Still in Labour

 

I’m going to risk making too much of a meal out of this image of the world being in the pangs of labour right now, by making one more observation.

It is almost a cliché that during labour, women are irritable and short-tempered with the anxious husband who is faffing around offering helpful suggestions. It is another cliché that may have some truth in it, that many a husband, hearing a problem from his wife, instantly wants to fix it: in the labour ward, it is patently obvious that there is nothing he can do to fix the situation. It has to take its course.

What he can do is remain kind. Answer the sharp snap from his wife with a gentle word or even a loving squeeze of the hand. Just be there.

As the world contorts in an agony of wars, injustices, terrorist aggressions, polarised opinions and natural disasters like floods, earthquakes, fires and pestilence, often the most effective thing we can do is pray. It may look like we are disengaged, but in fact praying is being fully engaged in the struggle, partnering with God who really understands where the struggle stems from.

Prayer keeps our minds open and our hearts soft. It keeps hope alive as we put all our trust in God, recognising the limitations of our efforts. It also stimulates us to take actions which, God-ordained, are most effective. Offering the practical help and compassionate support where it is most needed. Forgiving when that help might not be received as we thought it would: recognising that we are all operating out of the trauma and hurt of our own unique experiences.

We are all sinners, walking each other home. May God give us grace to be vulnerable, to be loving, to be kind, to forgive. As we observe the agonies of birth pangs, may our anticipation of the Kingdom keep us doing all we can, while leaning on Him who loves the world so much he came and died for us, and for it.

There will be a day when all tears are wiped away, when there is no more suffering, sorrow or fears. Until then, may we love Jesus tenaciously and resolutely focus on, and lean on, him.

Finishing Line

 

When I went into labour with my first baby, Mhairi, my mother was here and she went with Don and me to Jubilee Hospital in Huntly. At this small ‘cottage’ hospital, the midwife was delighted to have something to do, and welcomed Mom to be present at the birth of her first grandchild.

This midwife was a fierce woman, who declared I had hours to go and should go take a shower, ‘but make sure you don’t use any baby powder as it will make a mess in the shower room!’ I dutifully went to have a shower. Never mind the baby powder, though, which I had no intention of using: she should have warned me about the mess that would come when the waters broke, but that’s another story...

The midwife was sure the labour would be long. My mother assured me it would be quick, as she had delivered quickly, and assumed I would be the same.

Gratefully, Mom was right. Two hours later, she was able to prop Don up as Mhairi was born!

I am still mulling over the fantastic revelation that the tribulations and trials in current global and personal events are not death throes, but ‘the beginning of birth pangs’.

(I’m not too keen on these disasters being just ‘the beginning of birth pangs’. I know many women who laboured long and hard to have their babies, and I am sure we’d all prefer a quick delivery.)

I’ve been thinking that, whether the labour is long and slow or fast and sharp, we the Church are called to be midwives to the new Kingdom which God is bringing to birth. We are called not to be fierce but to be encouragers, the ones with positive things to say, with strengthening promises to make in order to keep hopes high and spirits strong.  As we remember Jesus’ sacrifice and love for this world and share that with those struggling with disastrous news bulletins, we encourage ourselves and others to trust in the promises of God.

We are living in the midst of a sort of divine RomCom – not always so Com, but always, always, plenty of Rom. We haven’t yet reached the climax of this love story, but we can be sure that it will be the happiest ending we can imagine.

The Lord always delivers what he promises. I am with you, he says, til the end of the age. Whether or not we are at the end of the age, we can be sure that he is with us, quietly encouraging, holding our hands, consoling and embracing and shouting us over the finishing line. Can you hear him now?

Labour Ward

 

Years ago (I wasn’t going to admit how many years ago because I can’t believe I’m that ancient, but it was 40 years ago), we had a black and white cat called Spats. Spats, tragically, found some tantalising food put out (illegally) by a farmer or gamekeeper, which was laced with poison. Recognising she was in trouble when she staggered in from her overnight wanderings, we dashed to the vet, who gave her an injection, though fearing it was too late. I brought her home, and lay her by the heater, speaking to her in low, comforting tones which did nothing to alleviate her agony. She died a terrible death. That was my first, and thankfully so far only, experience of ‘death throes’, with its thrashings, wails and groans. Absolutely dreadful.

