Hugs

I am wearing an Arran knit jumper which I bought in 1971 in Jenner’s, a wonderful department store in Edinburgh. Sadly the store is no longer there, but in its day it was exceptional for its quality.

This jumper has kept me warm over many years. A few threads have broken. One cuff is frayed. But basically, it is still keeping me warm. Quality lasts.

In the cupboard in my bedroom, on the top shelf towards the back is a cardinal sweatshirt. It is a men’s size large, with Trojans emblazoned across the front. It was my dad’s, from his alma mater USC, and of all the touchstones I have with him, this is the one I go to when I am feeling sad and in need of my dad. I put it on, zip it up, and, swamped in it though I am, I sense his protective arms around me. And I am comforted.

We are living in uncertain days. We are all concerned for our loved ones. Those in my age group long to help our children and grandchildren as they struggle to home-school, work from home, survive as health service workers, make do on reduced incomes. They refuse to be helped, fearful that they will infect us and we won’t survive an infection. We long to wrap our arms round each other, but we can’t. There is an invisible enemy preying on us, and we are all just doing our best.

Come to me, Jesus invites us. I will gather my loved ones into my embrace. He’s got the whole world in his arms, as the beautiful spiritual goes. Receive his hug, his loving, powerful hug. He’s closer than you think.

Let it Go

‘Let it go, let it go!’ I’ve got a precious picture in my mind’s eye (I don’t seem to have it on my camera...) of Felicity sitting on her Daddy’s knee, watching her favourite film, Frozen, and belting out one of the songs with real gusto and panache. Out of the mouths of babes ... The memory brings a smile of delight to my face every time I entertain it.

I don’t know the lyrics so am not sure what the girl singing the song is counselling about, but through that one repeated phrase I hear God speak. ‘Let it go!’ Let it go. Easier said than done. In my experience, it usually needs to be done repeatedly before I finally relinquish ‘it’, whatever that may be, to God. 

He knows. Come to me, he invites, and I’ll help you rest. We wait in hope for the Lord, for he is our help and our shield, the psalmist writes (33:20). That’s easier said than done, too, but as I restrain my impulses and encourage myself to wait, I see Him act in amazing ways. 

Stewarding my mother’s resources so that she can have all the best care she will need until she joins Jesus, I am constantly tempted down the path of worry. I am in uncharted territory. It is a decision and an act of will and self-discipline to pull myself away from that path of worry again and again and instead ‘let it go’ and wait in hope for the Lord, trusting that he guides my decisions and loves Mom even more than I do.

That’s just one of the worry paths that tempts me, but today I embrace the faith in Jesus which enables me to let it go, again.

Lonely walk, bearing a heavy load

Grey skies wept softly, gently, on the procession winding through our little town. We walked in silence behind the cross, borne by two people. Cars zoomed past as a busy world awoke to Friday, Easter weekend, last day at work, children off school, need to buy chocolate eggs, flowers, roasts, drinks. Drivers glanced in surprise, perhaps not even sure who we were, why we were doing this.

Birds chirped. Not a lot of them, but enough to remind us spring is here. Bare branches budded with green shoots in the hedges we passed. We paused at several junctures and heard sections of the Easter story – well, the Good Friday story. Jesus’ betrayal. Jesus’ trial. Jesus’ condemnation. Jesus’ torment and torture. Jesus’ own lonely walk, staggering beneath the weight of the cross, beneath the weight of the world’s sins. We walked in silence and we thought. We walked shoulder to shoulder with believers from all the Christian denominations in the town. United in our grief. United in our sorrow for the sin which condemned Jesus – not his sin, but ours.

As we gathered for a final reflection inside one of the churches, I thought of all those who, this day, are walking a lonely walk, carrying their own heavy cross. Friends we know who are terminally ill. Friends we know who have ruptured relationships with spouse or children or even parents. The families of those Christian students in Kenya, selected to die by the marauding Al Shabab extremists simply because of their faith. Families grieving the loss of loved ones in the German air disaster. The parents of the suicidal, murderous pilot of that aircraft. Those sitting alone at their kitchen tables, wondering what to do over a holiday weekend, how to fill the lonely hours, remembering happier times. Those made redundant, wondering how they will feed families, anxious to get back into work. Those feeling rejected. Those in pain. Those struggling with the onset of dementia. Those with big decisions to make.

Long, lonely walks, bearing heavy burdens, burdens meant not to be carried alone but meant to be shared. Shared with others; shared with Jesus.

‘Come to me...my yoke is easy...’

Those walking their own ways of the cross, encouraged by friends, loved ones, walking alongside them in silence. Sometimes there is nothing to say. Nothing that can really help. Nothing except an expression of love, measured by companionship along the way.

