Eyes Wide Open

Sporadically over the past few months, I’ve been searching for the musical mobile with dangling ducks which hung over our children’s cots when they were babies. I was sure I’d kept it and wanted it for our new granddaughter.

Couldn’t find it. Looked in all the probable places, then a few of the possible places, then gave up. 

Today as I looked for something else in the cupboard where I had always thought it was, I saw it, sitting neatly packed in a wee cardboard box.

It had always been there. I just hadn’t seen it.

God is always there. We just don’t always see him. 

Jesus tells a story or three which reveal that God has the kind of personality who never gives up. When someone or something is lost, he keeps hunting until the lost is found.

Be it a sheep, a coin, or a son (or daughter). 

That is so reassuring, because I know I for one have had my moments of wandering off. Unlike me with the musical mobile, though, God didn’t give up looking for me and then just happen to find me one day.

His search for me was deliberate and constant, and when he found me – or maybe more accurately when I recognised he was there for me – there was real jubilation in heaven and in my heart.

Thank goodness he never gave up.

Water, water everywhere

Water, water everywhere ...

I think I would be telling the truth if I claim that it hasn’t rained in 24 hours. That is the longest dry spell we’ve had here in Scotland for months, I should think.

Dusty and I had a ramble round the local hill this morning, and I noticed the cascading burns are less full than the last time we went, when water gurgled and splashed its way across compacted paths and spongey green banks.

The dog waited hopefully beside the stagnant pond, and I unthinkingly threw a stick in for her to retrieve. A sour smell greeted me and I invited Dusty out of that stinky water and onwards to something sweeter.

Beside a gurgling burn, s she chewed contentedly at the bark of a stick, and I listened to the cheerful chatter of the fresh water as it tumbled over rocks and tree roots. Fresh, clean water. Delicious to drink; refreshing (I imagine) to bob around in. 

Water is wonderful, despite our moans when we seem to get it too frequently pouring on us from above. Jesus invites us to come to him so that streams of living water will flow from us. Living water, not stagnant water. 

Some Christians do go to him and drink of the stream, but then fail to allow it to flow on through them into the thirsty world round about. It stagnates then, becomes sour, and no longer carries life. In fact, some water carries death – organisms which bring disease or illness. 

I am feeling tired today. Full of hay fever and antihistamines. Emotionally drained from another hard parting with my mother and my daughter, who left yesterday to return to California. 

I am going to Jesus, where I plan to drink what he gives me, and I hope that – once more refreshed – I can be a carrier of a stream of living water for others.

You are my Daughter, whom I love

It’s funny how often it happens that the reading I’m doing for my Bible study group overlaps with my personal reading or the topic in church or whatever. I guess God is trying hard to get me to hear sometimes.

What I suddenly heard loud and clear just as I was about to go to sleep last night were the words, ‘You are my daughter, whom I love’. We’ve been going through Matthew in church and that was the topic for the service last Sunday, as well as follow up discussion Monday night, with the obvious gender variation. I’d noticed Monday night that the Father had commended the Son before he’d even done any public ministry. He loved Jesus for who he was. 

And suddenly as I drifted off to sleep last night, those words seared into my mind. He loves me for who I am, not for what I do. Wow. That blows my mind.

Then this morning I did my Bible study for tomorrow morning’s group and guess what? It was reading about Jesus’ baptism again, this time in Luke. Again the words, ‘You are my son, whom I love...’

But even more than that, if any more is needed. Whenever I feel confused about my identity – am I a writer or a wife or a mum or a housekeeper or ...? Am I American or British? Etc – this is the bottom line. I am the daughter of the King of Kings. 

Wow. Why stress over any of the rest of it? What more is needed?

And the great thing is, I am nothing special. He says these astonishing, life-changing words to everyone. It’s just that so many have grown deaf and disinterested, cynical and lacking self-worth. 

So if you’re reading this, open your ears, and your heart. He’s speaking to you, too. ‘You are my daughter/son, whom I love.’