Super protected

 

Annalise greeted me with a quiet smile. She blinked her eyes, and I was aware of the heavy layer of long lashes she had affixed to her eyelids. She wrote my name into the visitor’s book, and I marvelled at the length of her false fingernails and the complexity of the designs on each.

It was the same with the bank teller. With some of the store clerks. Startling, really.

So many women I’ve met over the last month have exaggerated their eyelashes and their fingernails. They obviously believe these enhancements improve their looks; all I could think of was the amount of time it must take to achieve such results, and the way the nails, anyway, impede practicality. I wonder if the false eyelashes might cause the eyelids to droop over time – a droop which mine are achieving without the aid of any weights on them!

I’m aware that what I am saying might sound rich, coming from an older woman who still colours her hair. We all have our vanities. Or, at least I know that I do.

Often, when I wait on the Lord, my mind’s eye perceives his loving gaze. Just his eyes. No false eyelashes there. Love, pure and simple.

A gaze penetrating from a heart and soul of pure love. Eyes protected by a fan of eyelashes just perfect for their purpose. To keep dust, bugs and other foreign objects from entering this vulnerable opening to the soul.

If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light, Jesus says. Perhaps he is thinking of the physical protection afforded by the fan of lashes he created to ring these delicate parts of our bodies. I am thinking also, though, of other barriers which are helpful to protecting that light within us: will power to resist reading or watching things which pollute us, for instance.

Feeling a bit jet-lagged still, a bit rambling, but these are my thoughts this morning, for what they’re worth. May we all have clear eyes to perceive what the Lord is up to in our lives and our world today.

 

Pressed down

 

‘Are you at home?’ came the text. Yes, I replied.

Within an hour, my dear friend popped in with a lasagna. She knows what it is to be jet-lagged, worn out with the activities that follow the death of a dear loved one, and still slogging through some of the admin.

As I sat in my prayer window this morning for the first time in several weeks, I did my usual routine and then just waited. The Lord reminded me of Elisha under the broom tree, so exhausted, so spent. The angel came and fed him, twice, so that he was re-energised (and then he ran for forty days!)

I don’t intend such a marathon, but I am so encouraged to know that as I feel rather depleted, the Lord sees me under my broom tree and is sending his angels to feed and refresh me in many ways.

Bible study friends will arrive soon. More refreshment. Thank you, Lord. Pressed down and overflowing is your grace and mercy to me. I love you.

Tears of Joy

 

With some understandable trepidation, I set the satnav for LAX. It’s an easy drive up the coast, until you get there. ‘Stay left,’ she instructed, ‘stay on Airport Way’ – only there weren’t any signs for Airport Way (if that was the name – I can’t remember now!). I stayed left, as far left as I could, which turned out to be too far left.

‘Make a u-turn,’ she said.

What?

I did it and soon was headed in a new direction of concrete flyovers and traffic speeding. I prayed like mad. I had no idea where I was going. Finally I was in the horseshoe: terminals on the right, parking on the left. ‘Turn left,’ she said. I did, but too soon it turned out. Soon I was again headed into unknown territory. Help!

Somehow I found myself back in the horseshoe, this time on the Departures level. Determined to park and walk. Which I did, and it turned out I was very close to the international arrivals, just up two floors. Easy.

I stood with others eagerly awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. I wiped away tears as I heard the sobs of joy as grandparents clasped their grandchildren. I waited. For nearly an hour, a sea of humanity rolled by me, from every corner of the globe.

Finally I saw that familiar, much-loved face. Don is here. I could breathe again.

So many people pouring into LA. And God knows every one. Every one has a story, a joy, a sorrow, a need, an ambition. I continue to be blown away by God’s love and provision. In the midst of a tsunami of need, needs much bigger than any I may have, he continues to hear my cries for help, and guide and protect me.

Gratitude. With my arms held high, I will worship the God who is always there, always available, whatever the need. The God who weeps tears of joy when he sees his children approaching, who weeps tears of sorrow when he sees his children’s heartbreak.

Gearing up for a return trip to LAX this afternoon. This time for Doug from Brisbane. Haven’t seen him for nearly two years. Expecting tears.

Waiting at the Screen Door

 

Bella sprawls in front of the screen door, her nose twitching as she picks up smells, her ears in motion as she strains for intriguing noises. She is ready, willing something to happen, someone to arrive, a passing dog to bark at.

I approach from behind, to exit through the door, and she is up, alive, wiggling a greeting, nosing my toes, barely restraining herself from jumping all over me. I know I am loved.

