Dancing Lights and Dahlias

The dancing lights used to precede a migraine for me. Now, thankfully, they seem to be a phenomenon on their own, without the pounding headache to follow. I am so grateful.

I’ve noticed the dancing lights more frequently of late. Not sure why. I feel good. I wonder if it’s a general wakefulness at night, sleeping intermittently rather than a good solid stretch of time. I don’t know.

This morning, they started to fringe my vision as I looked into my Bible. Luke. The paralysed man being lowered through the roof to the healing Saviour. I find that I can continue to read despite the dancing lights, if I focus on one word at a time. Not a bad thing when reading Scripture. It can be tempting to skim through, to recognise I’ve read that bit before and assume I’ve got everything out of it already. But no, that’s not what Scripture is, is it? You never have got everything out of any of it; God always has another layer, another level, to speak to you about.

During the days of lock down it is perhaps helpful remembering this in order to retain focus on God, or on a project, or on whatever is in front of me at any given time. It is helpful not to be distracted by reading too much news, or sharing too much speculation on how we’re going to get out of this – both which can steal inner peace.

I felt encouraged this morning to pick up a project which has been dormant for years. Every winter, we dig up and put the dahlia tubers into the attic to survive the winter. A few weeks ago, I planted these dead-looking bulbous conglomerates into separate pots of compost and began watering them in the greenhouse. All but one has sprouted and they are growing well, ready to be planted out whenever it seems the danger of frost is past. Perhaps that project has been awaiting such a time as this.

May God help us all to focus today on that which gives us life and hope and peace.

Whose line?

We used to watch the improv comedy ‘Whose line is it anyway?’ There was a scenario they used to build comedy which involved two people. One was blindfolded, embracing the other from behind, arms wrapped round the waist of the other person. As that person gave directions, the blindfolded one had to perform some sort of task, such as making sausage rolls. It required clear directions, understanding, and dexterity. It could be hilarious.

The Christian life is like that, though the result is not always comedic. I have my arms wrapped round Jesus’ waist. My face is pressed into his back and I can’t see what’s coming. He gives me clear directions of where he wants my feet to take ‘us’, what he wants my hands to engage in. All I need to do is listen carefully and obey cheerfully. That’s all.

I am totally dependent on him. I need him to guide me. I need him to give me clear directions. I need him to give me open ears and a willing heart and a spirit that doesn’t grow tired or weary because it depends on him for life. Life in all its fullness.

Whatever the situation today, my arms are secure round my Saviour and my ears are open. I know my limitations, and they are many. I know his limitless power.

So grateful.

Pre-Existing Conditions

Pre-existing conditions. 

I’ve just renewed my annual travel insurance policy. Because I have a pre-existing medical condition, I spent a half hour on the phone with Anna, answering set questions concerning the condition. At the end of the questionnaire I was given the additional cost of cover for this condition. It nearly doubled the base quotation. 

Humanity has inherited a pre-existing spiritual condition: a sinful nature. We are prone to making unhealthy decisions which sicken our souls. Yet even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. Christ paid the additional cost for our spiritual condition, so that we can be in Him, holy and without fault in his eyes. It cost Jesus his life.

I’m grateful that I can get, and can afford to pay for, the insurance cover so that I can visit my family regularly. I am bowled over, eternally grateful, that Jesus has paid the price so I can live with my heavenly father ... heavenly family ... forever.

That sets my heart singing praises forever. What a Saviour!

Leningrad or St Petersburg?

We have been blessed to meet an interesting parade of people through our small B&B. Earlier in the year we had a friend of a friend stay, a retired professor from the USA who had been married for a time to a Russian from Siberia. Her stories were fascinating, and after she went home she sent us an account of her time living in fairly primitive accommodation in Siberia in the depths of winter, along with a Soviet-era picture booklet on Leningrad – which has now reverted to its original name, St Petersburg.

As I looked through the pictures, I realized the glaring omission: not one photo of the stunning Cathedral of the Saviour on Spilled Blood. Instead, the booklet boasted pictures of Communist era high-rise cement flats, stark and featureless.

