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.