The Lectio 365 devotions today focused on Mark 13, where Jesus, in talking with his disciples about the end of the age, catalogues some of the disasters which will take place in those last days, and they align pretty closely to what we are experiencing now. (I know people have said this for two thousand years, but now we have the environmental disaster time-clock approaching midnight, in addition to the wars, famines, earthquakes and so on). The wonderful insight drawn from that reading today was that Jesus does not say that these disasters are the earth’s and civilisation’s death throes, but the beginning of birth pains.

Not death throes. Birth pains. Something good is coming.

Wow! How did I never notice that? Suddenly my stoic, ‘Well, this is what Jesus said would happen and we just need to keep trusting that he is going to make all things new’, has changed to ‘How exciting! I wonder what God is going to bring to birth through this agony, as he makes all things new?!’

I’ve struggled to know how to counter discouragement and despair in others, feeling it might sound piously simplistic to point out there will come a day when things will wrap up and our only hope is in God remaining faithful to his word. There was no passion in my response, as I hoped to encourage my own hope by rehearsing these thoughts.

Now I feel so excited! A thrill of hope flutters within me, an assurance of God’s love, light breaking through the darkness as I welcome a real, vibrant anticipation of good things coming after the travail. What is God bringing to birth in this season in which we are living?

We who have given birth remember the pain, but the anticipation of the reward (s) to come kept us breathing and pushing, focusing beyond the pain to the joy to come.

I guess the world is still in the labour ward, but the delivery room beckons. ‘Behold, I am making all things new!’

Death throes have no place in the kingdom of God. May my prayers and words now reflect the certain hope that however bad things look now, our wonderful, loving Creator God must be looking beyond these times at the joy which is to come when he reveals his breath-taking surprise.

Oh happy day!

 

Felled like a Tree

 

Our default twenty-minute walk follows the perimeter of a stand of trees. Well, most of the trees have been logged now, after Storm Arwen snapped and felled them like foot soldiers at the Somme. Strewn with the detritus left behind, twigs and pine cones, broken branches and needles, the stretch of ground lies forgotten and forlorn, no longer offering shelter for the badgers and red squirrels, foxes and deer.  

The loggers left a thin ring of trees which had withstood last year’s blast.

Don and I headed out for a quick walk and chat after Pilates yesterday, and as we rounded the second line of the square, we saw that our path was blocked up ahead. Last week’s gales had brought another dozen or more of these majestic pines crashing to the ground. No doubt their roots had been disturbed and weakened with all the logging activity last year, and the shelter they’d benefited from previously was lopped, logged and hauled away. So the full force of the gale pushed them right over.

We started picking our way through the fallen trees, but turned back when it became too dense. And that’s when I caught my right foot down a gully or rabbit hole, hidden beneath long grass. I felt my foot twang as I, like those majestic trees, hit the ground.

Plenty of food for thought there, especially when I’m thinking about pilgrimage. My plans for the rest of the afternoon went out the window as I sat with iced foot raised above my heart. Boo. Tedious and tiresome rather than overly painful, but just enough for ‘the best laid plans tae gang agley’.

I spent time this morning reading some of those emails which are worthy but rarely read in the bustle of life. I spent more time than usual chatting to God. And listening. I missed my Bible study, but then had a visit from some of my Bible study chums this afternoon.

I don’t believe the trees were a trap God set to force me to sit back. But there is blessing in being set-aside. There is rich reward in lingering with the Lord rather than rushing through my set texts.

As my foot heals, I am aware of the blessing of a body that is dynamic and able to knit together again. I am grateful for the hope of eternity that is planted in our bodies and in our world.

How good is the God we adore.

 

 

In but not Of

 

In the world but not of it.

As hearts harden and minds close, as opinions calcify and nerves twang, I pray that the Lord will keep my heart soft, my mind teachable, my opinion private and my nerves calm.

