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.

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.