Counting the Cost

 

Counting the cost.

Mom’s care home uses a point system to determine what she pays. Every detail of care she needs is rated by points, every point carrying a monetary value. The assessment form is multiple choice, and not every task offers an option which fits Mom’s needs.

The result of her fall and broken hip is not felt simply in the diminished life she can now lead due to physical pain and weakness. The cost of care has skyrocketed, necessitating that we review options. If there are any.

Jesus spoke about counting the cost with reference to following him. He taught that it’s important to know in advance what a course of action might cost so that you can judge whether or not it’s affordable. Sound advice. But in elderly care, there are too many variables to be able to accurately count the cost in advance. Length of life, cost of living rises, changes of facility management from a family-run business to a corporation eager to maximise returns to shareholders and directors.

So here we are, in a tight situation, as are so many these days. In a sense, it’s a blessed place to be, because I don’t really know what to do so I am doing what I do know: leaning in to Jesus. Spending more time with him. Praising more: speaking Jesus over my family, my Mom, this care home and the underpaid, beleaguered staff left to deal with clients’ families. Remembering scriptures of strength and encouragement, like Psalm 91: She who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.’

He has gathered me under his wing; he has Mom under his wing. One step at a time. One day at a time. In this situation, I am experiencing the peace beyond understanding which only God gives.

But I am not complacent. I am actively seeking the way forward, but from a position of faith in the God who knows the end from the beginning. Who, when I have made my plans, intervenes to direct my steps.

I am praising the One who died for my sins, for the sins of the whole world.

In this month of Thanksgiving, I have so much gratitude welling up within my heart. I am so grateful to God, who is faithful to his promises, who never leaves nor forsakes any of us.

I am so grateful to my Jesus, who did count the cost, and paid it anyway.

May you, too, know his peace, whatever your circumstances this morning.

 

Lean into the Gardener

 

The voluptuous blooms on their hydrangeas are fading fast, and Emma commented it was time to prune the heads. Even after all these years, I am still a novice in the garden. So she showed me how.

An inch or two below the wilting bloom, you can see the buds forming for next year’s profusion. Cut the old flower head off there, and next year’s show will be amazing, she suggested.

I’ve done it now. We’ll see what happens next year.

My Father is the gardener, Jesus told his friends, … every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, so that it will be even more fruitful.

Pruning is painful. Sharp shears severing aspects of our lives which may have appeared to be flourishing. Buoyant home groups which falter. Spiritual gifts which seem to dry up. Rich relationships which encounter unexpected issues. A path forward which disappears, or is blocked.

The hydrangea is pruned before the winter storms hit. During winter weather, it, like the other plants in the garden, hibernates, regrouping, gathering its strength for the next growing season.

A sabbath rest, a time to be refreshed, strengthened. A time to sharpen our ears for God’s voice.

Simplify. Batten down the hatches, and lean into the Gardener.

 

Drawn to the Light

 

The broken man was drawn to the mountain and its glacier. The cause of his brokenness is not revealed, but as he embraces Mont Blanc and its melting glacier, he encounters a healing power which restores his soul. The healing touch leaves his left hand and forearm forever changed, charged with an inner light which glows warmly in the dark.

This was the story in the French film we watched last night.  

A fitting story during this week of the American election, the results which have broken the hearts of many and left them reeling. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. In the days to come, may we all be drawn constantly to the love of God. May we all be filled with the light of Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit. Lord, let your healing touch forever change us, those who follow Jesus, so that our lives are charged with an inner, divine light which glows warmly in the dark. May we trust in God as we negotiate whatever is to come.

‘As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children’s children –’ (Ps 103)

May your righteousness be with our children’s children, empowering and strengthening them. From everlasting to everlasting.

Help us to keep our eyes on you.

Jesus, Jesus over everything

 

The birds are back, gathering at the bird-feeders, filled again after the summer, when they were left empty because there was so much sustenance in the fruits and berries and thriving insect population.

There are times when my spirit is released to feed widely, gathering wisdom from sermons, guidance from fellow-disciples, nuggets of knowledge from devotionals. Other times, I sense a need to just draw in to Jesus.

This morning, I found myself laying my hand on the globe in my prayer window, covering the USA. And I sang out ‘God bless America, land that I love. Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with the light from above. From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans, white with foam: God bless America, my home, sweet, home. God bless America, my home sweet home.’

On this day which is critical for the future of the country, with repercussions for the world, God bless America. What else can I pray?

When I need to snuggle into the Lord, I find I am best able to do that through music, so I went on to the recent praise song from Charity Gayle, I Speak Jesus: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcmqSfr1ENY

To whom else should we go? Peter asked. You, Jesus, have the words of eternal life.

‘I just want to speak the name of Jesus’ in every voting booth in America today. I just want to speak the name of Jesus into every heart that beats with hatred. I just want to speak the name of Jesus into every spirit that cowers in fear. ‘Break every stronghold, shine through the shadows’ Jesus.

Jesus over fear. Jesus over illness. Jesus over anxiety. Jesus over hatred. Jesus over pride. Jesus over nationalism. Jesus. Jesus.

I trust you to feed us today, Lord Jesus, knowing that your ways are not our ways, and praying that we would all feed on you every day. As the birds need to feed frequently, so I need to feed frequently on you, Lord.

I speak the holy name of Jesus over this hurting world this morning, Lord. Your world. Shine, Jesus, shine, in your disciples today. Shine, Lord. May we bear your image, whatever happens.

Peace. Shalom. In Jesus’ Name.

Break it Up!

 

For the last few days, I’ve been amused by the flock of pheasants harvesting their breakfast from the stubble of the field round our house. I counted over twenty this morning.

When I returned a few hours later, the farmer was just finishing ploughing it up. What are the pheasants going to eat now?, I wondered. Well, they’re all back, and they’ve brought their friends. As I watch them out there, I realise how little I know.  They are probably grateful to the farmer for serving them up a feast of wriggly treats.

‘Break up your unploughed ground,’ Hosea advised. ‘for it is time to seek the Lord, until he comes and showers righteousness on you.’

God doesn’t want to feed us worms, he wants to feed us his life-giving word. But so often, I am too busy, too world-weary, too self-absorbed, too jaded to receive what he has for me. Help me, Lord, to take time to break up my fallow ground, those bits of me which have become hardened and impenetrable. Help me to open myself to you, looking to you for sustenance, encouragement and protection.

 … ‘Because you have depended on your own strength … the roar of battle will rise against your people…’

I depend on you, Jesus. Help me to depend on you fully, and not on my own paltry efforts.

 

 

In Secret

 

Returning from our morning prayer walk, Don and I paused to listen to the birds. How often it’s easy to hear a bird singing, but not see it in the canopy of branches and leaves overhead.

The trilling song was beautiful as the hidden bird raised her voice in praise and worship. Jesus said to go into your room and close the door when you’re going to pray. Praise and worship and prayer are powerful in congregation with other believers, but there is also something very special about stealing away into a quiet place, alone with the lover of your soul.

May we all find, or make, space for such a rendezvous every day.

Red Carpet

 

Autumn winds have rolled out the red carpet in our garden. A red carpet which is the centre of attention, rather than glamourous actors posing for publicity. A red carpet to be admired for itself.

The beauty of autumn! I just love it. (Yes, Doug, even when the leaves have fallen…messy as it may get!)

I’ve been praying the Ephesians 3 prayer over Mom. ‘I pray that out of his glorious riches he (Jesus) may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your heart through faith.’

I’ve been praying that Mom’s faith, so challenged by circumstances, would strengthen enough that she could roll out the red carpet for Jesus to really dwell in peace, power and light in her inner being, despite these limitations she’s struggling with. I’ve been praying that she could recover her glow for God, and once again be a beacon of light and hope for those around her.

Last night I had a joyful moment of speaking with her on the phone. It was the old Mom back, telling me what a wonderful day she was having, mainly because she had just enjoyed a delicious bit of chocolate ice cream cake.

Never doubt the power of prayer to change situations. May she continue to glow for God until that moment that he embraces her home.

Set Free

 

Yesterday, I started a new discipline which I will try to keep up. A ten-minute walk before breakfast. I read it helps with sleep issues, and I did sleep better last night.

