A Far Better Thing

‘It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before,’ said Sidney Carlton as he went to the guillotine in place of another. (Dickens, Tale of Two Cities)

By his stripes, you are healed, the Bible says. Because Jesus suffered, I am saved. It’s an incredible equation, far from balanced. So unfair for Jesus to suffer for me, a sinner, so that I can be free, so that I can know his presence now and forever.

Just feeling so grateful and full of praise today. And also, aware that as one of Jesus’ followers, I am called to walk the way of the cross as I follow him. May he strengthen me for all the challenges of the Way. May I never disappoint him, as I depend on his grace and love to enable me to praise and witness.

Sabbatical

After weeks of lifting and carrying heavy boxes, odd weights of furniture and rubbish, with no perceivable ill effects, I bent over, empty-handed, last week, and felt a muscle in my back give way. Heat pads and rubbing creams and tender care are beginning to relieve the pain, but isn’t it interesting that my body only weakened after the pressure had lifted.

During the move, swamped by the emotional turmoil of Mom’s confusion and reluctance to be moved, I struggled to find space for quiet contemplation, for prayer, for my Bible. Sometimes I grabbed a bite of Scripture, but fast food is never as nourishing. Exhausted physically, my body demanded rest. Worn out spiritually, my spirit also craved rest.

This morning I lingered in the prayer window, and one of my readings was from Isaiah. The Lord doesn’t extinguish a flickering candle. I lingered longer, allowing the gentle breath of the Spirit to fan the flickering flame into life. As I lingered, Indy, the cat who rarely comes for a cuddle, climbed into my lap and allowed me to rub her as she purred contentedly. Even she needed to lean in and be loved.

A sabbatical is prescribed. It’s time to rest.

Fruit

When we moved in here over thirty years ago, there was a damson tree in the garden which dripped with a profusion of fruit in the autumn. We paid the Cub Scout son of a friend, working on a ‘bob a job’ badge, to climb the tree and bring in the crop. I then discovered how labour-intensive it is to deal with damsons and in future years, as the tree’s fecundity lessened, I was relieved.

Well, the birds graciously planted a new damson for me and this year, we returned to find a carpet of the richly-coloured plums spread on the ground. I’ve now gathered them in, and am about to figure out how to deal with them. Damson gin isn’t the answer as we don’t particularly drink it and am not sure if anybody else does.

I always seem to be going on about harvesting fruit, but that is because this is such an unusual year. We’ve not really had many, if any, damsons since that early year, nor have we had the cherries or plums like we do this year. Conditions have been perfect for the crops here at the ‘hillock, though others we know have not enjoyed such bounty.

The Bible talks of Christians as people who bear the fruit of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, and so on. We are to nourish others with the goodness that comes from Jesus through us. But as they say, life happens, and sometimes the storms disturb the blossom before it can set the fruit. Or drought shrivels what is there. Not every year is a good year. When we are going through drought or storm, we may not have it in us to bear much fruit. We’re not always aware of the droughts or storms others are going through, so can find it hard when we are let down, left un-nourished by others.

My dear friend often says, ‘Put your expectations in nobody but God. Everyone else will let you down sometimes.’ It’s unintentional, often, but it may be that someone else just has no fruit to share.

If you’re in a place of plenty, may you find many ways to can, bottle, bake and infuse your fruit so others can enjoy it. And if you’re in a drought, may you draw nourishment from Jesus himself, so that his fragrance and love can once again bless others.

As Psalm 1 says, blessed are those who delight in the Lord and meditate on his word, because ‘they are like trees planted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season.’

So as I tackle my crop in the kitchen, I will put on praise music and delight in the Lord, meditating on him and his wonderful love for us. And hope the fruit is not just in the jars and puddings and pies, but also in me.

Three-ring Circus

‘It’s like a 3-ring circus,’ my dad used to say, describing anything that was a bit chaotic. I wonder if 3-ring circuses even exist anymore? Mmm, in my memory I can smell the hay and the animals, sense the steamy heat in the Big Top Tent, and thrill to the energetic music as the Ringmaster ran into the centre and introduced the acts taking place in the three rings, all at the same time. Clowns, trapeze artists, animal acts. As a child, it was just amazing. (I hasten to say that I don’t agree with animals in circuses, but the memory lingers on...)

