Magical Trunk

 

It crouched in the corner of the churchyard. The sort of trunk I might have seen in films like Harry Potter (I imagine – I’ve never actually seen any Harry Potter movies).

Wow. My companion and I approached and I peered into the gaping hole.

A flash of white disappeared further in, further down, and I drew back, startled. What was it? Could it have been a baby owl, or was my fantastical imagination taking over? But then we heard them. A nest of owlets (or some other sort of large bird with white babies?).

From where we stood, the broken trunk appeared dead. But from the far side sprouted branches, leafing in green, stretching upwards, declaring life. Not only was there life finding shelter in what appeared to be dead, but what appeared to be dead was not.

A beautiful encouragement to my companion, whose daughter passed away a few months ago. What appears to be dead, is not.

A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from the roots a branch will bear fruit. Isaiah had a vision of Life sprouting from what appeared to be dead; of Jesus Christ, our redeemer, coming from the line of David.

What looks dead will come to life. We see it every spring. This trunk was a striking visual.

The light seems to be going out in the world, as violence, environmental degradation, injustice and secularisation spread. But as the cliché goes, it’s always darkest before the dawn.

What looks dead will come to life. Those owlets were hungry, crying out for food. I am hungry for the righteousness of the Lord to rise in our day. May I cry out to him with as much passion and fervour as those babies in the nest.

Trying Circumstances and Perfect Love

 

‘I’m not trying to be difficult,’ the receptionist protested, repeating the instructions she’d been given.

My patience was fraying. I’m a regular at the doctor’s surgery, where the tests are done every few weeks. I’ve never had to do it the way she now insisted on. We reached a resolution of sorts without me losing my rag. Thank you, Lord.

Sometimes structures and rules, set up for good reason, chafe and block us from doing the simplest of things. They’re inflexible. They may have been put in place to protect from poor outcomes, but our circumstances are different, and it feels like they’re designed to impede common sense.

I’ve just come out of two weeks’ worth of wrangling with a major US bank because of such inflexible constrictions.

God has given us structures and rules, first in the ‘set in stone’ Ten Commandments, then embodied in the loving embrace of Jesus. Jesus said he didn’t come to abolish the commandments but to fulfil them.

Jesus fulfils the Commandments through every cell of his body. He sees each of us with the eyes of love. It isn’t that he bends the rules or downgrades God’s holy standards. It’s that he, in wisdom and love, reaches out to us in unconditional love, drawing us into his presence and revealing, piece by piece, his better way. Flexibility and firmness combine in perfect love.

May I surrender to that pursuing love today, listening to his tender whisper and responding to trying circumstances as he would.

 

End of a Journey

 

Daylight lingers at 9 pm, and I know I am back in Scotland. I was, indeed, delayed, but by the grace of God I arrived in Aberdeen Thursday morning: British Airways computers crashed Thursday afternoon and thousands more were stranded on planes, in concourses, without luggage, without alternatives.

I’ve now heard my first cuckoo of spring. Yes, I know they are nasty birds, but I love their distinctive call. Maybe because it is so distinctive. Despite my efforts at identifying the songs of other birds, I lag behind. But the cuckoo I can identify.

I call up the stairs to Don. A simple request, uttered four times, increasingly louder, and slower. I hear his footsteps coming to the banister. ‘Pardon?’

Those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

I am down to tell the junior church about the still small voice of God. So I’ve been thinking a lot about his voice. There are no hearing aids for that small voice, digital or otherwise. I could be profoundly deaf and still hear his still, small voice.

Perhaps I would hear it better, as all the distractions would be silenced.

Sharpen my inner ear today, Lord, that I may hear your sweet words of encouragement, correction, and guidance. Thank you that even though my spiritual hearing is often dull, yet you persevere speaking without any inflection of impatience or irritation.

May I show the same grace to others whose physical hearing might be waning. And may I clearly hear and obey today and every day.

 

Deleted!

 

My hand slipped on the screen and before I knew what had happened, I’d deleted an email I’d intended to keep. Fortunately I was quick enough to push the ‘undo delete’ button.

In the Passion translation of Colossians 2, Paul declares, ‘Jesus canceled out every legal violation we had on our record and the old arrest warrant that stood to indict us. He erased it all – our sins, our stained soul – he deleted it all and they cannot be retrieved! Everything we once were in Adam has been placed onto his cross and nailed permanently there as a public display of cancellation.’

There is no ‘undo delete’ button on the cross. He forgives us forever. He has not only deleted, but forgiven all the sins and mistakes and wrong words and attitudes. Everything is new in him. New every morning.

I am so grateful for this unconditional, undeserved love of God.

Flexibility

 

Some of you aren’t getting your lumbar spines to articulate, the Pilates teacher said. Michele, she added, giving me a ball to squash with my torso as I tried again rolling backwards.

She made it look so easy. I kind of thought I was doing it. Obviously, I wasn’t.

