Targeted

There is a FarSide cartoon with a picture of a bull's-eye target being worn by a stag. I kind of feel that we may be wearing some sort of similar target at the moment, having been the victims of various sorts of scams in the last few months.

First there was the hacker who pretended to be one of us and got another member of the family to transfer significant funds into his own bank account. Never did get compensation for that.

Then another family member had a cheque stolen, details except signature erased with some sort of criminal’s special ink, rewritten for a much greater amount and cashed. The US bank compensated the loss right away. 

Then someone else got a letter from the bank enclosing a copy of a letter received by the bank setting up a direct debit amount of thousands to be transferred every year to a certain account. Fortunately that was nailed before any money had slipped away.

Now today, after a small credit card purchase online last night, that credit card has been compromised and someone tried to buy £500 worth of stuff from a department store this morning. The card company caught it in time. 

It doesn’t seem as if any way of dealing with money is safe. Cash is, if you don’t get your pocket picked or your handbag stolen. 

Are there more scammers out there now or is it just us? Have we just been caught in the crosshairs for some reason? 

Boy I tell you what, if it’s a choice between loving God or money I know which way I’m going. God is faithful and dependable and can’t be stolen away. Not so money.

Season of Mellow Fruitfulness

The signs are everywhere. Season of mellow fruitfulness. The trees are beginning to turn lovely shades of autumnal orange, yellow, burnt reds, and even bright reds on the acer and the Virginia Creepers. The rose hips are brilliant red beads amongst the withering foliage. The rowan berries are still a tangerine shade but darkening by the hour. 

The final harvests are ready to bring in before winter’s wild weather hits. Potatoes, carrots, runner beans. And apples! Oh, the apples are looking good at the moment. I may not be so enthusiastic in a week or so when I’m peeling them for endless crumbles and boiling them up for apple butter.

Living rurally I am so aware of the changing seasons, as anyone who reads this blog regularly knows. I probably harp on about it too much, but it is such a reminder of the passing seasons of life. And this weekend I am being particularly reminded of those passing seasons.

Yesterday morning I received an email containing a photograph of a beautiful new baby girl born to friends in Seattle. A perfect wee treasure, snuggled down in her mother’s arms. All that promise of joy and laughter and love.

By lunchtime I was sitting shoulder to shoulder in church awaiting the start of the funeral of a very special and dearly loved lady who has gone to be with her Lord. The tributes were fulsome and the tears were real. She slipped away in such a gentle, quiet way, unexpectedly. Lovely for her, but to those who are left, something distinctly unreal about it all. Is she really gone? Surely she is just in the next room, or down in London for the weekend again? 

I am confident I will see her again, only not before I slip away, too.

And today. I’m about to spruce myself up to go to the wedding of another very special lady, a young lady whose musical talents are many and whose personality and smile are quirky, fun, and lovely. The start of another season in her life. Such a privilege to be there to share her joy today.

New beginnings all around. A new life in Seattle, bringing fun and laughter, challenges and tears: a wee miracle. A new life in heaven, about which we can only speculate apart from having the assurance that our dear friend is definitely there, safe in the arms of her Saviour. And a new life here in Aberdeen as two become one in this mystical union we call marriage, with all the joys and laughter, challenges and tears that accompany the season of new life together.

Our world is always changing, but our constant is God, who is faithful and whose love never fails. I will now go put on my glad rags, and prepare to celebrate with a heart that is tender – both hurting and happy. The hurts make the happiness that much more precious, highlighting these moments as treasures to be stored up and pondered at quieter times. 

Today is a day for storing up.

The Forecast

The clock radio snapped on at 6 am and I heard the weather man in London proclaiming another sizzling day (relatively speaking). He then went through the usual geographical sweep of the British Isles, starting with the Southeast and London, ending with the north of Scotland. 

I always expect things to begin to go downhill as he comes north but no, this morning he declared everywhere except the far northern isles of Shetland and Orkney would be baking in nearly 70 degree temperatures. 

What a disappointment to open the curtain and see the heavy cloud layer. As I walked Dusty down the familiar paths, I wondered why, in this day and age, the weather man in London doesn’t just skype someone in Aberdeen and get a quick look at the skies, and give a report that more accurately reflects what is going on.

The forecast was marvellous; reality was a disappointment.

Life can be like that. All the signs point to success, perhaps, but then things don’t pan out as expected. We have a choice. We can revise our expectations and walk in real-time reality, which many may argue is the sane thing to do, or we can continue to keep our eye on the forecast, on the higher expectations, and walk in hope.

Life with God gives us the security to know that the forecast, as we read in the Bible, is wonderful, and that he is faithful to do what he has promised to do. 

Maybe today it feels like the clouds have gathered over you and it’s just about to pour, but never mind. The forecast for eternity is breath-taking. It’s not pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die, either. Because we can rely on Jesus to do what he has promised, it’s pie on your plate today. 

No matter what today holds, with God I can walk through it with a spring in my step and a song in my heart. Notice I said ‘with God’, because without him, I’d be dragging my feet sometimes.