A year old now, Bella is my cousin’s dog. She is definitely ‘in your face’ when you approach.

Not everyone likes dogs, but there is something so attractive about that unconditional love of a dog. You could be out all day, and still get a warm greeting when you arrive home. No cold shoulder.

All a dog wants is something to eat, some exercise, and some playful interaction with their human. A little bit of time.

God is not in my face. He is much more restrained and polite, ready to respond to my overtures, and probably disappointed but not surprised when I miss his.

May I be attentive today to every whisper of my Saviour, to every whiff of divine fragrance in my day. May I linger in his presence for no reason other than to enjoy his company. May I appreciate the awesomeness of the fact that the omnipotent God bends down and waits, as it were, at the screen door, hoping for a little attention.

I scarce can take it in.

 

Older, but wiser?

 

So. Older but maybe not much wiser.

I’m in a kind of holding pattern, having put into train lots of things that can’t be completed until the death certificates come. Awaiting the arrival of the first of my dear family, Don, who flies in tomorrow afternoon. Yay!!

So a long walk at Redondo again yesterday, but stupidly I went out in the midday sun. I caught a little too much. I’ll wait til later in the afternoon today, and maybe wear a long sleeved shirt despite the temp. Maybe a little wiser.

I have a form to fill in, a long form to be mailed or delivered once the death certificates arrive. But it’s confusing, demanding proofs of things and I kind of feel defeated by it.

Trying to distract myself reading. Picked up Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring at Heathrow because I thought it’s a book I ought to read. I am plowing through it, still seeing it as a book I ought to read. I doubt that I read any more in the series. It’s just not my thing.

So now, I pray that God helps me to bring his wisdom to bear on this form I’m struggling with, and that all the steps I need to take while I am here for another week, I do take.

As James counsels, for any who lack wisdom, we only need ask God and not doubt that he answers that prayer. I’ve asked. So here I go.

Have a great day.

May it be so

 

He was waiting for us out in the hot sun, on the steps into the historic church. We’d asked for a site meeting before Mom’s funeral next week. He explained the history of the wee church. It was the oldest church in San Pedro, and had fallen into disrepair. The homeless had moved in, sheltering there. Something beautiful about that.

But two years ago, whoever owned it decided it was time to give the little church a new lease of life, and so it was sold to the cemetery. They had it moved into its present position, on a green hill overlooking Los Angeles harbor and San Pedro. In moving it, the old, stained-glass windows broke. They were repaired, some technology was installed, air-con put in, and it began to be used as a venue for small celebrations of life.

I was so pleased to find inside such an air of intimacy and reverence. This is a building with history, familiar with deep emotions, with suffering, with sorrow and pain. A place where the word of God can bring solace and comfort. A perfect place in which to celebrate Mom’s extraordinary life.

We went from there to the gravesite. A small, yellow flag, inscribed with Mom’s name, fluttered in the breeze above the headstone bearing Dad’s name, which will soon have her name as well. Preparations for the final resting place for her remains.

It’s a constant tension between the oh, so sad separation death forces upon us, and the oh, so joyful assurance that Mom has moved into real life, light and love. My prayer is that all who come to celebrate her life, and those who might watch the livestream link, will be touched by the presence of the living God and drawn into his kingdom.

That would be a fitting culmination to a life lived trusting in the Lord for everything. Her final act of witness. May it be so.

 

Blast from the Past

 

I stood, staring out at the beautiful blue Pacific, stretching and healing in the hot summer sun. Behind me, a young couple whispered and laughed, enjoying the vibrancy of youth and companionship. It added texture to my experience; the beauty of God’s creation, the beauty of relationship and love.

All of a sudden, I was startled by a ragged line of pelicans swooping west to their nesting places out on the peninsula. Looking like some sort of throw-back to the dinosaur era, they moved in silence and speed, soaring and swooping, not fishing but heading home.

This was once land on which native Americans made their home. Before that, maybe others. I stood still, feeling like I stood still for awhile, but on reflection, recognising that my presence there was but a blink in the history of this place.

A thousand years in your eyes, God, are like a day gone by.

My life is but a flash in the sweep of history, and yet every second of my life has possibility, has meaning, has life.

Small adjustments can result in significant outcomes. Little tweaks to the steering wheel in driving a car result in crashes or clear driving. Little movements to the rudder or the sails of a yacht can have major outcomes to destinations or disasters.

May the nanosecond of my own prayers today help alter the tragic trajectories of the nations. May I have faith and confidence to believe that God himself hears the cries of my little heart, and answers.

