Repetitive strain...

A few weeks ago, the farmer spread the manure over the field. Today, in the winter sunshine, he is back. His tractor pulls the plough up and down, up and down, tediously repetitive and slow. But one furrow at a time, the field is being transformed from the tired green of root-bound weeds and grass into the rich brown of freshly-turned soil. One furrow at a time. 

There is a rhythm in the farmer’s life, a repetitive rhythm. Tedious or comforting in its predictability? Depends on one’s point of view, on one’s state of mind, on one’s focus.

Monday, Monday. It can sound like a lament, or like a celebration. I confess that today, having tackled a tax miscalculation and preparing to wade into another insurance confusion for Mom, the refrain was more lament than celebration. But then as I sat in the window and watched the steady progress of the farmer’s plough, there was a shift in my thoughts. 

This is the day the Lord has made. I am up and healthy, blessed with loved ones and blessed with choices. The boundaries for me have fallen in pleasant places. Peaceful places. Places where I am free to roam. I will rejoice and be glad in this day, Monday, as I prepare to get my head around the intricacies of insurance. 

The farmer presses on until the whole field is ploughed. With God’s help, I will press on, too.

Bare trees and pruning

The trees outside my window stand denuded, prepped for winter’s icy grip. Bare branches twist and intertwine: they’ve lost the beauty of the autumn finery that now lies mouldering on the damp ground.

For several months, my vision has been circumscribed by those leaves, and now that they are off, I can once again see Scolty and Clachnaben, two distinctive hills to the southwest of us. 

Sometimes our vision is limited by pleasant surroundings which draw our attention, and we miss the grander picture. 

One of my tasks today, if there is time, is to chop the beautiful rose bushes in half. I hate doing it because they are still in bloom, but the forecast is for snowy winds later in the week and I don’t want them buffeted and blown about, loosening the roots which anchor them in tight. Pruning isn’t pleasant, for rose bushes or for people, but un-pruned we are more vulnerable and weaker.

And there is the promise of spring. Renewed life. The bigger picture.

Happy Monday.

Of Hackers and Headaches

The rain has returned – summer showers really. The raspberries I picked yesterday – huge and juicy – were also very wet, and needed to be sorted when I got them inside. I’ve learned the hard way – leave one that’s about to go mouldy in the bottom of the box and many will be mouldy in the morning. 

It’s amazing how one bad rasp can spoil the box. 

It’s also amazing how a few bad people can spoil the convenience of the internet. Today, we were hacked, and the result of that hacking has been some financial loss. It could have been worse, but no loss feels good, and once hacked, it’s hard to trust the emails that come in from legitimate sources.

This is Monday, though, and I want to avoid that Monday, Monday feeling, so I’m going to end on a note of praise and optimism. Much is said about the British National Health System. It comes in for vitriolic criticism for a whole host of reasons. But I have nothing but praise for the NHS, and here’s an example of why.

I have been fighting a virus for a couple of weeks. During that time, I also bumped my head, and when you’re on a blood thinner you don’t want to do that. As the days went by, I noticed an increasingly severe headache, until last night it was so bad I thought that surely something sinister was going on inside my brain. 

At about 4 am I emailed my consultant, who is a world expert in the condition I have, and told him what was going on. I fell asleep, and when I woke again at 7 am I had a reply from him, and an appointment with him at the hospital at 2 pm. Not only did he squeeze me in, he also got me a CT scan at 3. He called about 7 with the result – nothing to worry about, praise the Lord.

Well, I praise the Lord for his healing, and I praise the Lord for my consultant, and I praise the Lord for the NHS, whose very existence means that when you are already anxious about a health issue, you don’t have to worry as well about a horrendous bill.

I am counting my blessings tonight, and one of them is the NHS.

Who am I to be doing this?

Monday morning and I’ve made a LIST. 

It’s as long as my arm and if I’m honest, I know I don’t have much hope in getting them all checked off today. Or ticked off, as they say in Britain – but to me that still has connotations of being annoyed with someone. I check things off my list, rather than tick them off. But I digress.

It’s hard to discern on a list of 25 actions, which is the most important. Where do I start? Some are obvious – put the wash on because the sun is out, though now that the load has finished, it’s raining again. Darn!

Others happen at certain times. Cook dinner. Make various phone calls which need to be made later in the day, when certain people are up on the other side of the world. 

When I finish some things, I can check them off with assurance that they are finished for today. Walking the dog. Ironing. But other things linger on. 

Today the big lingerer is practicing what I am going to say when I lead the Time for Reflections in the Scottish Parliament on Wednesday. It’s not that I am free to make any changes to my script, because it had to be approved two weeks ago. But now that I’m trying to memorize it, how can I be sure that I have it nailed? I’m nowhere near there yet, but will I know when I am?

More disturbingly, doubts tickle the edges of my mind. ‘This is pretty mundane.’ ‘Nothing profound nor even interesting in what you’re saying.’ ‘They will have heard it all before.’

So I’m getting a case of the Jeremiah jitters. The Moses doubts. Who am I to be doing this?

And the answer is obvious. I’m nobody. But I’m counting totally on my Saviour to take the paltry words I have to say and imbue them with life and power, so that those who hear the words, hear his voice speaking through them. And when they hear his voice, I pray that they will be inspired to act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly before God.