Rain Fire

There are times when it can feel that the things I offer to God become drenched in life’s vagaries. I do things because I feel led by God; I pray in faith for things in response to his direction; yet they sit in a puddle and don’t ignite. It can be discouraging.

Elijah watched as the Baal worshippers worked themselves into a frenzy in order to persuade their god to light their dry fire. Nothing happened. No response from their idol.

Then, instructing that the wood on the altar built to God be saturated in water, Elijah prayed a simple prayer. Lord, light my fire; accept this offering to you. A fire blasted from heaven, igniting and consuming the sacrifice.

There is a lot of worldly junk around just now, trying to quench the fire within us. The more drenching, the more prayer: come on, Lord, light the fire of revival here in this place, here in this nation, here in this world.

Start with me.

Those who trust in the Lord bear fruit even in a season of drought. May we all trust, and see others enjoy the fruit of the Spirit.

Water, water everywhere

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My Dad used to quote that line from Coleridge’s Rime of the  Ancient Mariner, and it always echoes in my mind when the rain falls as it has here over the last few days, puddling and flooding fields all around us.

As we approach Thanksgiving, though, I think with gratitude that yes, there is water everywhere here, and there is lots of clean water to drink.

The basis of life, denied to so many across the globe where fires rage in drought-stricken lands, or where annual rainfall has reduced and whole populations ration what water there is.

I will give you water that bubbles up from within, Jesus said to the woman at the well, a woman whose life was parched in more than a physical way. Jesus saw her deep need for soul-drenching refreshment. He sees our deep need for the same thing, whether we are richly blessed with rainfall or not. The drought of our souls does not reflect the amount of water in reservoirs or wells. It is consequent to the frenetic pace, the immersion in a materialist world, the pressure to achieve and acquire.

You will never thirst, Jesus promises. All we have to do is come to the source of the water and drink deeply.

Wet

Woke up to a dripping landscape out my window. The sound of water splashing from the sky onto the earth, shrubs, cars, puddles, windows (clean or otherwise!) below. 

I stood in the prayer alcove, as usual, gazing at God’s world, enjoying the changes despite the harbinger they are of winter, appreciating the vibrant green. It is only that colour because of the rain falling from the sky. I come from a drought-prone patch and so I appreciate the shocking hue of green which to me shouts life.

As much as I have loved the clear blue skies and balmy temps we have enjoyed for a few weeks, when I went to the road verge to pick brambles I was disappointed at their meagre size. No plump berries. Just little hard balls of colour. Not enough refreshment from above.

When I worked in the rasp patch the other day, I was surprised at how dry the earth was. I developed an out-of-season sneezing fit of hay fever due to the flowering grass – it shouldn’t be flowering in October! So the rasp canes which I moved should be drinking in this moisture this morning, and I will hope again for next year’s crop.

I guess there are a few lessons to be drawn from this wet day. Most of them obvious. One I haven’t mentioned, though, is that because the sky is a uniform grey and the air is unremittingly moist, I am set free from the urge to get outside and tidy the garden before winter. Instead I can hunker down and work on some writing.

Change. Only God never changes. Jesus is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. But as for everything else, there is a rhythm of change which is both welcome and feared. (Who wants to grow old?) 

Well, nobody wants to grow old of course, but the climax of the piece, the hope of every believing Christian, is that we don’t stay old, but are born again into the Kingdom which never ends.  A heart full of gratitude to Jesus for his work on the cross.

Flooded

This morning I thought I would cut the grass. I actually quite enjoy cutting grass – it’s such a quick way of making the garden look instantly better.

But I flooded the lawn mower. I primed it by depressing the button 3 times, and it nearly went, but when it didn’t I primed it again. Overkill. It wouldn’t even fire.

So I had to leave it and let Don start it for me later. He made it look so easy.

The lawn mower won’t start if there’s no petrol in the tank. It won’t start if there’s too much petrol in the tank.

It made me think about spiritual food. My spiritual life will never grow if I’m not imbibing spiritual fuel. My physical body will continue to perform, fuelled by the food I eat, but spiritually I will remain a baby, or even begin to shrivel away spiritually. 

On the other hand, if I do nothing but read the Bible and other Christian books, studying and constantly taking in, and never go out there in my neighbourhood and in the world and live a Christian life, my spiritual self will be flooded, and never do anyone any good at all. 

I need a time every day with God to set me up for the day. But then I need to get out there, living my life in the world with those God has put me with, trusting him to use me for whatever his purpose is moment by moment.

Neither flood nor drought. Just the right amount of spiritual stimulus and truth to empower me every day.

Drought?

I can’t remember the last time it rained. 

 

That is a rare sentence to utter in Scotland.

The paths which Dusty and I tread, usually shod in wellies because of the mud, are dry and cracked. I can walk in trainers again. Never sandals – there are ticks in that grass, deposited by the lovely deer which roam free hereabouts. The deer are lovely; the ticks are not.

The postie mentioned the other day that the weeding was easy in his garden right now because they’re just not growing. I’d not noticed – we have a pretty big garden and there are always weeds pretty much everywhere. The wild look. Partially tamed; mostly wild. 

Anyway, then I did notice, that not only are the weeds looking stunted, so are the carrots. And peas. And beans. 

Everything needs a drink.

So, I guess the writer of Ecclesiastes should have added another line to his famously poetic to-do list.

...a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot...

Here he should have inserted “ ... a time to water and a time to refrain from watering ...”

The message of Ecclesiastes is balance, and wisdom to discern what time it is. 

I don’t need God to tell me to water my flowers and veggies. But maybe, on this occasion, I needed the postie.

That’s another thing I love about this world. We were created to depend on God; we were also created to live in community and help one another. 

Most of the rest of the Bible tells us how to try to do that.

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.

What Drought?

Last night’s headline news was of the drought across most of England. 

Well. Not up here, that’s for sure. It’s rained pretty much most of the day although now, at 8 pm, the western sky is a rosy hue blending into the darker grey cloud hovering above. And it was lovely late this afternoon.

As I squelched round the slippery track this morning, I thought about the way the earth looks when it is really desperately dry. The cracks where water once flowed. The dust from the roadsides. Our rain today was probably what farmers would call perfect, steady but not pounding, enough to give the crops a good long drink without washing away the seed. 

When I was growing up in southern California, my parents had a garden hose called a ‘soaker’. It was a normal rubber hose except that it was relatively flat, and it was perforated at regular intervals. My mother would lay the soaker in amongst the flowers that needed a slow, steady drink without getting their foliage wet. 

It prevented the ground from hardening into clods and cracks that would not be able to absorb fast-falling rain. It kept the soil permeable, absorbent. 

Christians need to live in our hardened society, like a soaker. We need to live lives of integrity, pointing to Jesus, usually without words – the steady, gentle moisture of God’s unconditional love permeating those hearts which have hardened to Him. 

The situation is getting desperate – the spiritual drought is real. 

Will you become a soaker with me?