This morning dawned gloriously. I headed towards the dawn, trying to find words to describe the clusters of clouds, both fluffy and torn, offering their moist molecules to the beams of the rising sun. Hues of rosy pinks, shades of greys, and glows of gold made the sky spectacular and praise for our creator God rose easily within me.

Then I turned back, and over the Hill of Fare slumped a solid rug of a cloud in deep grey, almost black. None of the glory of the sunrise behind me seemed to call out colour or beauty. The cloud just sat there, oppressive and still.

A simple picture this morning of the critical importance of perspective. May I keep my eyes fixed today on the Lord Jesus Christ. May I match my mood with the hope and peace he offers us; may I resist the slump of world news, the temptation to speak and act as if God has lost control.

I am still thinking of Paul in prison, chained by those loyal to a brutal regime capable of cruel excesses, writing such soaring prayers for the church he knew so well in Ephesus. For all who are in situations they didn’t choose, I pray that God will reveal the incredible height and depth, width and breadth, of Jesus’ love for them today, that their spirits may soar with His Spirit. I am praying that for my dear Mom. Set our spirits free, that we might worship thee. Amen.

Autumn is passing too fast!

 

Autumn is passing too fast. The rich russets and golds, oranges and browns are piling up, gathered in clumps round the garden by strong winds and left in those heaps to moulder into black, slimy hillocks.

And so in life. When those golden years of retirement begin to drop into months or years of what may appear as uselessness, when age and infirmity steal all vestiges of dignity and choice, it may appear that life is black and slimy.

I was reminded yesterday that Paul wrote his letter to the Ephesians while in chains in a Roman prison. What a role model for us! While he was in a situation not of his choosing, where choice was lost and dignity stolen, his spirit soared to such heights that he could write the incredibly inspiring prayers we have. This is the second one in the letter:

For this reason, I kneel before the Father, from whom His whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of His glorious riches, He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high in deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen  Ephesians 3:14-21

Amen! May we all be so strengthened today, especially those for whom life is extremely tough right now. 

QR Gospel

 

This is the day of the QR Code. I’ve noticed it more here in LA than back in Banchory. Every announcement about an event at the church I attended pointed the interested participant to check out the QR Code.

Now I do know how to use a QR Code, but I am in that generation that prefers to receive information without having to use a device to get it.

I wonder how Jesus would structure a sermon today? ‘I am the bread of life,’ he might declare, ‘and if you don’t understand that, just check out the QR code on the bottom of your bulletin.’

Or maybe, if faced with a hungry crowd of thousands who’d listened all day to him sharing the secrets of the Kingdom of God, he’d direct his disciples to display the QR codes for nearby eateries.

Just a bit of fun before I fly.

Halloween Part 2

 

Still a bit haunted by Halloween.

It’s easy to see the plastic skeletons posed all over people’s lawns and porches, and wonder what the homeowners are thinking of. But I just read 1 Cor 10:12-13, ’So if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!’

It made me wonder what skeletons lurk on the lawns and porches of my thoughts?

I may not be scared (any more) by plastic skeletons, but plenty of things invoke fear. This whole situation with Mom is fraught with fears of various kinds: finance and the future are the main ones. But fear is the denial of faith, and so once again I come to God for assurance that He is in control, and all will be well, all manner of things will be well.

Jesus, for the joy set before him, could face and see beyond the cross. Lord, bless Mom with vision to see beyond the cross she is bearing right now. May she move from the overwhelming helplessness and pain into a place of anticipation of all that’s coming, beyond the cross. May I, too, occupy that place of peace and joy, anticipating the great things Jesus has in store.

Skeletons in the Yards

 

On my regular walks down to the beach from the street I park on, I counted ten skeletons in the front yards. One or two are giants, towering over the average person, fixed in threatening poses. Plus three witches, gathered round a cauldron, and numerous spider webs. I’m glad I’m not with my grandchildren, who would be terrified.

It’s not a case for Rumpole (whose stories I’ve been enjoying while sitting beside Mom’s bed).

Halloween is coming, and in this Christian country it is amazing to see so many people happy to celebrate the dark side. To see it as just a bit of harmless fun.

We are all made up of such a mish-mash of ideas and thoughts, many of which are bland and tasteless, but others which can taint our spirits and twist our vision so our understanding is distorted and false.

On this Sunday morning, as I get ready to go celebrate Jesus as Saviour and Lord, I pray for clarity of thought and attitude. I lift Jesus higher.

In this scary season, may our fun be harmless and our joy be in the Lord, today and always.

Out in Joy and Peace, I pray

 

“Am I in a situation not of my own choosing?”

This question was posed in yesterday’s Lectio on Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7.

“Am I resentful? What if God wants me here?”

This is not the same post as yesterday’s, when I was filled with such a sense of serenity and peace, strong to entrust God with the details of this hard situation.

Tonight I’m praying through a tough day, when the detail of life as Mom is experiencing it now was just hard. When confusion led to temper flares, and my patience was tested and faltered.

Then I came back and read through the verses a dear friend gave me this morning, from Isaiah 55:8-9:

‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’

Boy, rarely have those words rung so true!

But then comes the promise in verse 12:

‘For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.’

Roll on that blessed day. Lead on, Lord Jesus.

And in the meantime, Lord, equip Mom, and equip me, to accept the situation you allow to continue. May we both ‘have power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.’ Ephesians 3:18-21

 

 

The Divine Signature

 

“Am I in a situation not of my own choosing?”

This question was posed in today’s Lectio on Jeremiah 29:1, 4-9.

“Am I resentful? What if God wants me here?”

I am praising God for seeing me and revealing to me more clearly what my attitude and response should be. I am a captive in this situation not out of duty, but out of choice, because of my deep love for my amazing mother. But more than that, I am a captive in this situation because God wants me in it. And the situation will last as long as he has purpose in it.

I can entrust him with the rising financial obligations that come with increased care needs. I can hold before the throne of grace all the staff who work hard and with kindness for low salaries. I can petition against a capitalist attitude in the organization’s management, which sees a care home as a business, not a service.

And I can pray for dear Mom, who is certainly in a situation not of her choosing. That even in her limited understanding, she would be content and at peace as she trusts in God.

Lord, remove any knots of resentment in Mom and me. Enable us to relax into your everlasting arms, pray with faith and hope, and look with eager expectation for your divine signature writ large across each day.

Murky Twilight but the Dawn is Coming

 

After a walk along the beach, I sank onto a bench and just sat and stared. Under a heavily clouded / foggy sky, the ocean reflected shades of grey. The crashing surf pounded into white foam where it met the fine sand. A father and his wee girl capered on the beach: their laughter echoed back to me, a lovely balm.

A ghostly sun tried valiantly to break through the clouds, without success.

I sat on and stared as a cohort of pelicans, that most prehistoric of looking birds, swooped low over the waves. I’ve yet to see one dive and catch its dinner, but they are on the lookout for sure.

Before my walk, I’d spent several hours sitting with Mom. Such a blessing for us both. We could feel Jesus near, and she even said her goodbyes as she said how excited she was for heaven, and that we will be together there forever, with everyone else who has gone before. Then she’d pursed her lips and we kissed goodbye. She slept – and woke up a little later, chatting and strong still.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Jesus shines in the murky twilight of life, and one day – sooner or later – he will light Mom up and embrace her into the kingdom. I just hope it’s when I’m sitting with her.

 

Supports

 

When Moses' arms grew tired, Aaron and Hur brought a stone for him to sit on, while they stood beside him and held up his arms, holding them.

 

I woke up thinking about this story from Exodus. I am receiving so many encouraging messages, prayers, pictures, ideas, phone calls, suggestions as I walk through these days with Mom. Getting delicious meals cooked for me and good company with my cousin and his wife. My every need is met.

I am feeling so grateful that I have my own Aaron and Hur on either side of me, and a 'stone' to sit on. You all know who you are, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you. God bless you.

So grateful

 

Feeling grateful.

A couple of weeks ago, I shared an insight God gave me on my way to my beach retreat. ‘You can’t go up a hill in top gear,’ I heard him say as I downshifted on a rising slope. Praise God for preparing me for what was to come.