It occurs to me that our perception of beauty depends in part on our ideology, on our view of the world, perhaps. To the graphic designer working on the tourist booklet on Leningrad, the accomplishments of the Communist period could be seen in the modern high-rise flats. Because religion was demoted and believers punished, the glorious onion dome architecture of the Cathedral was dismissed, perhaps deemed archaic and ugly.

When we visited St Petersburg a couple of years ago, I found myself constantly wanting to go back and see the Cathedral from the perspective of the canal, or coming to it from a different angle. Its beauty reminded me of the faith of the builders and those who commissioned them. Its beauty reminded me of the love of our Creator, who humbled himself to be born in the body of a man, so that we can live with him forever. Those Soviet-era flats only remind me of the hubris of political systems – not just Soviet ones.

Sweet peas

Don planted the sweet peas this year. Having run out of time to start them as seeds, we purchased seedlings from a garden centre and he put them in. Most of them went in the usual spot, where the trellis is strong for them to cling to. The extra went beside the rhubarb, where there is another support network, less robust but there nonetheless.

The ones in the usual spot are thin and straggly, with few blooms. They have reached the top of the trellis and are beginning to topple. The blooms are often single rather than double. Despite fertilising, the soil there is depleted. I’m negligent at summer feeding and really only do it before planting, and the result is there for all to see. Scraggly stems, few blooms. Nevertheless, their fragrance is intoxicating.

The leftover seedlings planted by the rhubarb are robust. They have been lounging over the top of the support for weeks now, so that all of the strong-stemmed blooms start out headed earthwards before they curve back towards the sky. All the blooms are doubles, and like their weaker cousins, their fragrance is intoxicating. The soil there is not worn out. The position in the garden is more open to the sun. There are no potatoes competing for nutrients nor mint marauding their roots.

I’ve been busy. Yesterday afternoon I had things to do. There are always things to do in this house, in this garden, and it was a nice day. I sat down in the conservatory, and three hours later I sat there still, catching up on reading, having time to pray and enjoy the presence of the Lord. A bit of respite.

I went into the conservatory draped over the supporting arm of the Saviour, feeling straggly and knowing if blooms there were, they were singles. Maybe there was a hint of the perfume of the Lord, but it was time. Time to be fed. Time to rest. Time to sit in the Son. Time to listen to his voice.

It will take more than a couple of hours on a random day for me to begin to bloom like my prolific sweet peas. But hopefully wisdom will win here, and I won’t neglect the feeding and resting and basking in the light.

As One

The brave fire-fighters who strove to lead those trapped in the inferno out into safety first had to put on their protective gear and breathing masks. Then they found that fiery debris was raining down from above so they had to wait for others to bring riot shields which could be held above their heads like Romans used their shields, to prevent injury from these falling projectiles.

We are called to stand as the body of Christ and move as one to retake the world for Jesus. We need to work together in unity, as those fire fighters did. We need to lay aside our differences and protect each other with a shield of powerful prayer.

Effective weapons of the enemy are to stir up fear and division. Fear can paralyse us and leave us curled up, babbling and ineffective against the enemy. Division dilutes or even negates our effectiveness. If we’re going to bring hope and life to those in despair and darkness, we need to cooperate and we need to listen to our Commander in Chief.

Elizabeth told Mary that she was blessed because she believed that what the Lord told her would come to pass. 

We need to listen together, read and understand our Bibles, and obey our Saviour.

Road Closed

Thought I’d pop into a garden centre and purchase three tomato plants for the conservatory. It wasn’t far from where I’d met friends for coffee.

However, the road I needed to take was closed. I followed diversion signs...for miles. Finally I turned north where I thought I needed to go, only to find the next road I needed was also closed. So I headed east and wondered where I was.

I wasn’t under pressure of time and was able to appreciate the lovely skies and countryside as I drove a good half hour extra just to get these three tomato plants. They better produce now!

It was more of a journey than anticipated. Life is often more of a journey than anticipated. It has dips and curves and Road Closed signs that send us onto unexpected and often unpleasant diversions. 

So important to make that journey with the Saviour. So thankful that he never leaves nor forsakes us. So grateful.