In the midst of the disciples’ storm-tossed, nail-biting crossing of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus walked on the waves and ordered them to desist. The disciples had just participated in the miraculous feeding of thousands with just a little bread and fish, which God had multiplied in their hands. Yes, Jesus was the catalyst for the miracle but the disciples needed faith to obey him and go out, prepared to look foolish in the eyes of the world, surprised when the Lord of all created enough in response to their faith.

And then they got in the boat, encountered a fierce storm, and forgot the miracle, and the power that Jesus had given them. Rather than trusting in the power placed in them by the Lord of all creation, and speaking to the storm themselves, they cried out to Jesus to save them.

May I grow up in my faith, trusting that God has given me power and authority in his Spirit. May Lent be a time of inward contemplation and greater revelation of just who this Messiah is that I worship. May I sharpen my listening ear to hear the still small voice of the Lord of all. May I discipline my rebellious soul to obey that still small voice, to believe all that he says. May I trust fully in the Lord who loves the world so much that he risked all to save us.

How good is the God we adore.

Signs and Wonders

 

Signs went up last week. Road closed for a quarter mile either side of us, for four days. Then a gale blew up, and the workers stood down, and nothing happened. Yesterday, no signs up but a truck blocking the road in one direction, no driver to be seen. A worker sat in the cab of his truck in the other direction, on his phone. Someone crucial to the plans didn’t show up. So for at least half a day, he sat on his phone, waiting.

Road blocked again today but no sign of anyone working.

I’ve been considering pilgrimage recently. Jesus invites us to follow him. Sometimes we anticipate a detour up ahead, but in fact, we can slide on through whatever the terrain. Sometimes the road is blocked unnecessarily, we think, feeling frustrated as we twiddle our thumbs or scroll our devices.

A person plans their route but the Lord determines their steps. A day up to my eyes  in US taxes and I can see light at the end of this particular tunnel, green trees rising on the edge of the wilderness. Yesterday’s plans coincided with the Lord’s.

I wonder how today will go? The joy of pilgrimage is found, I think, in the flexibility that hopefully comes as I trust more in the Lord and less in the route I have planned for myself.

Have a great Tuesday!

Echo

 

There is a place near here, behind ‘Jock’s’, which is our default twenty-five minute walk. When you emerge from the canopy of trees (sparse now thanks to Storm Arwen), there is an open space where, at the right time of day, you can spot deer and the occasional badger.

Children love to raise their voices out there in the open space, keening their ears towards the returning echo. Fun to watch kids experimenting with the phenomenon of an echo.

It isn’t so fun to lie in bed at night with an echo chamber in my head. I don’t want to imply for a  minute that there is an open space in my brain which invites an echo, but … Once the thoughts are thrown into this space, they return again and again, stealing sleep and robbing me of any peace.

There is no remedy that works for me apart from getting out of bed, wrapping up warmly and sitting at  the kitchen table, often with a banana (which I have heard is a soporific), dipping into my Bible readings for the upcoming day. Usually that leads to a prayer time of the heart, cleansing my thoughts and encouraging my mind down different paths.

I would like to discover how to mentally shout out words of life and peace, and have them echo round my head.

God encourages us to do that, assuring us of his love and care and total commitment.

‘Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine… When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown … For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.’

How those words of Isaiah still resonate, centuries later. Thank you, Lord. May they echo through my heart, mind and spirit today and, most importantly, tonight!

 

Wild winds whine

 

Wild winds whine and wail round the house, whistling forlornly through the window panes and raising an ache of loneliness or longing inside. Yet gazing out the prayer window, blue skies are clear, with only the occasional wisp of white cloud. It looks peaceful and calm: a static photo does not reveal the agitation going on here on the ground.

Years ago, I met a woman with whom I was acquainted through prayer groups, but who I didn’t know well. She was about ten or fifteen years older than me, a lovely woman of God who has moved on into his presence now.

I ran into Jeannie on the High Street. We got into conversation. She told me about a Christian conference she had recently attended, where she heard God encouraging his followers to listen to the desires of their hearts, as those desires may be from Him.

At the time, I was wrestling with a real desire to invest my time in writing. With a growing family of four children, extra money would have been good, so contending with that desire to write was a sense of duty to go out and get a job. It felt like self-indulgence v responsibility, but after talking with Jeannie, I saw it differently. It became trusting in God v trusting in my own strength.