I am on a rising slope, here in California again. Mom fell and broke her hip, has had an operation, which she came through, albeit confused and ornery. Who wouldn’t be ornery? She can’t see, can’t think, hurts, and doesn’t understand.

Soon she will be moved back to her own bedroom, where hospice carers will take over her care. But for that to happen, I had to remove her Queen bed to make way for a hospital bed. I reached out in all directions for help with this one, truly downshifting. I eventually had to pay someone to take away a perfectly good bed. Charities here won’t accept beds.

When the hospital bed arrived, I had to dash out for single bed sheets. Twice, because I forgot to buy a mattress protector.

Between times, I’ve been tidying up for Mom – putting picture albums back together, taking some pictures with me. Nostalgic and sad.

This walking Mom home has been a very long and gradual incline. Incline. Perhaps I should write decline, as she has declined, (and probably so have I!), but as we’ve lurched and staggered forward, we have been blessed to see God at work in so many details. He has been with us every step of the way. I can’t believe the number of things I’ve had to arrange over the last ten years which have dragged me out of my comfort zone. But the three of us, Mom, me and God – and a small team of family and friends – are still walking – well, at least I am, Mom is bed-bound unless she can be persuaded to do some physio. And I know God has not abandoned us now. He will see us safely home.

Life is a challenge, but with God there is the joy of seeing his hand in myriad ways.

So grateful.

Rest in the Shadow

 

The two-lane coastal road from Stonehaven to Auchmithie Beach winds through farmland, golden in its early autumn glory. Farmers, busily bringing in the harvest, grind along in their big tractors pulling even bigger harvest machinery.

Behind them follows a parade of smaller vehicles. There are few stretches of road straight enough to safely overtake.

Be still and know that I am God.

Sometimes we need to accept a slower pace in life. Perhaps we are caring for someone older or sick. Perhaps we are parenting a growing family. Perhaps we ourselves are not well.

When we stop agitating about the impediment to our zipping quickly from here to there and getting a lot of things done, we are free to appreciate the scenery or the people we are with.

We are set free to be still and appreciate God. To enjoy his quiet company. She who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

May our days be punctuated with periods of peace and rest in the shadow of the Almighty, whether by choice or otherwise.

Rock of Ages

 

‘Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal.’ (Isaiah 26:4)

There is nothing boring or uniform about the shoreline at Auchmithie Beach. It is composed of a carpet of smooth stones of various hues and sizes. It isn’t a beach for a long walk. It’s a beach for a jerking progress from one end to the other, where there are some shallow caves and larger boulders on which to sit. On which to sit and contemplate, to sit and stare glakit at the rhythmic flow of the sea, to sit and pray.

Surrounding the larger boulders are much smaller rocks, polished smooth by the tides, tossed around by the storms that buffet the beach sometimes. They are a beautiful rainbow of colours.

I brought home nine of these stones as a souvenir of the day. I chose nine – one for each of my grandchildren. They now sit at the garden door, a reminder (as if I needed it) to pray for each of these precious ones, that they will trust in Jesus always.

I love that the stones are smooth. The rough edges have been broken off by the storms. They have been honed and polished by the flow of life. I pray that as my precious grandchildren go through whatever storms await them, they will emerge with their faith in the Rock eternal intact, with their lives anchored in Jesus.

Jesus told Peter, ‘It is on this rock that I will build my church’. Peter’s faith in Jesus as Saviour was rock-solid … and yet, on the night he was arrested, Peter denied knowing Jesus three times.

Denials for which he profoundly repented, and for which he was wholeheartedly forgiven. Whatever betrayals we have committed, Jesus is always waiting to welcome us back, and when we trust in him, truly trust in him, we are stronger than ever because he is our strength.

We live in times of global tension and turmoil, agony and angst. I pray for all those whose faith is shaken today by the storms of the age, that through the tumult they will find comfort and safety in the rock of ages.

 

 

 

Walk in the Light

 

When the day is bright, the shadows are deep. As I drove south to Auchmithie Beach, glaring sunlight penetrated the canopy of trees, creating long stripes of darkness and light. The light can distract and dazzle; the darkness can hide and obscure.

The light of Jesus comes from above. It does not cause shadows; in his light there is no darkness. It does not dazzle and blind: it leads the disciple to living waters; it leads the disciple home.

There are many fraudulent sources of light by which some chart their courses. Even the Jesus follower can find herself distracted by flickers of light which purport to come from the true source of light and life.

May I walk in the light of God always, recognising the sources masquerading as the true light and instead keeping my face turned to Jesus. As a sunflower keeps its face to the sun, may my face be always turned towards Jesus.

As Aretha Franklin sang, ‘Walk in the light, beautiful light, Come where the dewdrops of mercy shine bright, Shine all around us by day and by night, Jesus (Lord Jesus) is the light of the world.’

Top Gear

 

Heading southeast for my retreat last week, I sensed God wanting me to keep the radio off and start listening. He had things to show me as we went.

As I downshifted to go up a steep brae, the sentence flashed into my mind: ‘You can’t go up a hill in top gear.’ You have to downshift, especially if you’re bearing a load.

While this seems like good, practical advice, what is the ‘God message’ in it?

I thought of Elijah, fleeing for his life from Jezebel after God’s defeat of the prophets of Baal. (1 Kings 19). The tender love that God shows Elijah is so beautiful, sending him an angel with food and a blessing of rest before recommissioning him and giving him a helper.

I’ve not taken on a Jezebel, nor stepped out on a limb for the Lord. But sometimes the uphill brae can be gradual and long. The enemy is not Jezebel but it can be losing heart, growing weary and losing energy.

God was in charge of my retreat. His gentle hand was on me as I stepped aside on the hill and found a place of rest, of beauty and refreshment. He renewed my spirit as he restored my faith that he is indeed in charge of all the details of my life.

We all need a rhythm of pauses, short pauses daily and longer pauses at intervals. May I remember the lesson that I can’t go up a hill in top gear.

 

Rock Pools

 

Time apart. Alone with God.

The Lord blessed me with a glorious, warm day on Wednesday when I headed to Auchmithie Beach in Angus. We’ve hung out together there a couple of times. It turned out to be as expected, only better. A day of rich gleanings. A day of sitting gazing at the waves, the tide, the jet trails in the blue skies. A day of listening. A day of seeing a little bit more.

I studied the rock pools left as the tide retreated, and it occurred to me that where the rock had eroded with an outlet at one end, the sea water emptied completely, leaving a clear bowl of clean stones. Where the erosion was more of a hollowing out, leaving a bowl-shaped dip, or where there was a blockage of some sort, the water never completely drained, leaving the rock pools soft with green algae, growing in stagnant and sour water.

How I need times of stepping aside and allowing the Lord to empty me of all the sour water that can stagnate within me, clogging my thinking and muddying my mind. The algae in my soul does not look pretty, to me or to Him, and it is so good to just rest in him and allow him to remove any blockages and re-open my clogged channels.

Lectio today dealt with a similar theme: regular times alone with God are the example Jesus left us, and they model a rhythm we all need. There is so much in this world to clog my mind, spirit, heart and soul, but in Jesus there is freedom. In Jesus we have a loving Saviour who invites us to dump all that muddies our thinking on him, so that we can live life to the full.

I leave all the green algae at your cross now, Lord. Cleanse me and make me new.

Season of mists

 

The mist blankets the marshy field like a thick duvet. Yet the air above harvested field beside it, dotted with pairs of straw-bale rolls, is clear and crisp.

And the road…the road traces a clear track beside the misty field, offering a crisp vista of what lies ahead.

‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’, wrote Keats in his Ode to Autumn. The mists swirl and the boughs hang low, bearing ripening apples which will be ready before the onslaught of winter.

May this be a day of mists and mellow fruitfulness. I am setting out on a retreat day, headed for a beach I know, looking forward to mists rising, roads being clear, and time to revel in the Father’s presence and receive his love.

May God bless your day, too, in this season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.

Not a breath of wind...

 

Not a breath of wind. Even the uppermost branches of the giant larch tree are barely moving. Peace prevails. A warming sun beams down from above; wispy white clouds stretch languorously across the heavens.

God is in control. All is well.

Global currents are chaotic, stormy and wild; distress and pain are everywhere.

