and then the abiding Jesus is revealed most clearly.

The super moon shines brighter than a normal full moon because of its proximity to earth. Jesus’ light shines brighter when a Christian is under pressure, because the self sinks into the arms of Jesus, his presence within, and his beauty is revealed.

I cling to him and his right hand upholds me. Even when our own grip slips, his never does.

What a Saviour!

Rewilding or Tamed?

 

At long last, the dahlias are blooming. Their rich colours, dense petals and exuberant foliage lift the spirit. This year, they are skirted with bright orange nasturtiums and have a hydrangea with a lovely magenta hue resting like an epaulette on one shoulder.

We are not meticulous gardeners. Everything is verging on the rewilding idea. Surprising plants spring up, like the brambles which rooted themselves in behind the dahlias and are producing fruit that is juicy and delicious. But the vigour of these bramble bushes threatens to overwhelm the carefully cultivated plants. They need pruning.

Life can imitate this garden of ours. We start out with an idea and a plan, and sometimes that can flourish and fruit and be beautiful. Surprising things can take root without our noticing them, and they can be productive and nourishing, but left untended, they can overwhelm that for which we have planned. It takes wisdom and prayer to identify those things which should be nurtured, and those which should be pruned.

Jesus uses garden imagery to describe the relationships between him and us, and between him and the Father. As I offer up my life to him today, may he prune those things which might inhibit the flowering and fruiting he is seeking in and through me. I am so grateful that like all good gardeners, he is alert the detail of my life, working carefully and meticulously to help me be all I can be.

 

Pre-loved people

 

A sale of pre-loved goods.

I first heard that expression a few years ago. We would have called it used clothing, or second-hand things. Pre-loved is so much better. It gives the merchandise value.

We had a cracker of a sermon from Tony this morning. It should be on-line this week, hopefully, if you weren’t there (Banchory West Church). The message was basically that we are all pre-loved people. God loved us before we were even formed in the womb. He loves us unconditionally. No matter what we have, or haven’t, done.

Our task is to accept the truth of his love, receive it and respond. Not always easy since most of us feel we need to earn respect, earn love. But not with God.

We love him because he first loved us.

Like pre-loved clothes, we didn’t do anything to be loved. God just loves us: we can’t earn it, we don’t deserve it, but out of his overflowing grace and mercy and compassion, his love embraces us all.

And out of that place of love, we can live love into this often heartless world. We can lay down our lives, maybe forgoing our own plans, to be with and help those who need help. We all need help at times. And because the love of God is our power source, we don’t mind laying down our lives. It’s what we were made to do.

May the love of God power us all into this new week.