Many years later, when I knew Jeannie better, I reminded her of that conversation, telling her that because of her encouragement, I did invest my time in writing and God, through Don’s efforts and other means, supplied all we needed.

Jeannie did not remember the conversation on the High Street. In our conversation, I perhaps seemed peaceful and content, masking the storm that raged within me. Without even being aware, Jeannie’s words came, I believe, from God to speak directly into my situation.

May I be open and willing for him to use me in such a way today. Words are so important. May I use them wisely. May my tongue ‘be the pen of a ready writer’, a writer giving life and hope to the weary and downcast.

Lord, I pray for a gift of discernment, that I will not be misled by someone’s apparent peace and contentment, but will trust you to speak words of comfort, wisdom or peace through my mouth or my ‘pen’. May I always lean on You, trusting you to give me an encouraging word which will speak to the heart of another. May I be obedient to your call to deeper prayer for others, trusting that in the sighs and groans and secret language of the Spirit, you are responding to the cries which may whine and whistle within the heart, unseen by the world.

Easily Distracted

 

When Dusty, our late lamented dog, was young, she enjoyed riding shotgun with me when we would go to the castle or the river for a walk. She would sit up beside me, perky and excited for whatever adventure awaited.

I have a vivid memory of coming back from one such outing, with my trusty friend beside me. As we wended our way along our narrow road, we came upon a family of pheasants on the verge. Many of them took fright and rose up noisily, and as one beautiful cock pheasant glided across our path, Dusty watched, mesmerised, rising on her legs and following the flight of the bird with her whole body as it crossed the road…Dusty landed in my lap.

Oh, that dog did make me laugh. On a quiet country lane, I could smile at her antics. Wouldn’t have been so funny on a freeway…

Dusty was easily distracted not by what was important, but by whatever caught her eye.

I’m not so very different, I guess. I’m over my head in this genealogy, trying to make sense of how to lay out the information in a coherent, logical and easily-read manner. When I wake in the night, I have some of these far-distant relatives’ names going through my head.

And that’s what I am finding frustrating about this project. Instead of focusing on what lies before me, I’m distracted by what lies behind.

I’m praying for clarity of thought and vision as I collate the information collected over generations of my family, who seemed to enjoy ferreting out the information but weren’t so keen on producing a visual summary.

It’s all part of my push to tie up loose ends, to de-clutter and prepare to downsize at some time in the not-so-distant future.

Jesus warned us not to store things up in barns. His concern was that we could invest in things which could disappear overnight. My concern is that in trying to make sense of all that we have, I might lose sight of what is important: a deepening relationship with Jesus, so that I can finish well.

May I never be so distracted that I land, unceremoniously, on the side of the road.

 

The Clock is Ticking

 

There is something about a clock ticking that galvanises me into action, but also prevents me from pausing to draw breath and consider.

I’ve unsubscribed from the genealogy site just before the free fortnight ended. I was so driven by the dwindling time, knowing that my heart is not in full immersion in this project so to pay a subscription is not what I want to do.

I’ve gathered so many names, stretching back centuries, and now feel overwhelmed and a bit muddled. I had to come out of the site just to be able to sit back, draw breath and consider. Already I see information lacking which I might have found on the site. But does it matter?

I will now spend hours, no doubt, trying to make sense of it, trying to display it in the large looseleaf binder I bought for the purpose.

The clock, of course, continues to tick. It is ticking for us all, and in some respects, the ticking is almost deafening. The environmental emergency clock is almost at midnight, and still those in positions of power bicker about the small stuff. In our society, more and more people are scrambling to work more than one job just to put food on the table and heat in the home. They are up against the clock constantly, nerves fraying, perspectives warping.

Help, Lord. Help us to step away from the clock and into your presence. Of course you are there when we are deafened by the clock, but help us to step consciously into your presence. To you’re your still, small voice. Help us to take the time to settle in our prayer spot and just be. Thank you that you don’t require anything of us but to love you – and when we do, consequentially we will seek justice, love mercy, and follow Jesus.