Those pelicans. Swooping along the coast as they have for centuries, for eons perhaps. Seen by people I can only imagine.

Designed and orchestrated by the God who is pure love. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son Jesus so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

So grateful that Mom is now blessed in that eternal presence.

Footprints in the Sand

 

I took a walk in the sands of Redondo Beach. It’s not so easy walking in sand. Must be good for the glutes. I didn’t want to walk down where the water had compacted it into an easier surface to traverse, because I remember the tar which can come up along this beach, and it is not easy to remove from feet or shoes.

Walking in sand, though, is exhausting.

On a wall in my living room, there hangs a beautiful poem lovingly embroidered for me by Mom, many years ago. It is the famous Footprints poem, recounting an imaginary dialogue between a believer and Jesus. As the believer looks back at the trail of footprints in the sands of her life, she is disappointed that at times the two sets of footprints – hers and Jesus’ – reduces to one set. Sadly, she wonders why Jesus left her at those difficult times.

Jesus’ reply is that no, she has misinterpreted the evidence. The footprints reducing to one set came from the times when Jesus carried her. She was never left alone.

As I look back at, particularly, these last eleven years when Mom has been in three different assisted living facilities, I see one set of footprints. I have been so out of my comfort zone, so weak and lost to know which way to go, and that has drawn me to press in, to lean in to God. He has carried me through all the changes, all the agonising decisions, all the downsizing and distribution of another person’s lifetime of memories even while she was still alive.

I’ve written this before, but as I drove back to Josie Avenue for another load of possessions when we moved Mom into the first home, I was in tears. I remember which intersection on that road I was stopped at, tears flowing, when Jesus whispered into my mind, ‘In every teardrop there is a rainbow.’

The rainbow is the closer walk with him enabled by the weakness I felt. As Paul wrote, when I am weak, I am strong because Jesus empowers me.

My prayer as my steps begin to head out of the valley of the shadow of death is that I would not assume greater strength than I have. I want to continue to lean into God and not become self-sufficient and cocky.

May those parts of my trail where there is just one set of footprints, define the rest of my life. Totally dependent on my Saviour.

Ode to Mom

 

With polite professionalism, the Banking Relationship Specialist said quietly, ‘I’ll just have to ask you one security question. What is the name of your oldest best friend?’

Our meeting went on and finished.

This morning, I woke up thinking that the real name of my oldest and best friend is Marilyn. For seventy-five years, Mom was always the one who could listen carefully and then, in that quiet, diffident manner so characteristic of her, she would offer a few pearls of wisdom.

As a teenager, I remember sharing with her about the mother of a boyfriend who I thought was wonderful. The mother, according to the boyfriend, was a nightmare in various ways. Mom looked at me and quietly said, ‘Just remember, he is his mother’s son.’ I found out the hard way that she was right.

She always put herself after everyone else. She took the smallest piece of pie. She wore the same old dress while buying, or probably making, new ones for Judy and me. She didn’t return to the higher education she’d had to forego during the war until Judy and I were independent enough to manage if she were away in classes, or studying.

All with such good grace. With no thought of being the ‘sacrificial martyr’. With love.

I can’t say enough how grateful I am for the blessing of such a Mom, my oldest friend. Always in my corner. A gift from God to me, to the world. She left her mark on all who had the good fortune to know her.

‘That smile,’ one of the care team said to me. ‘She had that beautiful smile.’

Nobody is perfect, but she was pretty close to it.

Unseen companions

 

I parked the car and walked the two blocks to the beach, a walk I have taken countless times over the last seven years. Too tired to walk for exercise, I sat on one of the cement benches (not the most comfortable, it has to be said) on the bluff above the beach, and stared out to the ocean. The Pacific Ocean, oh so beautiful. Oh so many memories further back, further back than the seven years.

Paddle boarders and a few surfers were in the water. Others sunned themselves on the sand. A weekday, it was remarkably empty but then, everyone’s working hard.

Something caught my eye. Something in the water. Dolphins. Several dolphins – I couldn’t count – gracefully, lazily glided in parallel to the beach. Runners and walkers and cyclists kept pounding down the pavement, oblivious to the wonder of these beautiful swimmers slipping through the water, overtaking them effortlessly.

It’s such a poignant, sad time, and as I work my way through a challenging list of things that need to be done when someone dies, I am beginning to seize the moments to sit quietly, to remember, to grieve.

