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.

The cool of the evening

 

The long summer day was drawing to a close, but the light lingered and I went out for a walk. How refreshing it is to immerse oneself in the outdoors: I followed a suggestion I read yesterday, to take a walk with Jesus. Not chattering to him about all the things that sit heavy on my heart. Not even particularly listening, but just sharing time. Just walking in that pleasant camaraderie one has with a loved one, where nothing is needed or expected. Where there is peace in the silence.

I heard the birdsong. A soft wind shushed through a tree along the road, whispering gently. Approaching the cottage of our ‘next door’ neighbour, I was delighted to see that the field which has lain empty for awhile now is home to ten young highland cows. Up to their armpits in long grass, their faces were down as they fed. One or two looked up at me curiously, briefly, before diving back into their tasty meal. A scene of bucolic peace.

There is much to pray for and be anxious over in this world. Much sadness; the untimely death of a friend of one of my children, and this morning I heard of the passing of a dear uncle, who was ready to go home to the Lord. But who will be sadly missed.

But last night I walked in the cool of the garden with my Lord, in companionable silence and peace. It may not be the Garden of Eden, but I am blessed.

Stop the conflicts!

 

In net ballerina skirt and glittery shoes, the two-year-old played with the tinsel tassels which were strewn on the dance floor. Her attention to them was complete; she was oblivious to the adults around her joyfully jigging to the Scottish ceilidh music being played.

The adults laughed and smiled. Some men wore Afghan trousers and tunics; others wore Syrian shirts with their jeans; still others wore the white cotton shirts embroidered in local Ukrainian designs. The women were in burkas and scarves, dresses with Ukrainian embroidery, and other national costumes.

In this refugee week celebration, Aberdeenshire had gathered over two hundred who have fled here for safety. I don’t know all the countries that were represented there: middle-Eastern, African, Eastern European. We were treated to the resonant, haunting music of a mother/son duet from Ukraine. This was followed by an Azeri woman singing songs which resonated with the Afghan people in the room, as they clapped and sang and some danced. Then came the Syrian music, streamed in, and up got a group of men who danced, swinging their worry beads over their heads, to the enthusiastic clapping of their women. As a feast of middle eastern food was placed on the tables, a Scottish ceilidh band took the stage. There followed some time of feasting and dancing, rather chaotic and hilarious as the caller tried to direct the simpler of dances.

Children raced through the room, faces painted and tummies filled, happily joining in the party atmosphere.

So poignant. How many conflicts and unsafe situations had this group of people, collectively, fled from? A poster at the door was there for people to write on. As we left, I noticed one Ukrainian write a prayer for peace on earth.

Why can’t we all be like the little girl with the glittery shoes, blind to the differences between us, only seeing the things that we hold in common? In this room, perhaps it was only our humanity, but that was enough for tonight. It is enough, if we let it be.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that all might live. Jesus, Prince of Peace, come. Maranatha.

The Lost Violin

 

Unlike the coin, the sheep and the son, the lost violin has not been found. May God bless whoever has it: may that instrument be singing its soul out as the new owner plays it. May it not be languishing forgotten in a corner or a closet as it was for so many years here, holding a place of sentimentality in my heart but having no opportunity to be what it was created to be.

It is tempting to hold things sacred, putting them in display cabinets or on pedestals or in safe places, and denying them opportunity to be used for what they were created for. Lord, help me to see things for what they are, enjoy them or pass them on so that in someone else’s hands, they can flourish.

Do I have any precious gifts from God which I have tucked away in a safe place in my heart or my mind or my spirit, denying them opportunity to sing his glories? Do you? May God reveal any such gifts and provide opportunities for them to be used, for his glory.

 

The Lost hasn't been found yet...

 

It isn’t lost. I just can’t find it.

I’ve had my sister’s violin for decades. Thinking maybe one of my own children, or now, grandchildren, would want to play it. I had it checked over, valued. It’s been waiting to be played.

Now I have someone who would like to borrow it for a couple of weeks: and where is it? I’ve checked all the spots I would expect to find it, and now, all the spots I wouldn’t expect it to be. It’s not that small. I’ve got the cello, the guitar, the keyboard, the box of music…but no violin. It is nowhere to be seen.

Thinking of the stories of loss which Jesus told. The woman swept her house painstakingly searching for her lost coin, and when she found it, she partied. The shepherd left the ninety-nine to find the stray, and when he found it, he partied. The loving dad kept his eye on the horizon, praying for the return of his son, and when he spied him in the distance, he raced to greet him, and then they partied.

Nobody likes to lose things. Or people.

I need some grandchildren here – they are good at hide and seek. Failing that, I guess I better get out the broom and keep hunting. Maybe I should pray the violin would disclose itself by singing out a tune.