To see ourselves as others see us. It is so easy to see the shortfall in others without being aware of those in ourselves.

I spent a poignant couple of hours last night reading through the cards and notes I received over thirty years ago when my sister died. I loved remembering the close relationship we enjoyed, and reading in so many cards the comments on that close relationship.

Then I found some pages ripped out of a reporter’s notebook, on which I’d scribbled my thoughts and what I heard from God as I looked at a section of the Bible a few days before she died. Some dear friends had taken our children for the day to give me space just to be alone with God in my sorrow as I saw the way things were going with Judy.

A week before she died, I wrote:

‘Two insights have been given to me today:

1)     That because the Lord loves me unconditionally, and because the love I feel for him is a gift from Him (ie I love Him with His love – circular), then my love for Him, if it is truly from Him, is likewise unconditional, ie, I love Him for who He is, not for what He does. Because I love Him, I trust Him, and don’t rest my faith on His performance for me, but on who He is. Healing or not, I love Him. Freely, not backed into a corner.

2)     While my specific prayers, unanswered, leave me feeling open and vulnerable and wary of praying so specifically again, how much more vulnerable is the Lord Himself when He, in His wisdom, doesn’t respond in the way expected. He is then open to my anger, distrust, disbelief in His goodness. From His point of view, how crushing, especially when He has the power to ‘win votes’, to heal and answer prayer. But his wisdom rules out it being so easy to tap Him like a water faucet for answers to prayers. But if He can be vulnerable, so can I. If He can take rejection, so can I. Lord, I praise you for these insights.

Tough love. It deepens my awe and respect, knowing how torn apart You are at Judy’s suffering, yet steadfast in your purposes. You bleed again for her. Lord, bless you. I love you with all my heart. I don’t need to understand, just love and trust. With your help, I do. Amen. ‘

Sometimes my spiritual spine doesn’t articulate very well: I remain stiff and unbending even in the Lord’s warm embrace. I am so grateful that He is the gentle teacher, never writing me off as hopeless, but giving me honest and gentle correction, along with props – often in the form of wise believing friends – to help my spiritual flexibility.

I hope this makes sense to someone else. It makes sense to me.

Magic Connections

 

We got up earlier because the electrician was due here at 8. We had a skype call scheduled with Brisbane at 10. By 8.30 the electrician had turned off the electricity, and we had a dear friend in the living room pouring out her heart and looking for confirmation that she was making a good decision.

By 10.10, the power was back on, the connection was made with Brisbane, and our friend had gone home to try to catch up with the sleep she’s missed for three nights of agonizing indecision.

It’s not even lunchtime yet and we’ve been up and down with a difficult situation, on and off with the electricity, and halfway around the world with our dearly missed family.

Thank you, Lord.

Greg told us about the deep hole he dug at a very sandy beach when they went over the weekend. We wondered if he could dig a bit deeper and come up in ‘Groucho’s’ potato patch. Flick sparked up: maybe the silky sand was magic sand. Maybe a tunnel could be made between them and us so we could see each other whenever we wanted.

I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s that kind of sand in heaven. Or an equivalent. So that, whenever we want to see a loved one, we can slip into some sort of tunnel and be with them again.

As I always say, there are no airports in heaven. Just magic connections.

May Day

 

May Day.

Remembering Mrs Reims, the dear old lady who always bought whatever my sister and I had made and were selling door-to-door, encouraging us to return to her with whatever didn’t sell and she would buy the rest, be it neighbourhood news-sheets we wrote, mud pies we made, or napkin flowers with some lemon drops in the middle.

On May Day, she was the first neighbour to be given our annual homemade May baskets filled with flowers from Mom’s garden. We would hang the basket on her door handle, ring the bell and run away. She knew where they came from.

After my walk with Mary this morning, I continued into the woods to spend some time with God. Those have been ‘my’ woods for over forty years, and the Lord has heard many a cry from my heart there over a whole variety of things. He has also heard many a song of praise from a thankful believer who sees his hand in everything – or at least, tries to see his hand in everything.

I noticed the channels widened so enthusiastically by three of my grandsons and their daddies several months ago. It lies clogged again, dammed by the detritus of twig and leaf, mud and rock, washed there in winter and spring storms. The water is sour, unable to run free and clear, purified with oxygen and movement.

It is so easy for my spirit to become dammed by the detritus of life, of harsh words or isolation, of unintentional snubs or fears of the future, of anxieties and responsibilities. Lord, I come to you on this Monday morning, asking you to do what my sons and grandsons did to that ditch in the woods and clear away all the accumulated detritus. I want your clean, clear waters, purified by the oxygen of the Spirit, to run freely through my spirit, mind and body. May others, in looking at me, be refreshed by a nuance of You.

Take away the stench of stagnant waters

Thank you for this day. Thank you for the joy of this moment. Thank you, Jesus.