In his final prayer in church yesterday, Pastor Dan prayed with confidence that when one’s physical eyes shut on this world, one’s spiritual eyes open to see the face of Jesus. Yes, that is where Mom is now, out of her constraints and into the freedom of the Kingdom.

That is such a consolation, and so I grieve, but am not without hope, as Paul writes. I smile and cry over so many memories. Sat alone in a booth at a place Mom loved to go, Mimi’s, and ate what she would have eaten: quiche, fresh fruit, a blueberry muffin and coffee. And remembered the many, many times she had sat across from me.

As the dolphins, unseen, paralleled the walkers on the shore, so I imagine that perhaps Mom, unseen, parallels me now. And I know for certain that Jesus is with me, guiding, comforting, and answering so many prayer requests.

Take a breath

 

The Avis coach driver, with a friendly smile, helped lift one of my bags onto the bus. I joined the handful of others going to pick up rental cars. As the driver inched away from the curb and into the turbulent traffic at LAX, her radio was at high volume and tuned to a Christian radio station. The two men on the program were discussing anger management, suggesting that Jesus, by writing in the dirt when confronted with the men accusing the woman caught in adultery, modelled for us how to step aside, take a breath, when anger threatens to overwhelm us. They suggested Jesus was infuriated by the injustice of the accusers only bringing the woman for judgment, and not the man as well.

‘No, no, no!’ my bus driver shouted at a dithering driver in front of her, drowning out the speakers on the talk show. She gestured wildly at a car in front which was weaving in and out of slowing traffic. ‘Keep going, keep going – move over!’

Traffic bubbled and boiled as does a river when encountering a rocky descent. Skilfully, she pulled the bus into the space vacated by the probably terrified driver in front, muttering to herself.

‘Not supposed to be stopping here. Can’t read the signs?’

The men on the broadcast continued to discuss the rage in society today.

Honk! The driver slammed her hand down on the horn, again and again.

‘What are you doin’?’ she demanded of another driver in a luxury car in front of the bus. ‘Careful with that rental car you’re drivin’, mister. Bet you don’t have one of those at home. Come on!’

A light changed to red and the bus stopped. A lost pedestrian gestured to her from the other side of the street, and she opened her window. He shouted a question for directions, and she shouted instructions back to him as the light changed to green. She sounded kind, helpful. But then she pulled away, shaking her head.

‘Ain’t nobody s’posed to be walkin’ round this airport. That’s why the buses are free!’

As tired as I was after getting up at 3.30 am, and just off an 11-hour flight, I couldn’t help smiling at the timing of it all.

It’s pretty easy to slip into critical thoughts or words even against a background of praise music or an encouraging message. Life itself can drive us up the wall, where we give way to our baser instincts, to rage.

At the start of what will be a challenging day, I want to remember to pause, to ‘write in the dirt’ before giving a response, whatever situation I may be in.

Inadequate Tribute

 

The day dawns grey, windy and almost autumnal, yet it is August 4^th, which in my mind is the height of summer and the birthday of two amazing humans in my family, my mom and our son Jamie.

Jamie lost his ‘Birthday Buddy’ on Sunday when, just shy of her 102^nd birthday, dear Mom slipped out of this world and into the waiting arms of Jesus. Mom was always in my corner, and she bore the heavy loss of my sister Judy, and the death of my Dad, and the sadness of geographic separation from me and her grandchildren with grace and fortitude. She loved fiercely and she loved well. I know that she prayed me into the Kingdom, and the way she has walked through these last years of diminished health and mobility with such dignity, courage and even humor has been inspirational.

I was so blessed by my Mom, blessings I don’t deserve, and once I navigate the busyness of the final steps of walking her home, I know the grief will really hit. But the grief is cushioned by the joy of knowing that she is with the Saviour she loved since she was 7 years old, and with all those dear ones who have gone before.

My world has dimmed as her light has gone out, but I am forever grateful to God for the wonderful Mom he blessed me with.

 

Relationships

 

Distracted from my sorting through old prayer journals: I took my senior year high school annual from the bookshelf and sat back, slipping into a time in the far distant past. Remembering friends and fellow students who walked with me through those often turbulent teenage years, trying to discover our identities, feeling our ways forward into further education at colleges and universities scattered across the country. Having been connected with this large group of people my age, some for 12 years, we graduated and scattered, lost touch, lived our lives. Some – many – have already died.

The custom was to sign one another’s annuals and I was amused with how similar most entries were: wishing me well, wishing me luck, saying I deserved it, saying kind things about me. A few stood out; one in particular, because since I was eight years old, Jenny has been a friend.