 

Springtime

 

Does spring always come this early? Ukrainian friends asked us, admiring the flowering bulbs, the blue skies and the warmer temps. (Note I said warmer, not warm…)

Two years ago, we were knee deep in snow, building snowmen and throwing snowballs. No, it doesn’t.

I have never been one for routine. When I had my first proper job after uni, working 8.30-5.30 five days a week, I started work on a thriller book which I hoped would earn me a ticket out of the drudgery of that dreary schedule.

When I married Don, I knew life would not be routine. It hasn’t been…

I find myself staring at the songbirds hopping through the twigs of trees and bushes, singing and calling to one another, sensing that change is in the air, spring is on the way.

I am grateful for eyes to see, ears to hear, a nose to smell the changes. I am grateful for the security of the unchanging God on whom I can rest, in whom I can trust, through all the changes, welcome and not so welcome.

I pray for those in tough seasons, that they will be held and have hope for the changes to come. I pray for those in sweet seasons, that they will be held and have gratitude for the moments they are in.

Life can be a roller-coaster. Today we pray for a young Ukrainian friend who is turning 11. Last year he was home with his family and friends. Today he is in a new country, speaking a new language, with new people around him. May he be blessed and know the love of God for him today.

Spring may not always come this early. But it always comes.

 

Wild winds

 

The wild wind whines and whistles through windows not quite completely sealed. Sunrise streaked vibrant and breath-taking. The sunsets recently have blazed neon and glorious just before the darkness comes.

New life struggles to stretch through the soil; spring bulbs are visible and the snow drops, gentle white with their delicate pattern of green, have bravely bloomed.

Delicate flowers battered by the fierce winds.

In this world we will have trouble, Jesus warned. In my lifetime, I’ve never been more aware of global trouble. Wars and rumours of wars. Earthquakes. Pestilence. But take heart, Jesus encourages. I have overcome the world.

Over and over again I write it because I am reminded of it myself: perspective. Focus. What’s happening in the world is but a moment in the light of the glory that is to come.

So, I breathe deeply of the peace of the Lord. I let those wild winds pass over and around but not through me. I am rooted and grounded in Christ, and in him I can be confident and assured that all is well, and all will be well.

Peace.

Gaping pot holes

 

Gaping pot holes are appearing everywhere, yawning deep and wide and capable of breaking tires and axles and exhausts. It’s not only on our small road here, which has borne the weight of logging trucks ever since Storm Arwen. Hopefully those towering stacks of logs will soon be gone to the chipper, and someone will come fix the road (hope springs eternal).

A lot of roads are closed for repair in Banchory and Aberdeen just now, presumably fixing some of these gulches. Detours abound: we were nearly late for a funeral yesterday, having to retrace our route when we came upon a Road Closed sign.

I’m trying to plough through this genealogy. There are plenty of detours and potholes as I push forward on the genealogy website. Today I found a possible match with a slave-owner (only one slave, but still horrific) and his beautifully-named wife, Mahala. Turns out that name is of Hebrew origin, meaning ‘tender’, which became very popular in the native American community during the mid-nineteenth century.

I think that possible match is probably wrong, which is a relief in respect to the slave-owner. But I quite like the name Mahala, and the possibility of an ethnic blending back in the day.

Life is a journey. If I take it at top-speed, I’m likely to come a cropper in many potholes. But if I can breathe deeply, spend time gazing at the horizon or the moon, and slow the pace, a steadier rhythm will help me avoid the worst crashes. Jesus invites us  to walk in the unforced rhythms of grace, with him as our companion.

It’s a great invitation.

Vapour Trails

 

The vapour trail started at the horizon and looked as if it were headed for the stars. I opened the curtain this morning to a beautiful blue sky slashed by this stripe of white.

Is that what a nuclear missile headed our way looks like? I wondered. No, we probably wouldn’t have such advance warning.

Hearing about the awful destruction and loss of life in Turkey and Syria this morning. Earthquakes are natural forms of sudden destruction, the threat of which I lived with in California. (The ‘big one’ still hasn’t come, though it’s been anticipated since I was a child crouching under a desk during our earthquake drills). There is no real way, yet, of predicting when such a catastrophic event will occur.

