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Monday, 1 June 2026

Torn Fabric

 

It is barely 4 am, but here in northeastern Scotland the land is light already with the fore-glow of dawn. I draw into my prayer window and close my eyes. A rectangular shape: a womb: a tomb: a loom weaving the warp and weft of life according to the genius of the master designer.

Yesterday we buried our precious Indy, a quirky wee cat who brought us such joy and laughter over nearly 18 years. Struggling to let go.

Sadness and sorrow everywhere. Surely this was not part of the plan. Brokenness and pain. Torn threads and frayed edges. Moths chewing holes in the fabric of life.

Sigh. I’m tired.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus. One day: no more tears, no more pain, no more sorrowing separations. Other places, other losses, deeper by far. Come to the broken places everywhere, Lord, the battlefields around the globe.

I’m out of gas. Coasting into the gas station. ‘Fill ‘er up, Lord.’ Fill me again with your Holy Spirit.

I sit, serenaded now by the blissful tune of many blackbirds, greeting the new day with hope. With hope, faith and trust in the overcoming love of the grand designer. Help me to find my voice to sing a song to the Saviour I know and love.

Jesus. All our hope in you is founded. Jesus. Name above all names. Beautiful Saviour. Risen Lord.

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