A friend. The kind of friend who knows your good and bad traits and sticks with you anyway. She wrote a page, recalling memories of moments together, shared times as we struggled to make sense of our world, to figure out relationships, to live well during times of uncertainty – the war in Vietnam, which affected the boys in our graduating class as instantly they became eligible for the draft unless they had a good reason to defer. Nuclear annihilation was always a possibility. Racial injustices and civil disobedience. The hippy phenomena. A turbulent time to step out as a fledgling adult.

Jenny and I had more memories to make together. Memories made in each others’ universities when we visited one another; memories made in Europe when we both did a year studying overseas, Jenny in Bordeaux, me in Stirling. Memories made after university, each others’ weddings, letters and now emails and lunches every time I go back.

And now. Her husband is growing frail; things are difficult. Across the miles, we try to encourage one another.

Life is a gift from God, and part of that gift is friendship which stays the course.  Friendship which lasts through a lifetime, across the miles.

May God bless and deepen friendships; may he restore relationships which may have grown cold, distant or broken; may he deepen relationships in the high-tech generation who connect through the devices rather than over an ice cream.

May he deepen our relationships with him, the trinity being the epitome of what relationship can be, in him.

Spring Barley

 

The spring barley planted in the field surrounding our house ripens, imperceptibly, day by day. Suddenly, we notice how golden it is, and we know that soon the farmer will be busy with his combine harvester bringing in the crop.

He planted the seed, but God has grown it. God has provided the sunshine and warmth to tease that seed into a sprout and into further growth; he has provided the rain to nourish and refresh it. And he has provided time, one day following another, for that crop to mature and ripen.

And so with us. We have opened the door of our heart to the loving reign of the Lord Jesus Christ, and invited him in. As we live in him, day by day, he teases that tiny seed of faith into growth. His love nourishes and his faithfulness refreshes us, during storms as well as sunny days. Imperceptibly, our faith matures and the Spirit transforms and renews our minds so that we love him more dearly, understand him more clearly, and trust him more fully with those things we don’t understand.

In my constant decluttering, I have been glancing through years of prayer journals. I always give thanks for God’s provision for us, but in re-reading some of the entries, some of the desperate cries over the years for financial worries, for relationship issues, for wisdom in raising a family, I have been struck by the number of times God has quietly reassured me that he would provide.

Now, in the autumn of our lives, I see how lavishly he has kept that promise. Whatever is lacking in my life, in your life, God is able and willing to provide. He always answers the cries of our hearts.

Even after all these years, I sometimes need to be reminded of the vastness of his love, the limitless expanse of his resources, and the creative and beautiful imagination with which he answers our prayers and blesses us.

What a Saviour.

A Nest of Vipers

 

It resembled a nest of multi-coloured vipers.

The collection of neckties lay in a tangle on the end of the bed. Don had moved them from the now disused trouser press, which is part of the on-going decluttering operation. The ties, obviously, were part of that operation. Who wears neckties these days, except to funerals?

Overnight, some slipped onto the floor, leaving a pile of black fibres resembling dirt. Where did those come from? On further inspection, he discovered his Morrison tartan wool tie had been thoroughly munched by invading moths. None of the silk or polyester ties had been touched.

Jesus warned about accumulating things which rust and moths will destroy. Things of value, hoarded, become worthless.

The enemy’s attacks are precisely aimed at those things we treasure most. We need to be alert and active in prayer. Above all, we are advised in Proverbs 4, guard your heart – your thoughts – because out of it springs your whole life. Your heart is the wellspring of life. Your thoughts determine your actions and words.

Your heart is the tartan tie the moths of life have a voracious appetite for. Today I ensure I have the breastplate of the righteousness of Jesus and the helmet of his salvation firmly fastened, so that I can recognise attacks when they come and repel them in the name of Jesus. May my thoughts and feelings, the wellspring of life, never be soured by pride, greed, or any of the other temptations to which I am vulnerable.

Lord, rid my mind of tangled thoughts which obscure the truth, and fill my heart and mind today with love, joy, mercy, hope and peace as I live the one precious life you have so graciously given me. Thank you, Jesus, for your awesome power and love.  

Spread love like a wildfire

A haze hung over the fields; a smell of burning met my nostrils. As the day wore on, the smoke thickened and the sun turned red.

Eighty miles away, wildfires tore through a national park. Strong winds whipped up the fire and blew the smoke and smells our way.