A Ukrainian friend showed me a picture yesterday of a block of flats in Kiev, then a picture of her friends huddling in a shelter during an air raid, followed by a picture of that same block of flats immediately after the strike, now damaged and ruined.

We are about to go to the funeral of a dear friend who, though in her 80s, was active and apparently well and full of life. She passed away peacefully during a night. No warning. A shock to her family, to her friends. A blessing to her.

How can anyone walk peacefully through this world without the assurance that Jesus walks with us? I am so grateful for all the assurances given in Scripture, that we have a faithful, powerful Saviour who never leaves us, who never forsakes us, who always loves us and who waits to welcome us into his everlasting Kingdom. I am so grateful for the Holy Spirit Jesus sends to live in us and give us that assurance, that whatever transpires, all will be well.

May we all keep our eyes fixed on Jesus today, the author and perfecter of our faith, our redeemer and Saviour of the world.

Make Him Smile

 

From his temple he heard my voice. (2 Sam 22:7)

Isn’t that amazing?

Billions of children of God in the world, and yet, from his temple he hears my voice. And yours. My cry came to his ears. I am so encouraged and relieved that the God of all the earth hears my cry.

I am challenged also. I am challenged that from his temple he heard my voice. Not just my cry, but my unkind words, my impatient retorts, my negative complaints. And maybe he winced. Maybe he frowned. Maybe he sighed. When he heard those things coming from my mouth, I am sure he didn’t smile.

Again, Lord, I offer you all that I am and ask you to transform my mind, rewire the synapses in my brain so that my default reactions are those set by the Maker, positive and affirming and loving, and not those derailed by the world and detoured into cul de sacs of gripes and groans.

I want you, Lord, to hear my voice singing. I want you to hear my voice offering encouragement and words of life. I want you to hear my voice singing your praises as I go about the work you have given me.

I want to make you smile.

 

 

Intercontinental Connections

 

They’re finishing their dinner. We’re lingering over our breakfast coffee.

Just like that, we can see our Brisbane family in their new abode, and they can see us in our old one. Praise the Lord for technology. For all the connections we take for granted. For all the connections that are continued and enabled because of it.

Several years ago, we went through Ellis Island, the immigration center into the USA. Done up as a fascinating, interactive museum now, we listened into imaginary conversations between families at train stations and on docks in Europe, conversations reflecting the finality of emigration in the not-so-distant past. Families really did head off into the unknown, leaving behind loved ones forever.

As I plow through the generations of my family tree, I am impressed by the courage of so many of them. Courage I have to imagine, as there are no written records of their feelings or even who exactly they were, but seeing, for instance, some distant grandparents whose lives started in the American colonies and ended after the Revolutionary War. Some died in Nova Scotia, Canada, so I imagine they were supporting the Brits. Some applied for Revolutionary War pensions, so I imagine they were supporting the Patriots, the emerging Americans. All lived in turbulent times, where their perception was limited, their knowledge and information came from travellers who landed in their towns. Where they were pioneers in unknown territories and with limited vision.

I laughed to see that not one, not two, but three generations of distant grandmothers were named ‘Thankful’, nicknamed ‘Thanks’. I love that. I hope that they were able to live up to the challenge of their names, and I hope that I have inherited the gratitude gene. I’m going to work on it.

Gratitude is what enables joy. I love the description of Jesus who, ‘for the joy set before him, did not despise the cross’. His vision focused on the beyond, and he did not let the approaching agony of crucifixion to distract him from the joy of reunion with the Father in heaven, having completed his mission successfully.

The technology of connection with his Father in heaven was straightforward and didn’t depend on fibre-optics or satellite dishes. He went out to the hills and prayed. Or he worked on the carpenter’s bench and prayed. Or he got into bed at night and prayed.

First of the year admin demands cloud my mind. Things to sort out for Mom. US tax information to gather and give to the accountant (bless him). The on-going de-cluttering. I want to see beyond those clouds to the clear blue sky of eternity, and the joy of reunions in a place where there are no airports.

In the meantime, I am thankful for technology, and I am thankful for prayer. Gifts from above.