I lift my eyes to the hills. My help comes from God, and when I lift my eyes to the hills, I am reminded of our loving creator. I am reminded that Jesus spread wide his arms to embrace the world he created, the people he loves. I am reminded that I am never alone, never forgotten, by the one who holds the world in his hands. I am reminded that with God, nothing is impossible, and that he always keeps his promises.

He will come again. He will make all things new. He will restore sanity and bring peace on earth, and goodwill between men and women.

It is good to pause. To gaze. To ponder and to wait. It is good to take time out from the chaos of to-do lists and shoulds and oughts. To step aside, be still, and know that He is God.

God is in control. All is well.

 

Swallows Fidget

 

Swallows fidget on the overhead lines, flitting off and then alighting again in an instinctive dance of beauty and grace. Somehow this annual ritual prepares the wee birds for the massive migration they’re about to make to South Africa.

Young cows line up at the gate as Mary and I pass by, curious to see us. Brambles blacken into a rich, juicy colour; rose hips darken and swell; leaves are beginning to turn from their greens to the fall foliage of russet, orange, yellow and brown.

Change is in the air. Despite the stillness of the day, the blue of the sky, the golden sun – there is an edge of chill causing occasional involuntary shivers.

Wait and watch.

There is a sense in which we are waiting for what we have experienced before. That which is familiar. Sometimes even derided as the same old same old.

But God is the joyful creator who delights to create new things.

May I be on my tiptoes every morning, expectant and eager to glimpse his hand in my life, doing something familiar perhaps, but in a new, and beautiful way.

Tangible Friend

 

I can stand it no longer – the frayed lining on the bathroom curtain. It’s way past time to make new ones. But with so many shops now gone from our local ‘high street’, I’ve got to do it all online. Get the fabric samples. They never look the same as they did on screen. After four attempts, I’ve finally chosen one.

Now to calculate how much fabric I need! I’ve done the online calculator. It seems straightforward enough, but I know that once they cut the fabric, it is mine, right or wrong. I hesitate, and then look for the yellowing, creased, well-used instructions on how to make curtains, from the old DIY book on how to do practically anything in the home. It’s so old I need to rework things from Imperial to metric, but I am relieved when I find it.

Holding the physical page of instructions in my hands, I sense my confidence rise. I will always be old school, preferring something I can hold to what I read on an electronic screen.

That’s probably why I never see myself reading the Bible in digital format. There is something more solid and real about a printed version. Something more beautiful in a bound book, than a device of any kind.

Doing life is a lot more complicated and important than making a new bathroom curtain. I want to linger in God’s instructions for life, maybe thumbing back or forward to where I made a wee note years ago, maybe comparing different versions.

It is just possible I might be able to de-clutter the bookshelves one day, giving away the books which I’ve enjoyed through the years. But I hope I never have to give up my Bibles, a real touch-stone with the divine Spirit of grace, source of comfort and encouragement, correction and inspiration.

 

 

 

Wait

 

I was early. (I usually am…)

Needing a couple of birthday cards, I found them in the rich display. My friend hadn’t yet arrived, so I zipped to the cash till and paid. It only took a couple of minutes.

Returning to my station by the entry door, I waited, and finally pulled out my phone to see the time. Which is when I realised she’d sent me a text: she was upstairs waiting in the café entrance.

In those couple of minutes, I’d missed her entry. I’d probably left my station just as she parked her car.

How often in life do I miss a divine appointment, simply because I multitask instead of simply waiting? Wait for the Lord, Scripture advises. Be strong; take heart, and wait for the Lord.

Easier said than done. Lord, would you teach me this skill, so that I never miss your arrival? Quell my impatience and silence my inner drive to accomplish something with every moment. Help me today to be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord.

Hill of Fare

 

The Hill of Fare presses upward against the beauty of a cloud-streaked sky, all blues and greys and whites. An autumn sun hangs resolutely in the sky as the clouds dance and caper across its face.

Sheltering animal and bird habitats, providing recreational paths for walkers, concealing historic relics from a past battle between Mary Queen of Scots and the Duke of Huntly, the hill is rich in peat for the heather growing there, and beneath the peat lies granite containing elevated concentrations  of uranium and thorium. A hill of diverse abundance.

It is a beautiful feature of our local landscape, lying at the gate to Royal Deeside and on to the Highlands. The boundaries of my life have fallen in pleasant places.

The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. May we preserve and respect the gifts we have been given, and be willing to invest in alternative alternatives as we seek a ‘greener’ way to live.

Braemar Games

 

Serpentine lines of traffic funnelled into the village of Braemar, coaches and cars carrying folks eager to experience the annual Braemar Highland Gathering. Nearly two hours after leaving Banchory, delayed by the traffic, our coach full of our Ukrainian friends parked and we headed into the venue. Surrounded by hills of heather, the field looked spectacular in the late summer sunshine.

The announcer kept up a running commentary of the various events on the field, from running heats, to Highland dancing competitions, to caber tossing and tug-of-war. We found a space on a hillock and settled down to watch, finding the passing visitors as interesting as the action on the field.

All around, pipers warmed their pipes, practicing their pieces for the various parades of pipe bands which punctuated the day. This is the place to enjoy the bagpipes in all their glory.

Precisely at 3 pm, cars carrying the King and Queen and others in their party arrived from Balmoral, circled the arena and the royal party settled into their seats to watch some events. After the band of the Royal Marines, and the massed pipe bands, they were taken back to their castle and the crowds began to disperse.

Over the many years I’ve been here, I’ve been to the Braemar gathering several times. Yesterday’s visit was memorable and special. We were blessed by the warm sunshine, and delighted to be with the Ukrainians as they experienced a full immersion into Scottish tradition and culture.

It offered a distraction from the tragedy engulfing their nation, a tragedy which threatens us all. May God pour out his blessings on Ukraine, restoring peace and bringing reconciliation and hope to that beleaguered nation, a nation, like Scotland, rich in traditions of costume, music and dancing.

Come, Lord Jesus, Prince of peace.

 

Sticky Beauty

 

Low cloud cover blankets our views and a dampness moistens the air. As I head out to meet my walking partner, I notice the proliferation of spider’s webs, their intricate patterns picked out with drops of dew as they sag like trampolines between the thorns and twigs of the gorse bushes. The once-invisible, deadly insect traps are revealed, enticingly beautiful.

Does this mean spiders will go hungry today? Or will less-savvy bugs (are any bugs savvy?) be attracted by the deceptive beauty and lured into the traps of sticky silk?

May the Lord reveal to me, today, any hidden traps into which I might fall accidentally, or be attracted to because of their outward beauty.

Thank you, Lord, that underneath us all are the everlasting arms, ready to catch us when we fall – catch us not into a trap of terror, but into an embrace of sacrificial love.

 

Anticipation

 

Awaiting with rising anticipation the connection with loved ones on the other side of the world. A skype call is scheduled this morning.

As I look at the rowan tree, beautiful and heavy with orange berries, the towering larch and the golden grain in the field beyond, I see the loving hand of our heavenly Father and am in awe that he – the creator and ruler of the universe – is available to me 24/7. No need for a good wifi connection, a pre-arranged time, or a self-conscious rush to put on lipstick: I can just reach out in a silent cry of joy or concern and he is there.

Praise him.

Slippage

 

The earth is constantly unstable, the sign reads. Be careful.

The cliffs are crumbling into the ocean, and now companies providing the infrastructure of modern life have cut the water, the gas, and the electricity from multi-million dollar homes perched precariously at the top. A spark occasioned by a slippage started a wildfire there, so the dangers go beyond one or two homes ‘simply’ slipping over the edge into the Pacific.

The city has asked residents to leave. Most refuse.

The area is just a few miles from where I stay when I visit Mom. Because I know the area, my interest is piqued and my concern for those affected is heightened.

Where should those displaced residents go? As their valuable investments become worthless, what should they do? I’m praying for them.

A wealthy homeowner in a story Jesus told built new barns to hold the bounty of his harvest. But within a short space of time, the farmer died. He didn’t live long enough to enjoy his amassed riches.

A stark reminder that money is best invested in others, shared out to people and situations of need or distress.