What happens in one part of the world has surprisingly far-reaching repercussions.

It’s not just bad things that have wide-ranging consequences. A kind word, a friendly text, a little money, a helping hand: Jesus fed thousands on the gift of one little boy’s lunch.

Every day offers fresh opportunities to share the love and peace of God in creative ways.

God knows how badly this world needs his love and peace, and he’s counting on us to share it. 

Out of the stillness

 

The scruffy wee robin perched on the chair back, tilting her head this way and that. She flitted onto the shaky wooden bannister of the children’s playhouse. Her head continued to incline, first one way, then another.

We thought she was interacting with us. But no. She swooped down, onto the grass lying in the shade of the canopy, and with her beak, flicked up an enormous worm.

For the next few minutes, we watched as she seemed to flick it around. It looked far too big for her to eat, but perhaps she ate it one bite at a time. She didn’t swallow it in one giant gulp.

Even in the pressure of having to eat her body-weight (or something like that) every day, she knew the value of stillness. Of observation. Of expectation even. And she was rewarded with a generous meal.

I remember the title of a book: Too busy not to pray. May I live by that maxim, Lord, aware that it’s in the quiet, reflective moments that I am fed the most nourishing, life-sustaining truths.

Speckled with Golden Moments

 

As the blessed warmth of a summer’s day retreats into the cool of a long Scottish evening, the glorious song of the blackbird rises in what sounds like joyful praise. A golden moment. Several golden moments, many summer evenings. God is good.

Today may appear to have a stormy sky, a backdrop of bother or stress, but even on such a day there will be golden moments, gifts from our Creator God who delights to bless us with reminders that we are loved lavishly, beyond common sense, by the One who knows us inside and out.

However the day pans out, be there airport delays, unexpected news, or difficult relationships, look out for the golden moments. He is not far away. He is with us wherever we go.

Hallelujah! Have a great day, speckled with golden moments.

Goldfinch amongst the Weeds

 

We stood at a bedroom window, looking out at the vegetable garden beyond. In the foreground, between the blackcurrant bush and the plum tree, weeds abound. Some are long grasses, but others are the type which poke a yellow flower skyward, which then matures into feathery white fluff, similar to a dandelion flower.

We agreed: every day each one of us looks out that window and thinks, ‘I’ve got to get out there and yank those weeds out.’

Yesterday, though, as we voiced that thought to each other, suddenly a glorious goldfinch landed lightly on a golden twig of weed, and began feeding on the seeds inside those feathery pods, discarding the gossamer down this way and that.

Oh, we agreed, surprised and delighted that our neglectful gardening resulted in a meal for a beautiful bird. The weeds will stay.

As a Christian, I try to live as Jesus lived, observant, responsive, compassionate and generous. I don’t always succeed. There are weeds in my patch, I know.

But I am thinking of the advice Jesus gave in one of his parables, to leave the weeds among the tares lest in yanking out the bad ones, the good ones came out inadvertently.

I am not saying we should leave our sins to flower and not examine ourselves daily with the Holy Spirit so that we can repent and cease to sin in that way. But perhaps instead of beating ourselves up over those besetting sins that just keep sprouting, we might entrust them to Jesus to turn them into a meal that will feed the faith of someone else.

‘All things work to good for those who love God.’

Today I offer myself, the whole garden, weeds and all, to the One who can bring beauty out of ashes.

Blessed Interruptions

 

A car flashed past the window where I sat working on my laptop.

‘Somebody’s here!’ I called out to Don, upstairs, hoping he would pop down and handle the interruption.

No sound of movement.

The doorbell rang twice, loud and insistent. I sighed.

‘Hello,’ Oleksi greeted me. A new neighbour who has moved in to the area. ‘Is it a good time for me to strim the grass round the side?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I enthused, suddenly grateful for the interruption from this very kind and generous new friend. The grass is as high as an elephant’s thigh, and I long to see it trimmed and neat.

Then Don appeared and out they went to discuss. Soon the sound of a strimmer buzzed loud; joyfully, I sat back down at the laptop.

Lord, how often do I miss your blessings, sidestepping interruptions which are actually gifts sent from you? Forgive me for being so myopic, so focused on my own self-importance and feelings that the to-do list is long and demanding that I miss the gentle interruptions which come with grace and blessing.

May you bless anyone who brings God-ordained interruptions to me today. May I greet those interruptions with expectation and joy, curious to see what you have for me. And may I have the gift of discernment to recognise when an interruption is nothing more than a distraction. I know that not every interruption is from you.