I sat down to be with God this morning, and my mind was like a 3-ring circus. I was reading the Bible when I realised that though my conscious mind was recognising the words in their coherent order, below that level I was thinking about my mother’s insurance and my nagging tooth ... it was a 3-ring circus, without the razzmatazz, just the chaos.

Jesus spoke peace into the storm at sea, and the wind and waves ceased and peace was restored. I reminded myself of a verse from a recent reading, Psalm 34:4: I sought the Lord and he answered me, he delivered me from all my fears, and I breathed deeply. My peace, Jesus claimed, is different from any other peace. You’ll never understand it, but it is real and it is powerful and it calmed my mind and helped me regain focus on him.

Shalom.

Now how 'bout me?

Felicity loves stories. She gets lost in the simplest of stories, then says, ‘Now how ‘bout me?’ and launches in to retell the story she’s just been told, having inserted herself into the action. It might be a simple recounting of an incident with her daddy as he was growing up. It may be something more sinister involving the Big Bad Wolf or a crocodile or a bear; whatever the story, she positions herself into the middle of the action. 

The Bible is a book of stories, into which we are invited. It is full of flawed folk who answered God’s invitation into his story, and usually messed up, often more than once, often spectacularly. Yet God still loved them. He still wanted them to be part of his story. It’s great to read the Bible and see where we fit. We may fit in one story today, and in another story in a year’s time. We may feel so estranged from God that we don’t see ourselves in any story, but we can take a look at Jesus’ story of the shepherd seeking the lost sheep. However entangled we are in the thorns, he can release us.

I love the thought that God’s story is his story, and yet he is generous and loving and wants us to enter in and create it with him. Not sure, but I imagine that although he knows the ending, some of the nuances of the story are still to be created as we make our choices and live our lives before him. I hope that is exciting – in a good way – for him, because it is certainly exciting for us. 

So now I’m going to open my Bible, read some and then ask God, ‘Now how ‘bout me?’

All my bags are packed

All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go...

The Mamas and The Papas crooned this out in 1969 when I was in my first year of university, and it has been a sort of theme song for my life. I do like the song...and understand the sentiment. Belonging in two places at once. Hating to leave someone behind. Anticipating what I’m going to do with other loved ones. Conflicting emotions.

We’re at a time in life where our theme song could be written about de-cluttering. There will come a time when I won’t need to hover over an empty suitcase and debate what sorts of clothes the weather will require. I won’t need to remember my moisturiser and pack my Bible. Whatever I take with me, I’m packing now, deep into my spirit. 

I want to ensure that what’s in there is life-giving, God-exalting, Jesus-loving, Truth. My goal is to memorise more Scripture. Memorise, not moisturise. I know my brain won’t be required in the next life, but I think that as my brain feeds on the Word my spirit will grow. 

Not all my bags are packed yet, and I’m not ready to go. But one day I will be.

Slow Down

A couple of years ago, I bought a machine to wash my windows. I thought it would be more effective than the method I’d been using (basically a bucket and sponge with a scraper). A little disappointing: it does the job, but no easier and with streaks. 

I’d gotten it to clean the dirt and bugs off the windows. Recently I realised that without the attachment, it could be used to suck up condensation after showers, baths, and drying clothes indoors. It seems to be pretty effective at that so far.

The Bible is God’s perfect window-cleaner. It can leave streaks if I cherry-pick verses to support my prejudices, presenting a distortion of the truth. When used prayerfully, though, mindful of the character of God, reliant on his Holy Spirit, it can suck up the condensation of my assumptions and presumptions and transform my thinking.

To read it like that, I need to slow down, take time, and linger expectantly in the presence of the Almighty God. What a privilege and blessing. The Almighty God. Wow.

Note to self: Slow down.

The Tin Man

The Tin Man had his oil can and Dorothy. I have some exercises and Hazel. Stiffening up is no fun. When I was younger and limber I didn’t realize I was limber. My granddaughter Flick questions why I have trouble crawling round the floor for an hour or so and eventually tell her that I’ll just pretend it in my head. What’s the problem, Gramma?

The Bible talks disparagingly about stiff-necked people. We don’t want to grow rigid and judgmental and arrogant. The Bible and the Spirit are the lubricants for us when we our thoughts and attitudes begin to freeze into judgmental shapes. May I apply as much effort to maintaining a supple soul as I do to regaining the movement of a frozen shoulder!