Garbage

Yesterday we changed the compost heap, opening up the black plastic cover to reveal rich organic material to dig into the garden. It had mouldered away under the plastic for a year or so. Now the plastic covers the newer vegetable matter and in another year or so it will have transformed into a rich fertiliser for the soil.

As we uncovered the compost, we discovered the winter hideout of the snails and slugs which devastate the garden every year. Without remorse we sent them to their maker, wondering why in the world he ever made them? Also sheltering there, feeding off the rotting compost, was a nest of mice. Two tiny babies squeaked their alarm at being discovered. No mother in sight. We transferred them onto the grass embankment, but I’m afraid the cats did the rest.

I’m thinking about how much of my time can be spent feeding on garbage. I’m not much of a tv-watcher nor do I read a lot of stuff on-line, but I can let thoughts churn round in my mind. I can be pre-occupied with disturbing thoughts which go nowhere but in circles. Philippians 4, in a newer translation, says, ‘Do not be preoccupied about anything, but let the things you ask for be pointed out to God by means of prayer and earnest requests with gratitude. And the peace of God, which conquers all processes of thinking, will keep watch over your minds and what you think about by means of the Anointed One Jesus.’ 

I don’t want to feed on garbage. I want to feed on God. I see the prescription for how to do this, in the advice in Philippians. So I am crying out to God today to help me to put this word into action in my inner being today. I am grateful that this is something he can, and wants, to do.

Peace today, then, as I surrender to God’s love. Peace to you, too.

God's Grand Recycling Scheme

A simply glorious morning. I sat down to write this but felt compelled to abandon it for a bracing walk round the woods. A walk I did once, twice a day with Dusty but have since abandoned, to my loss.

I passed the towering dung pile the farmer has dumped as he’s cleaned his barns through the winter. Rotting into something wonderful.

I returned home, praising the Lord for his gifts and the beauty of this day, and took the kitchen garbage round to the compost bin. In it went – a small hill of coffee grounds, tangerine skins, potato peelings, onion skin. And then I passed the pile of rotted compost which Don recently moved from the compost heap to the garden. We left it longer this time, maybe a year, and the result in terms of tilth and richness and well-rottedness is evident. Whether or not that will result in a marvellous veggie crop next summer remains to be seen ...

I heard some teaching last night in which the woman declared that our history is part of our destiny. Our past is what makes us who we are today. Our shames keep us humble. Our hurts give us compassion. We may want to erase some memories but God uses them all to bring a fresh crop of righteousness from the gardens of acquaintances and friends where we live. 

There are some memories I’d like to delete. Some things I’d like to have not done. They continue to sit in a big towering pile of dung. One day it will have rotted into something wonderful which will feed the faith of someone else. 

It’s a transformation beyond my imagination, but within my mustard seed of faith. From dung to pure gold. But then, the dazzling diamond comes from the hardest-pressed coal which has had time. Time. 

Your sins are forgiven, Jesus told the woman caught in adultery and the man paralysed by disease. Your sins are forgiven, and in God’s amazing recycling scheme, they are transformed into something beautiful.

Amazement. Humility. Overwhelming gratitude. Awe and wonder. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is everlasting life in his perfect son Jesus Christ. 

A day like today, clear and still after days of stormy winds, encourages me to breathe deep the forgiveness and love of God, and be thankful. Forever thankful. Those he has forgiven much, love much.

Sweet Manna

They are fragrant, exquisite colours – but when I cut all the sweet peas to bring in the other day, I came in with about a dozen.

A dozen. 

I have seen other peoples’ gardens. I have seen wire fences thick with sweet peas climbing to the skies, blooming their heads off. 

Someone said that sweet peas are voracious feeders. They need good manure and compost dug in before being planted. Although I throw a bucket of the dissolving plant food onto the ground there every couple of weeks, it obviously just isn’t enough. 

We’ve been so busy with lovely folk staying for B&B, people from France, Germany and the Netherlands. We enjoy their company, hearing their stories, getting to know their customs. But it all takes time. Folks on holiday are relaxed and linger, eager to chat and be advised on sights to see in the area. We enjoy that, but it plays havoc with my daily routine.

I find that quiet times in my Bible and just in listening to God are often lost in the bustle of the morning. I get to lunchtime and feel like these sweet peas. The blooms are few and far between.

I am a voracious feeder – or I like to be. When I feed on the Bible, when I linger in prayer, when I ponder things, I am content. I am at peace and able to give more, able to bloom better. 

There is some compost dug into my life, past times of prayer and study on which I can draw. But I need today’s word to me to make fresh fruit in my life.

Makes me think of the Israelites in the desert. God provided manna on the ground every morning to sustain them, and gave them strict instructions only to collect enough for that day. It wouldn’t store but would go mouldy and wormy by the second day, except on the day before the Sabbath when they could collect a double portion so as to have a rest on one day a week.

I need my daily manna. And I also need to remember that about taking a day a week off... but that’s another story.