The earth is unstable, but God never changes. He is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow – the God of love and compassion, mercy and forgiveness. May I invest my time and money today in the people and situations he draws me to, looking upwards and outwards and resisting building myself a castle which tomorrow may crumble.

And may all those who watch helplessly as nature or conflict or mismanagement devour their homes and livelihoods be surprised and comforted by Jesus’ saving grace and love offered through his body here on earth.

Astromice!

 

Astronauts are sometimes accompanied by astromice, who ride into space in a familiar cage, but once they escape the gravitational pull, the wee creatures have one of two reactions. Some, no doubt appalled at their weightlessness, cling for dear life to the bars of their cage. Others, however, allow themselves to float – perhaps even enjoying the sensation and experience. According to the presenter on the Radio 4 programme this morning, the terrified mice often die, whereas the adventurers survive.

I can’t vouch for the veracity of this, but I can’t help but think that when humans limit their experiences of our world through fear, they don’t enjoy life as much as those who embrace every challenge with enthusiasm.

The Bible says, hundreds of times, ‘do not be afraid’, and Jesus declares that he came so that we could have life in all its fullness. I love seeing people who are living out that freedom, either because of an innate courage and adventurer’s spirit or out of a deep faith and trust in God.

I ask God to deepen my trust in his provision and protection and guidance, so that each day can be an adventure in exploring the wonders of this creation he has blessed us with. I don’t want to be a cling-er! I want to fly, safe in my Father’s arms.

 

Harvest

 

Rowan trees hang heavy with berries this year, orange now but slowly deepening into a rich red. Don tells me that indicates the winter will be harsh, if the rowan berries are plentiful.

Beyond the rowan tree, a field of gold waves softly in the breeze, ripe unto the harvest. Combine harvesters are busy in our area; perhaps this field is next.

I hear stories that God is on the move in the UK, touching hearts, awakening minds, restoring lives.

Ask the Lord of the harvest. Ask him to touch those you know and love. Ask him to use you to help bring in a bumper crop for the kingdom.

Out of the boat!

 

Step out of your comfort zone. Good advice, but oh, how the human heart often yearns to sink back into that safe space where things are familiar and no hard decisions or actions are required.

I am reminded, especially in decisions regarding my mother, that it is in stepping out of my comfort zone that I am enabled to more fully ‘trust in the Lord with all my heart’. Medical and financial decisions are not my forte, and so I am very aware that in making them for her, I do so prayerfully.

Life feels like being in a boat rocking on the rising waves of an approaching storm. Global events are disturbing, often shocking and upsetting. Local situations can also be alarming. Jesus doesn’t advise that we hang on tight in our own spaces, batten down the hatches, and stay safe. Instead, he invites us to step out of the boat and know the exhilaration of walking on the water – turbulent though it may be – with him.

May I live in anticipation of what he will do as I trust in him with all my heart, and don’t lean on my own understanding, which is so myopic and clouded. Today, in whatever I do, may I do it with my eyes firmly fixed on Jesus, who enables me to do much more than I can even imagine.

Gentle

 

A gentle breath of wind rustles the low-hanging twigs from the larch tree, rocking them back and forth. Beyond them, the field of ripening grain stands unruffled in the stillness, golden and tender.

The rowan berries cluster in orange bunches, darkening daily towards the deep red they will reach.

Not a hot August day, but a very pleasant one.

So much to do in the garden; so much to do in the house; so I sit here and contemplate the beauty of creation.

The boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places, and I am forever grateful to God for his grace and mercy. Praying for all whose peace is shattered by violence and aggression; come, Prince of Peace.  

Rain?

 

‘Aargh, we’re camping this weekend and the forecast is dire.’

‘Why do we live in Scotland?’

‘Raining here, too.’

So went the WhatsApp chat the other day. Then today, ‘Lovely sunny morning here!’

‘Yes, bright sunshine in Edinburgh today!’

‘I’m just back from walking with the neighbour, in the warm sunshine.’

They say the weather is the most talked-about topic in the UK. I think that could be true. But is that a bad thing?

Living where the default weather pattern is pretty similar from day to day, I barely noticed the weather as I grew up in southern California. It was usually wonderful, and I took that for granted. I can remember my shock when, age 19, I visited Europe for the first time. It was summer, yet in Amsterdam we froze, in Edinburgh we dodged the rain and it was only 55 degrees F: how could that be summer?

I love the heat, the sunshine, the warmth and languor of a summer’s day. But variation prevents complacency. It draws my eyes to the heavens – and I do love the drama of the Scottish skies. It keeps me from taking things for granted, and it also connects me more closely to the natural world outside my window.

Now the wind is rising and the clouds are swirling; more change.

Jesus says to his disciples to keep alert, to watch the signs in nature because we are part of it. We can see his hand in his creation.

I thank you, Lord, for keeping my attention.

But now, could you please overrule that forecast, and allow the campers a dry, happy experience?

Empty feeders

 

Empty bird feeders leaning against the trunk of the rowan tree, silhouetted against a pale grey sky. The larder of the landscape provides for our feathered friends during these warmer summer days.

Upstairs, as I sit down at my laptop, I am mesmerised by the aerial display being enacted outside my window by the swallows, swooping and darting, chattering and wheeling on the light wind. Preparing to head south soon, as their food supply begins to wane in these northern climates.

I enjoy the ease of partaking of God’s provision in the Bible. Unlike our bird feeders, it is never empty, but sometimes I am aware that I peck away quickly and don’t extract all the richness his word has to impart. But he doesn’t leave me hungry. The larder in the landscape of my life is full of God’s nourishing truths, encouragements and comforts, too, and even when I don’t linger long enough to really benefit from what He is feeding me in the Bible, still He provides through the words and actions of others I encounter, through the sounds I hear and the sights I see. Give me eyes to see, ears to hear and consciousness to recognise you in my day today, Lord.

I am grateful that God does not restrict himself to one means of feeding his flock, but makes use of even the most unlikely of ways to nourish us. May I be more aware today of the tenderness of my loving heavenly Father (who, I believe, is also revelling in the sheer joy of the acrobatic prowess of these energetic swallows this morning!).

Clean Vessels

 

As summer draws itself to a close, way too early, I am sorting things in the greenhouse, dragging half-full bags of potting compost out of the doorway, hanging tools and stacking plastic pots. Pots and pots and more plastic pots.

There are stores which recycle plastic pots. I just need to wash them, which I am about to do.

Jesus talked about pots. He warned about cleaning the outside only, while inside allowing all sorts of germs to fester and multiply.

He calls for us to live with integrity, clean inside and out. Lord, I bring to you today the dark corners of my heart, my mind, and trust you to cleanse me so that I may be a vessel of life-giving water to any who need. As I wash my way through my stack of dirty pots, may my thoughts and aspirations be cleansed, through the sacrifice of Jesus.

Restore us, your church, so that we may all be vessels of your life-giving water in this thirsty, weary world.

 

Old Toys

 

Old toys.

For years, they’ve lain forgotten. These ones didn’t even make it back into the boxes with all the rest, where they’ve sat forlornly in the attic awaiting the delighted voice of a young child. These ones became mixed in with the various cars and dinosaurs and people and pirates which do come out when the grandkids come.

We separated them awhile ago, so we could reunite them with their teams, prepare them to sit again in the bleachers and watch an exciting match delivered by a kid.

Today, protected by bubble wrap, securely taped into a jiffy bag, they are on a journey to Bearsden to be reunited with their owner, whose wee boy is ready. Soon their wobbly bottoms will sit still, held in place by icing on the top of a 7-year-old’s cake. Soon after that, the rest of the set will reunite and the games will begin again.

Sometimes real people feel forgotten, feel overlooked, separated from those they love and far from where they belong. In the increasing alienation spawned by looking for one’s identity in the confusion of social media, isn’t it time to step back and simplify, to recognise or remind ourselves that the real truth lies not on line but in Jesus, who loves each one of us with an everlasting love, who created each of us to be just who we are, who never gives up on us and never leaves us to languish alone?

Alpha is starting tomorrow night at Banchory West Church, 7 pm for 7.30 free dinner, followed by a short, stimulating video and an opportunity to talk to others about the big questions of life. You can book online, or you can just show up.