Don’t leave others to walk alone. Walk with them. Walk with them, aware that Jesus walks with them, and you, too. Listen for his words. Watch for signs of his presence. Allow his peace to flow through you into a hurting, lonely world.

Allow his peace to permeate your heart, your mind, your being. Nothing you can do or say: he has done it all and it is finished.

Small Potatoes

I sit in my prayer alcove and pour out my heart to the God I love. Some of the things on my heart seem mammoth; some seem intransigent, never improving despite the desperation in my voice and heart; some just niggle and some are probably not worth mentioning. 

Then I look down at the globe, where I have marked black spots for particular prayer and the comparison couldn’t be more stark. When God has in his sight children orphaned from ebola, refugees freezing on the heights in Syria, prisoners awaiting beheadings by fanatics in Iraq, broken-hearted people bereaved and lonely, people in pain, people in distress ... my bag of burdens are small potatoes. Infinitely small by comparison.

And yet Jesus reassures his followers that God knows the number of hairs on our heads. He cares for every bird and living creature. He invites us to ‘come to me, and I will give you rest’. 

His perspective encompasses the grandiose and the infinitesimally small. The state of the world and the state of Michele. And he cares for all. In his awesome might and power he can be involved on the macro and the micro levels, bringing hope and relief and comfort and peace to all.

I don’t want to inflate my worries but neither do I want to diminish them. Jesus invites us to lay our burdens at his feet, and that restores our perspective. As we release our grip on our anxieties – which can seem irresponsible in some ways – we gain a glimpse of the divine perspective and we are filled with peace as we trust that he has heard our cries and is responding. 

Not every prayer is answered exactly as we want it nor as instantly as we would like, but we can trust that God is not ignoring them and to him, none of them are small potatoes.

Spinning Plates

Spinning Plates

The trick is to keep smiling and keep the patter coming without losing the momentum on any one spin, so that none of the plates drops.

Well, actually I’ve never tried spinning plates, but when I’ve seen one of the entertainers who can do such a thing – I guess maybe it’s usually been a clown in a circus – it seems that it’s the momentum of the spin and the tilt and balance on the pole which keeps the plates moving. When they stop moving, they drop and roll away.

I don’t think I’m the only one to feel as if I’m spinning plates just now. Some of them I just can’t let drop. Like the lovely new granddaughter who I got to hold again today. Like taking time to pray and read and listen. That one takes a bit of effort to maintain momentum. It is so easily overlooked. Commitments to family. Skyping my mother every day. Writing commissions.

Then there is the nitty gritty of everyday life which I can’t let drop. The day job. The housework. The commitments to others through church and Bible study. The garden. The shopping. 

Then there are the projects I want to keep spinning. Creative writing projects. Cross-stitch. Reading interesting novels and books. Writing blogs. Learning a new language. Taking walks.

And in the midst of all the spinning plates, sometimes other clowns suddenly run out of the shadows and cast another one my way which I have no option but to try to catch on a pole and keep spinning. Visitors drop in. Neighbours need a hand. The telephone rings, or an email needs answering.

Come to me, Jesus said, if you’re tired and weary and fearful of dropping one of those spinning plates. I will refresh you and call time out.

Well, he doesn’t say it exactly like that, but that’s the gist. So I’m giving the plates to him and having a rest. Whew.

Abundance Part II

So this morning Dusty was energetic and enthusiastic to walk, which was lovely. God is blessing us with yet another beautiful day. Hallelujah!

I found myself yet again picking ripe little rasps and filling a doggy bag. It does amuse me to think that the drivers of the few cars that passed us must think I’m extremely fastidious to be picking up after my dog even in the wild woods where nobody but a few of us go. But actually, this time the doggy bag is bursting with berries.

Pulled a few redcurrants off a neighbour’s bush – they are away semi-permanently and I’m afraid they are going to spoil. Someone else has given us roe deer steaks which I’m going to attempt to cook tonight, and an online recipe calls for redcurrants. God has provided through my neighbour’s bush.

More abundance. And yet I’m so aware that we are unusual in this unjust world. That there are many who, if they even have a cupboard, have one that is bare. It is heart-breaking and action-inspiring.

I’m also aware of words which Jesus told his disciples. He once said that his food was to do the will of his Father in heaven. Now that is amazing. Jesus found that obeying God was like sitting down to a banquet and enjoying a big meal, and being satisfied. 

Real nourishment is found not in food that spoils but in the Word that remains fresh forever. God invites us, ‘Come to me with your ears wide open. Listen and you will find life. ‘(Isaiah 55)

Jesus’ ears were wide open to his Father, and he listened and obeyed and thereby found life. 

God doesn’t provide bounty just along the roadsides and in the gardens of our friends; he provides a steady stream of manna from heaven, food that satisfies eternally.