Ready or not, here I come…

Four years old at Disneyland

 

I was four years old when the first Disneyland, in Anaheim, CA, opened. We lived about a half hour’s drive away, through the fields of sweet corn and strawberries along Katella, to the Magic Kingdom. Ah, sweet memories. In those days Disneyland was much more low-key, though still magical. Much more affordable.

One of the attractions then (is it still there?) was Tom Sawyer’s Island. This was little more than a bit of ‘wild’ terrain, reached by raft or canoe: a construction of caves and water installations traversed by a couple of bridges, scary but safe. One, a ropes and wood contraption, swayed alarmingly from a height. The other looked easy by comparison, the wooden walkway constructed on a series of barrels resting on the water. It’s this bridge I am remembering this morning.

I am remembering the pure joy of childhood, being slightly anxious but assured of being safe because I was on this bridge with my big sister, my mom and my dad. We all tried to scare each other by jumping or running, causing the bridge to buckle and bob. But we all knew we were safe because this was, after all Disneyland, where safety was a key ingredient.

Key components at Mom’s residential home are changing as the director moves on. I received a photo this morning of Mom in her room, eating a take-away burger and milkshake but looking thoroughly exhausted having spent two hours at the doctor’s office. In six weeks, she will turn 100.

As I read Matthew 6 in a daily reading this morning, the Lord brought back the picture of me as a child with my family, laughing as we navigated the highs and lows, the twists and turns of that bridge at Disneyland. Laughing because we trusted the safety checks of the Magic Kingdom.

Underneath are the everlasting arms. Mom and I are on such a bridge these days. As I do my best to walk her home, trying to dismiss fears of an uncertain future, to silence all the ‘what-ifs’, may I trust in the everlasting arms of the one who holds the keys to the everlasting Kingdom. May we even be released into laughter and joy as we both put our trust in Him to keep us safe on this bobbing bridge.

‘So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.’  Or, in the KJV, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’

Wind and Rain

 

 We woke to a clear blue sky at 6 am. By 9, the wind had risen, and a phalanx of white and grey clouds paraded across the skies. Odd drops of rain slipped out now and then. I hung out the wash anyway, reasoning that if the rain was light, the wind was strong enough to drive the moisture out of the sheets.

Time will tell.

It always amazes me how quickly my mood and thinking can be overcast by events or comments. Whatever negatives drop on me today, Lord, may the wind of your Spirit set me free from the despair abroad in the world just now. May I rejoice in the sure assurance that whatever things look like, you are Lord, and your plans will not be thwarted.

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord, ‘plans to give you hope and a future.’ Apparently, these are the most frequently googled scriptures these days.

May those of us who are assured of your goodness and grace and mercy carry hope and joy into our days today.

Not enough?

 

‘There’s a young boy here with five barley loaves and two fish. But what good is that with this huge crowd?’  ‘Tell everyone to sit down,’ Jesus said.

Inadequate. It seemed risible; laughably inadequate. Five loaves and two fish, to feed five thousand men, plus the women and children? Ridiculous. But in Jesus’ hands, it was not just enough: there were twelve baskets of left-overs.

Playing cello with the praise band on Sunday, and I am so out of practice. Giving my testimony at the start of service, and I feel a colourless story-teller. Planning my mother’s 100^th birthday party, and it is just not my strong point. Making a tech decision with Google storage, and I don’t understand if there are implications. Rewriting Bible study notes in line with an editor’s comments, and lacking confidence.

Those are the five loaves and two fish I’m bringing to Jesus today. With you, Lord, all things are possible. Multiply my meagre efforts and bring nourishment through my words and plans. Over to you.

Out of Memory!

 

An alarming red banner stretched across the top of the page of emails. ‘You’ve used 127% of your memory. Make more space or buy more memory or you won’t be able to access pretty much anything.’

We beavered away, both of us alarmed and agitated, sending umpteen videos and WhatsApps and pictures to the bin, which we struggled to find in order to empty. It didn’t remove the warning on one of our accounts. We bought more space, and now have been invited to join accounts as a family. Are there negative implications to that? Hesitating…

The most incomprehensible part of this current wrestle with tech that is outsmarting us, is obvious: how can you use 127% of your memory?

There are days when I feel like I’ve done that. I wish I knew how to make more space, or even buy more memory!!

‘The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you. He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’

Jesus is always enough. He spoke those encouraging words  into my homesick heart forty-five years  ago, and I’ve found them to be true. Even if I’ve used 127% of my memory, he will give me more space, or carry me through the days. I can always access him.

So grateful ours is not a high-tech God, but a true-love one!