None of us are old toys, discarded by a deity who got tired of us. We are all special to Jesus, and he’s ready to throw a real party for all who come to him.

The Party's over - or is it?

 

The party’s over.

Back into a jumper after a couple of heavenly summer-weather weeks in California. Two weeks are enough to slide us towards autumn: we hear it in the cows’ calls; we see it in the spent raspberry canes; we taste it in the ripening blueberries. The day slips into darkness noticeably earlier than when we left. The seasons are on the move, always.

It’s hard to believe that Mom is now into her second century. I hear it in the tiredness in her voice; I saw it in the slowing of her movements and the dimming of her sight. She is slipping away and yet is still very present, able to enjoy a good donut with gusto and nod her head rhythmically as she listens to one of her great-granddaughters play the piano.

I continue to thank God for the joy and privilege of being my mom’s daughter. Her unconditional love has been poured out on all of her family, all of her life. Over fifty people wanted to honour her by coming to her birthday party. Unfortunately, it was too much for Mom, who retired to her room and greeted people in smaller groups. Over the next days, I read out the many cards she received, many of them citing the difference she made in their lives. Nieces with fond memories of her never forgetting their birthday, and always sending a fun card. Camp Fire members of the group she led, recalling the way she guided and encouraged them in developing leadership and other skills. A forever friend grateful for their mutual support as they travel this new territory of old age. A young person grateful for the way she always made him feel like family. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren sending messages and memories.

It's not about a party. It’s about a lifetime of love and selfless giving.

Relationships. Mom has been stellar in building them throughout her life. That hasn’t stopped. Staff at the home speak with smiles of her sense of humour and usually positive attitude.

I don’t know what I am doing, walking Mom home from half a world away, so I lean on Jesus. There are times when Mom and I remind each other that even though we don’t see what’s round the next corner, we are both leaning on someone who does.

And we know that in him, the real party is just about to really begin.

Another day in paradise...

 

Our final few days here, and suddenly I’ve got some admin details to do for Mom, things which challenge me and make me anxious.

What can I do? Don asked.

God has blessed me with a true help-mate, always there beside me, always ready to roll up his sleeves and get stuck into whatever it is – old papers to read through, figures to get into an Excel spreadsheet, emails to write.

I am so grateful to God for blessing me with a wonderful husband, for nearly 49 years.

Today we are driving out to Chino, a long, traffic-filled drive into the hot hinterland, to lunch with my oldest friend, whom I’ve known since we were 8. I will disengage from the nitty gritty of taxes and admin and enjoy this day, the day the Lord has made.

Another day in paradise, my dad used to say every morning. So true. Wherever we live, when we live in love, it’s another day in paradise.

Have a good one.

The Sad Lane

 

We’re in the sad lane. Watching as Mom powers down. Since we’ve arrived, we’ve watched her make heroic efforts to keep awake, to be sociable, while really just wanting to lie down again and sleep. Only a few days left here, and each day we make one or two visits to see her, but generally she is asleep, or wants to be asleep.

It’s hard letting go.

Walking along the sidewalk at Santa Monica beach the other day, we were shuffling slowly behind a group of people when suddenly a cyclist sought a way through the clump of people on the pavement. He wobbled; his bike hit the stone wall and skidded to its side, tipping him off and driving the bike into my knee and ribs. Just a graze, a bruise, nothing serious but shocking nonetheless.

Are you ok? I asked him, rubbing my ribs. He glared at me, mounted his bike and sped off, still on the sidewalk. There was a bike lane two feet away running parallel to us.

My bruises are healing, but I’ve been wondering about him. What drove him to make such an ill-considered decision to bike along a busy sidewalk when there was an empty lane available? What made him glare at me as if it were all my fault to be in his path at that moment? Is he nursing bruises today, or guilt, or pain that drove him that day, and struggles to find expression?

I’d say he’s in a sad lane as well. Maybe we all are, in one way or another. Trying to conceal and live with pains that drive us to make unwise choices, sometimes with consequences.

I am with you always, Jesus whispers. You are never alone, whatever lane you’re in.

Praise him.

 

LA and the Getty

 

The tram glided silently up the steep slope, affording a panoramic view of a smoggy LA from its windows. Arriving at the top, we emerged into a landscape of substantial white buildings, of various shapes and textures, dropped across a white courtyard.

The Getty Center. Without much signage, we were left to wander until we located the main desk and entry. The first exhibition we visited was amazing: small line drawings and paintings of the icy winters in the 17^th century in the Netherlands. We marvelled at the artistry and skill, especially considering their hands were no doubt frozen as they depicted scenes of town life in the frozen landscapes of that mini-ice age.

Climate change has happened before, not on our scale nor for the same reasons, but people have had to adapt to conditions they didn’t recognise.

Inching into the six or seven lane traffic on the 405 south afterwards, we were so aware of our own part in contributing to climate change. After a visit to Santa Monica, the GPS decided to take us on a magical mystery tour of Marina del Rey, Manhattan and Hermosa beach residential streets in order to avoid the congestion on the freeway. Stressful. A big change from Drumoak to Banchory…

Through it all, the Lord blessed us with laughter and companionship. Life is full of poignancy, balancing good times with Don, with diminishing time spent with a worn-out, dear sweet Mom.

On our way to visit her again. Precious times to savour. God bless.

Centenary Party

 

Yesterday, we went down to the shoreline on Redondo Beach, and strolled to the pier. Sat down and just basked in the warm sun, enjoying the laughter and life all around us on this busy summer day.

Then Don noticed he had some tar on his sandals, and his ankle. My trainers were thick with tar, too.

The tar we picked up was under the surface of the sand. We never saw any until we were tarred and sanded. Apparently, it is an organic tar, like that at La Brea Tar Pits downtown LA where so many dinosaurs met their end. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter it in such vast quantities!

Today we headed to a hardware store to get a solvent. We got more than we asked for: a helpful shop assistant who worked hard to find what we needed, gave some helpful advice and then loaned us the screwdrivers from his car so we could work on cleaning them in the parking lot. Jonathan at Ace Hardware, thank you!

Since arriving last Wednesday, we have had many angels helping us prepare for the birthday party on Sunday. Lindy from Ivy Park was exceptional, running (literally) to fulfil our every wish. Nothing was too much, from ice to music to microphones, tables and food warmers, plates and cutlery. A huge thank you to her, and to Ivy Park for being so flexible and accommodating for this large gathering.

And a huge thank you to the care staff, who are also exceptional. They are all so kind, gentle and helpful, compassionate and patient. I am so grateful to know Mom is in such loving care.

Her 100^th birthday party was full of life, laughter, and love. Over fifty relatives and friends came to show their love and gratitude for this wonderful lady. Unfortunately, Mom herself was not feeling up to it all, but was able to receive guests in smaller groups in her room, and she enjoyed that.

Today she was agreeing that it was lovely to have been the reason for a huge family reunion. Relatives and friends came from Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, Las Vegas, San Diego, Chino, the valley…all over the place.

I am so grateful to God for the wonderful Mom I am blessed to still have with me. She has always had my back, always been positive and encouraging, loving and forgiving. Her faith in God has been an inspiration and I know her prayers have blessed me with the faith I have.

As she always says, ‘we’re all just doing our best’: Mom’s best has given me a role model and faithful friend. Happy birthday, dearest Mom. Such a privilege and joy to be your daughter.

 

 

 

 

Small Things

 

Two people-carrier cars, packed with bags of dirty, wet (from a water-fight) clothes, tired children and even more tired parents, pulled away from the house, at the end of a gift of a weekend. The sun shone on our BBQ – always a cause for celebration in Scotland. The usually-quiet home resounded with laughter as most of our family – notably missing those now in Australia – gathered together for the annual summer birthdays BBQ.

Pure joy.

Putting the children’s rolling stock back in the garage, Don discovered a critical black plastic bolt missing from the seat of the go-kart. He’d been down the drive looking but couldn’t find it.

Now all day, Tony’s message at church had resonated in my mind: Unable to find drinking water in the wilderness, the children of Israel had forgotten that God parted the waters of a mighty river to save them from their pursuers just three days earlier. They forgot about his love, his care, and his supernatural abilities, and griped and groaned about their lack. Instead of asking, they complained.

