Never gives up

Unseasonably warm weather in the northeast of Scotland. Despite all the redecorating jobs indoors, I dallied outside to clear away some of autumn’s dead leaves and branches. A noise broke through my thought-processes. The sound of many hooves, on the move. The occasional lowing as most of a herd of cows wandered up the road in search of food.

What do I know about herding cows? Enough to know that it’s harder than it looks.

By the time I reached the end of the drive, a farmer approached in his tractor. They weren’t his cows, but he knew whose they were. A few loud yells from him and the herd turned and headed back to where they belonged. The movement of his tractor kept them retracing their steps.

‘They’re hungry,’ he explained. ‘They’ve been left in the same field all winter and there’s no more to be eaten. They need to be moved.’

He expressed some frustration with the other farmer.

The steadfast love of the Lord shows itself in the unending mercies which come our way. He never leaves us in the desert without giving us food. Even during wintry seasons of life, he provides. We never need to break out in search of more.

And yet often we do. And the Lord’s grace and mercy ushers us back into safe territory where we can graze on his life-giving word.

I am profoundly grateful that he never gives up on me.

Feeding time

How do they know?

The bird feeders hung empty. The driveway was devoid of breadcrumbs, too. I filled them, hung them, scattered breadcrumbs (not from my homemade bread…) and hey, presto! Within a minute the place was jumpin’ with feathered friends tucking into breakfast.

How did the word get out so quickly? Were they all hunkered down nearby, hungrily hoping I might show up and quick to respond when I did? Were they nearly despairing, knowing there was every chance I just might not show up with nuts and seeds? Is there a birdsong frequency I just can’t hear, that put out the call: Food’s up!

I have just come out of the prayer window. God never leaves the spiritual feeders hanging empty. There’s a feast if I take the time with him. There are always crumbs scattered through the day, too, and I can enjoy him if my spiritual antennae are out. He is a faithful God, who never lets us down.

Prayer

A flash of movement on an upper branch of the rowan tree drew my attention. A woodpecker hammered away at the wood, hoping to find nourishment. Suddenly he lifted off and flew to the bird-feeder, where there were some easy pickings.

Tried my new bread-maker yesterday, a thoughtful Christmas gift. I had to breathe deep to read the directions, do all the prep, and then struggled a bit with the electronic controls, which failed to respond to my finger’s pressure until suddenly they did. I’m sure I’ll figure that out.

The bread exuded a gloriously delicious smell all afternoon and finally pinged to indicate it was finished. Wholewheat bread: I knew it is harder to get it to rise but I thought that this machine would be the panacea, so I was disappointed with the result. Tastes fine, but next time I’ll make a large rather than medium loaf, maybe mixing the flours and hope it produces a bigger loaf.

The temptation is to fly off to the supermarket and buy what’s on the shelf, full of additives and expensive though it is. I will continue to experiment with this bread-maker, though, hoping to figure out the best way to get the result I’m expecting.

Spiritually, it’s tempting to live off the sound-bites of theologians and writers who can word things so cleverly and meaningfully. But the Lord knows what I need at this moment, and it’s as I hang with him that I receive the real food to carry me through the day. It’s called prayer, but don’t let the word put you off.

Empty Udder

OK, so I really am living in the heart of the countryside, and every morning I walk past fields which sometimes are full of cows.

A new herd grazed in one of the fields this morning. Some looked at me curiously as they chewed their cud. Others charged at Dusty, who charged back at them from the safety of our side of the fence. 

One cow stared at me  ‘glakitly’ (Scottish for vacantly) as her calf pushed and prodded in vain on an empty udder. Or at least it looked pretty shrunken to me. 

His mother didn’t seem to notice, nor even care. 

It made me think of the way we all – metaphorically speaking – feed on one another. Someone I know refuses to spend time with people who have what she calls ‘negative energy’ because she feels it sucks life out of her. Bad vibes, we might have called it in the ‘60s. 

We all need to feed our souls, so that we have something positive for others to glean from us. For me as a Christian, that means spending time in God’s presence and being filled with his Holy Spirit so that I can overflow with his goodness when I’m out and about, naturally and without effort or contrivance. For others it may mean reading poetry or verse, or spending time in nature or in music. 

None of us wants to be caught staring glakitly as others try in vain to gain some nourishment from us. I want to be a source of refreshment, not a black hole of discouragement. Don’t you?

Should I keep writing?

A spring in my step this morning. Friday. I’ve kind of been longing for Friday, not because it’s the last day of the working week, but because it is the first day of the working week when I have been able to stay home, out of a car, away from any meetings – good or bad. 

I was full of plans. A few tasks to mop up which I’ve been intending to do for awhile. Yuck stuff. But then, I thought, I would take time to try and reinvest in whatever writing career I ever had. I’ve just been too easily distracted these last months. I’ve not been writing creatively. I’ve hardly written any proposals or articles. I’ve not researched anything or challenged myself in this area at all.

I’ve been distracted. I’ve been wondering if my writing years are over. After all, they weren’t very successful, in a worldly sense. Yes, I turned out three books which I think have merit. Yes, I’ve had a fairly regular outlet for magazine articles. 

But it’s all been a push. It takes energy. It takes imagination. It takes sheer hard work. It takes hours.

And it takes self-belief. And for me, a belief that it is what God is calling me to spend my time on. 

I feel like the little boy with the picnic lunch. I have a picnic lunchbox size gift for writing, but I want God to take that and feed the masses with it. 

So far, he’s not done that. And I’m stagnating. Time is flying by. And I’m not writing.

Well, I’ll go walk the dog. Maybe I’ll find inspiration there. Maybe God will tell me to put away the lap top and go find something else to do. 

Or maybe He’ll give me an idea. Encouragement. Confirmation that yes, I was born to write.

Whether or not it feeds the masses. It may just feed my soul. And maybe that’s enough.