That sounds familiar. I’d left church, resolving to remember God’s goodness and with his help, to stop complaining.

So, with that in mind, I headed down the drive, eyes focused on the grass verge. I asked God to help me see the missing bolt. An old chorus popped into my mind: ‘Open my eyes, Lord’. I sang it out – just those words – and there it was! As instantly as that. The little black plastic bolt lay there in full sight.

He is the God who delights in helping his children with the small things as well as the big. May I put all my trust in him today, as I prepare for Mom’s centenary birthday party.

Magnify!

 

This morning, this statement in the Lectio 365 is sticking with me: ‘Whenever we magnify something, it gets bigger. So am I going to magnify the problem, or magnify the Lord?’

I know what my tendency is, so I’m asking God to help me to make the switch. I also am thinking of all the times I need to put on my glasses in order to read the small print on whatever. Sometimes, it isn’t worth the effort. May I stop magnifying the small print, which only distracts and worries me.

I’m also thinking of those fairground wonky mirrors which distort the images they reflect, exaggerating some bits and shrinking others. How often my vision is distorted like that as I focus intently on the next challenge.

I love the positivity of this word. Today I set out to magnify the Lord in all I do!

Transcendence

 

I really hate technology, I complained to Doug. Missing the irony. He was sitting at his computer in Brisbane, accessing my laptop in Scotland in order to sort out a mess I had got into with Skype. Monday was over for him, nearly. For me, it was just beginning. Doug could take control, search out the problem, find the solution and fix it from half a world away.

For that level of technology, I am totally grateful. (I am even more grateful for that depth of love and patience.)

So, to be more precise, I should have said I really hate technology when it goes wrong. Largely due to my own ignorance when I key in the wrong information and descend deeper into the murky madness that ensues. When I have to raise my hand, yet again, and cry ‘help’, and know that someone I love half a world away will carve out an hour or two at the end of a busy day to enable me to call my Mom.

Life is terrible, says a friend of ours from Ukraine. His circumstances are twisted and troubled and – yes – terrible. I want to suggest to him though that no, life is not terrible but incredible, though his current experience of it is indeed terrible. He is caught in a tangled web not of his making. But I will not protest that life is beautiful, because I am sitting comfortably, with problems and situations that do exercise my mind and make me anxious but which are small potatoes compared to his. For me to correct his perspective would be harsh and uncaring.

So instead, in faith, I put up my hand, yet again, and cry ‘help’, knowing that someone I love and who has loved me from all eternity will hear my prayer and answer.

What would Jesus say?

‘I came that they might have life, and life to the full.’

May the Lord bless, encourage and envelop in his love all those for whom this day is truly terrible. May I be open and available to serve, offering whatever I can to alleviate suffering. And ultimately, in that offering, may others experience the love of Jesus and receive that new level of life, life to the full, which stretches not just across the miles, but transcends dimensions, space and time.

 

Open the Door

 

The beautifully-crafted sphere-shaped bird house hangs from a broken limb, knocking forlornly against the trunk of the rowan tree in another day of winds. The circular hole acting as a door faces the trunk, banging gently against it, challenging birds in making a smooth, swift entry or exit. It is no longer the season for nest-building, but even in spring, no birds were tempted to make it their home.

Our world is full of people of good will and compassion, who are leading as good a life as they can. Their heart-homes may be places of good values and integrity, but they remain empty without the Saviour, who longs to sit down with them and chat, bringing peace and love.

The winds of adversity can skew hearts; fearfulness and bad experiences can trigger self-defensive locks as people react to criticism and unkind words.

May the wind of the Spirit swing those bruised and bashed hearts around, easing and encouraging those who are closed to the gentle knock of Jesus, to open the door to their hearts. And may I be a bearer of that gentle, loving, soft wind of the Spirit today, triggering a change and encouraging an open response to the unconditional love of Jesus.

May God bless all who have hunkered down in fear because of their life experiences, and may his church be a place of open doors, offering a sanctuary for healing restoration, an oasis in the desert of vicious words and harsh deeds.

Balancing Blessings

 

Soggy.

Everything in the garden is saturated. Some berries have swelled with the abundant rain. They’ve even turned a ripe colour.

What’s missing is the sweetness the sun brings out. There’s been no balance in our blessings this summer. We’ve had all the water, while other places have had all the sun. I imagine in the blisteringly hot places, fruit (unless irrigated) is shrivelled and wasted, maybe bitter or inedible. Here it is swollen but soggy and often tasteless.

I’ve picked some of the soggy rasps and black currants this morning. If they lack the sun-kissed sweetness I crave, I can always bake with them, or make jam.

Balancing my blessings. I can either struggle to do it myself, or endeavour to remain in Jesus and allow him to achieve the right balance. Doing it myself reminds me of the option we are given when entering a website, where we can either accept the cookies, reject the cookies, or manage them ourselves. I wouldn’t know how to manage cookies, just like I don’t know how to manage blessings.

It doesn’t sound very spiritual to think of managing blessings. Why wouldn’t I want to just rejoice in them all? Of course I do want to rejoice in all my blessings, but I am thinking of the way believers can become overly attentive to the authority of the written word of God, discounting the activity of the Spirit and the relationship we can have with Jesus. Others can focus on the Spirit and dismiss the importance of Scripture.

Whichever tendency I lean towards, I am reminding myself today that the only way to achieve the right balance is through an active relationship with Jesus. He will temper my emotional exuberance and guide me into the right balance of Spirit and Scripture.

Not a new lesson for me, but today, with Jesus’ help, I am going to focus on practicing his presence. I don’t want to be desiccated and dried out, not do I want to be soggy and tasteless.

The Lost is Found

 

During the search for the lost violin, I had ducked under the heavy curtain separating a walk-in closet from a recording studio, then crawled under a chair and beneath a small table supporting a recording mic. Focusing the flashlight’s beam towards the diminishing wall supporting the stairs, all I could see was a motorcycle helmet, jacket and trousers folded on the floor.

But the mystery of the lost violin continued to play on my mind, and I had a feeling it could be there.

As time has passed, Don seemed to have an increasingly clear memory of who I had given it to, down to the detail of him carrying it to the car. That drew a blank in my mind. Mhairi had a memory of me discussing giving it to someone so it would be played, and a vague thought of who might have received it. In my mind, another blank. And that is what has really been bothering me. I just could not understand how I could have absolutely no memory of giving away my sister’s violin. Judy and I were very close. We spent hours together practicing, her on the violin, me on the cello, occasionally having a laugh when we switched instruments. Surely, I wouldn’t have been so casual, so cavalier, as to have given it away so lightly, so thoughtlessly, without spending a final moment with it. A memorable moment.

The recording studio has been partially dismantled this morning, the table and chair removed, affording greater access to the furthest recess. And lo and behold, beneath the motorcyclist’s garb rested Judy’s violin.

Hallelujah! What was lost has been found. It’s not on a par with the son who went rogue and then came back, but it’s certainly up there with the lost coin or the lost sheep.

I had made my peace with the loss, with the caveat that I hoped someone was enjoying playing it. What continued to rankle was the thought that I’d given it away so lightly, without sitting with it, as Marie Kondo suggests. Remembering sweet memories of childhood, those long, hot summer days with the two of us sawing away on our instruments. Maybe giving it a wee play in a very rudimentary way. Saying my goodbyes.

Yesterday, Bastille Day, was the 38^th anniversary of Judy’s death. Always a sad day, rich with memories. To start Monday with the discovery of her violin is beautiful. The Lord is close to the broken-hearted. Thank you, Lord, for your mercy and love.

Now I’ll just tune it up and squawk out a few notes.

Fields are White

 

I glanced at the thermometer outside the kitchen window. Hovering in the 40s (less than 10C) – in July. Sigh. I looked out the prayer window and the field beyond seemed white – with snow, or unto harvest? Whew, not snow: yet pretty short to be ready for harvest. After over forty years surrounded by this field, I still don’t recognise the crop. Some kind of grain. I hope it flourishes for the sake of the farmer.

Last night I wept over Ukraine and Gaza, and all the other places of agony. I’d seen the pictures of the children’s hospital; I’d heard some of the news. My tears eventually segued into prayers of quiet praise, celebrating Jesus’ victory over evil at the cross.

This morning, I read the verses at the end of the Old Testament: But for you who fear my name, the Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings. And you will go free, leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture.’ Lord, I pray that you will bring this to pass in all places of war and anguish and loss.

Jesus said the fields are white unto harvest – but the workers are few. Perhaps my ‘field’ looks underdeveloped; perhaps I think it is not yet ready to be harvested. But if not now, when?

May I serve the Lord today. May my words be the Lord’s words, my actions be his. May the field of family and friends around me flourish under the warm sun of the Saviour, as I love with his love, and serve with his humility and grace.

Call out the gold

 

On the window shelf in front of me towers the quirky fairytale castle Don purchased at a craft fair before I met him. It’s taken a toll of reckless neglect through the years. A few months ago, I used a kit for kitsugi, which basically contained a type of glue and some gold dust to mix into it, transforming all repairs into works of art.

As I took the picture this morning, sensing a message coming, I realised that if I included the entire castle in the frame, the glare of light from outside gave only a silhouette, obscuring the gold detail on the castle door and its lance-shaped lock. I had to focus lower down if I wanted the gold to show.

I’ve just been reading an article in a Christian magazine about a disgraced Christian leader. The article was shocking and yet ended on a note of mercy and grace to all those involved in the abuse and its enabling. Christ-like mercy and grace.

Jesus is building his church. Sometimes it resembles a wonderful fairy castle, especially when our focus is on the light of this world. We don’t see the brokenness and the flaws. But Jesus always sees them, and is always ready to repair the penitent sinner and retain her in the fabric of the church. His blood is the gold dust in the kitsugi kit. It’s his precious blood, mixed with the tears of the saints, which pieces together those bits of the church which have broken, those bits of the saints which have broken.

I am building my church, Jesus says, and the gates of hell will not overcome it. Lest we become despondent over our failures, Jesus encourages us to remember his love, his unconditional love, and his mercy and grace.

Peace to us all as we stagger forward, broken but held together because of Jesus’ love, his unconditional love. Glory to him.

Entangled and poisonous

 

Turning back towards home and retracing our steps, Don slowed, explaining he was looking for the bottle in the undergrowth on the left of the road. It’s a cup, I corrected, and it’s on the right side. No, he demurred.

Sure enough, a few steps later, triumphantly he retrieved a plastic bottle from the tangle of weeds and brambles. I’d not even noticed it. (The cup was there, too, on the right side.)

A filthy bottle, it had probably lain there a long time. The grass, flowers and weeds had grown over it, concealing it from all but the sharpest eye.

Words and actions, some of them dirty and pernicious, surround us every day, in media and in person. Some can lie unnoticed, caught in the tangle of our minds, polluting our thoughts, unseen or ignored.

Holy Spirit, search my mind, my soul, my spirit, for those worthless, negative and sometimes poisonous words and deeds which seek to embed themselves in me today. Cleanse the thoughts of my heart, Lord; purify me today and make me more like you. I want to have the mind of Christ.

 

What else lurks deep in the In tray?

 

The de-cluttering lurches back into gear occasionally, and I make a stab at sorting through things. So it was, the other night, that I dove deep into the ‘In’ tray in the study. Every few months I do go through it, tucking the important things into the filing cabinet and tossing out the junk. But I never go all the way to the bottom.

But to the bottom I went the other night. When I reached the strata with a few bits dated 2014, I came upon a wee post-it note with a Holiday Inn logo. Apparently, while staying at said hotel, I must have suddenly felt inspired to jot a few ideas for a future writing project. On the square bit of paper I’d scrawled these words:

The truth, and its implications, began to reveal itself to her like a slow dawn. But ugly, not beautiful. And as the light spread, she discerned life would never again be the same as it was in a free Scotland. Banks nationalised. Savings grabbed. Putin at the helm.

What?! Putin at the helm? What seemed a far-fetched nightmare a decade ago now seems scarily plausible.

In these days of shaking, the words are quietly disturbing. I am so grateful for God’s assurances to Moses and to Joshua: don’t be afraid, and don’t be discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. And Jesus’ advice when he was teaching, ‘So don’t worry about tomorrow. For tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.’

What else lurks in the next tray, I wonder?

 

 

Being a Mary

 

Carefully, Don and I stretched the netting across the strawberry patch, noting that some of the berries are beginning to ripen, aware that voracious birds will also have noted that.

Along the paved pathway, a row of self-planted strawberry plants also promise a burst of juicy sunshine on my morning granola. There are only a few, so I didn’t bother to cover them.

Yesterday I popped out to pick the two which I knew should be ready. First fruits of this year’s promising crop. Gone. Those blackbirds with their beautiful songs! Or those pigeons with their peaceful cooing. Or any number of other birds, laughing and chirruping as they eye up the ripening crop in the cherry trees.

Now, I’m all in favour of sharing the bounty of the garden with wildlife – but the first strawberries? All of the cherries? Sigh.

Mom still regularly shares some of her words of wisdom with me: ‘Do what you can, and let the rest go.’ I’ve just read the story of Mary and Martha. Today I identified with Martha. When the sun is out, like it was for three days in a row recently (!), I feel compelled to bring some order to the chaos of the garden. To maximise the possibility of a good harvest of what we have planted and tended, by weeding, watering, feeding, protecting.

I see the chipping paint and varnish on the outside of the house and feel an itch to get up a ladder. The dirty windows become more noticeable on a sunny day. Don is away helping people who need help.

I become a Martha. Not who I want to be. So help me today, Lord, to follow Mom’s advice. To do what I can, and happily let the rest go. To do what I can, without missing time with you, with loved ones, with friends, with new acquaintances. To compromise on the work, not on the relationships.

May I choose the better way today, dear Lord. Help me.

 

Wind and View Breaks

 

We sat sipping our coffee and mint tea in the half-shelter of the marquee. The sun was slowly sinking towards the west, at the end of a perfect summer’s day – a rarity in this corner of the globe. Because we sat in the gloaming, we knew the sun would soon sink over the horizon, but we couldn’t see it, because the trees we planted the year Robbie was born now tower over the property, casting shadows on much of the lawn and blocking our view.

Looking southwest, I remarked that it was perhaps a bonus that the leafy twigs and branches that extended right down the three intertwining trunks of my favourite Norwegian elm had been left there, because they acted as a windbreak – often needed here in the northeast.

Yes, Don agreed, stretching out the word. They stop the wind, but they also block the view of the Hill of Fare and the gorgeous sunsets we used to see from here. Suddenly, what had seemed a positive plunged into a negative. Within an impressively short space of time, he had fetched the bush saw from his workshop and was energetically trimming the twigs and branches that sprouted from the trunks.

We hadn’t spent time just sitting in the garden for a long time, listening to the glorious choir of birds and hum of insects. We hadn’t noticed that the untidy proliferation of branches was increasingly obliterating our view.

Now, with a self-satisfied sigh, Don sank back down beside me. There. Look at that evening sky! It was glorious, wispy rosy-golden clouds stretching towards the sinking sun as if to hold it back.

Time and experiences propagate assumptions and opinions in my mind and spirit which can severely limit my vision. As a result, I can feel cosy and safe in the shelter of my own conclusions. My understanding becomes myopic, obscured by my own untidy experiences of life. Oh, Lord, trim away the sprouts of doubt, the leaves of complacency, and the branches of arrogance and privilege which deny me your eternal perspective. I don’t want to live in the comfort of my own understanding: I want to experience the daily challenge of sharing your perspective and acting on it.

The other negative effect of allowing branches of experienced-life to flourish in my thinking is that they block the free-flowing wind of the Spirit, limiting me to a terrestrial, sepia perspective and denying me the technicolour freedom of God’s Holy Spirit. The wind of the Spirit can expose my idolatrous thoughts and my selfish assumptions; it can stir up reactions I don’t expect , some of which might make me uncomfortable. But it carries on it the seeds of life and love; it propagates in me compassion and kindness, gentleness and mercy, joy and peace, goodness and faithfulness and self-control.

Wind, wind, blow on me today, planting in me these divine attributes so that I can, with your help, live the life to which Jesus calls me, flourishing and full.