The song birds will again be heard

The normal peace and quiet is ruptured early when a cohort of tractors and trailers and other farm vehicles converge on the field which surrounds our house. A vehicle whips round ahead of the other two tractors, literally whirling the cut silage into raised lines of grass. Expertly, the other two farmers zoom round the field in tandem, one machine sucking up the grass and launching it into the trailer attached to the other tractor. It’s all done at break-neck speed as seagulls, pretty far inland, soar and dive overhead, excited at the meal they expect.

Now, two or three hours later, they’ve gone. The field is bare. I don’t even hear the seagulls. Perhaps they’ve moved on with the tractors, groupies in search of the next meal.

The glorious chorus of varied birdsong I heard last night, with the cuckoo as percussion, has gone silent in the mayhem. I do hear the odd crow, but none of the trilling and singing we usually enjoy. I know they’ll be back.

I look across the ‘pond’ at the land of my birth and I see mayhem and strife. In a paroxysm of pain with over 100,000 covid-related deaths. Writhing with over 40 million unemployed. With such a tinder box of heartache and sorrow, anger and fear, a racist crime committed by police has been the spark to ignite expressions of justified outrage. Expressions which began in peace, have been infiltrated and overtaken by noisy disruptors stirring violence and expressions of utter frustration.

There is a vacuum of leadership from the top. Nero fiddles while Rome burns. The commander in chief is playing golf, or eating a Big Mac, or staging a photo op in front of a church, or, worse, preparing to send out the military and quell the crowds with more violence.

It’s past time for dialogue to get serious, to mean something, to shift the endemic prejudice that threads through institutions and to bring about change. It’s past time for justice to break out, justice spouting like a fountain from the core of each individual, changing attitudes, changing traditions, changing expectations, creating a new normal. It’s past time for that new normal to really recognise the equality and dignity of every human being, regardless of race, gender, or creed.

There is no silence yet, and I don’t expect there will be for some time.

But my hope is rooted in Christ, the Prince of Peace. So as we watch in horror, I pray for us all: ‘May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.’

The song birds will again be heard.

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Change is Coming

A white chiffon curtain suspended from heaven early this morning, shrinking our horizon and shrouding the hills. Gradually the weak winter heat of the sun has dissolved it and as it disappeared, white-topped hills appeared, etched against a blue sky. And now, nearly noon, and a stillness, welcome after so many days of wild winds, embraces us. Birds trill their songs; the icy snow from yesterday melts from the tops of the bushes, and the slush on the drive evaporates.

Everything changes. Some changes I see coming; some will surprise me. Some will delight me; others I will resist.

Jesus, though, is the same, yesterday, today and forever. He is the Rock on whom I stand. He is the anchor in the storm. He is the root to which I am grafted in. Though changes come, he will never change. He will be there for me today, tomorrow, and forever.

So grateful for that security. So grateful for his peace.

A Little Rest

‘Let’s take a break and get a little rest,’ Jesus said to his exhausted followers.

I remember the constant pressure of having toddlers and pre-schoolers in the home, the energetic activity and endless demands. Once I planted a couple of mine in front of ‘Playschool’, a television programme which was on for fifteen or twenty minutes in the morning. I quietly closed the door to the bedroom and sank to my knees. I wanted to take a break with Jesus, and get a little rest.

Within a minute or two, however, both kids burst into the bedroom, arguing over something.

Jesus went off with his tired friends, but by the time they arrived at their place of rest, a huge crowd surrounded them, demanding his ministry. With compassion and grace, Jesus went ‘right to work’ teaching them.

I’d like to say mine was a reaction of compassion and grace. I was more like the disciples, advising Jesus to send the crowd away. I was irritated and cross, cheated of my fifteen minutes of rest with Jesus. I felt like sending the kids ‘away’ back to the telly. I didn’t show any compassion or grace, and never tried to get away again like that, recognising I showed more grace sitting with them watching Playschool than bursting into an angry tirade when my moment was gone.

Circumstances don’t always let us get away to a quiet place with Jesus and get some rest. He can give us ‘rest on the run’ when we’re under pressure, but for me, anyway, making space in my day or week to take a little break with Jesus, maybe worshipping with Christian music or walking with him in the woods, is crucial for my health.

Squirrelling

It’s that time of year.

When Dusty was alive, I would always carry a bag with me on our walks. I would gather pine cones and twigs to use for lighting fires once the winter set in. I felt like a squirrel, busy storing nuts for those cold winter days.

Summer doesn’t last forever. So important to store up for the days which may be bitter and cold. Nourishment from a storehouse is never so tasty as that freshly picked, but nevertheless, it is nourishment, and it can sustain life.

Heading off soon for two weeks of busyness and emotional challenge, moving Mom again. Mostly I will be drawing on the nuggets of wisdom and encouragement gathered now.  Living close to others, there is little privacy to draw near to God and listen. Only during the nights, when jet lag will probably enable me to snuggle in to my heavenly Father and know his love and peace.

Perspective. I will keep the cross in full view. All else then retains its correct proportion.

A miracle

Jesus did it all. All to him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain; he washed it white as snow.

My carbon footprint is huge. My aim is to reduce it. To drive less; fly less; eat less meat; use less plastic. But I find circumstances necessitate me driving more, flying more. The meat and the plastic are in my control, but when other pressures bear down, it’s often the easy option I choose. Not the ones that will have less of a negative impact on our planet.

I have to give this to Jesus, too. If he could wipe out the crimson stain of my sin, he can negate my carbon footprint. As I trust in him, he can guide my choices. He can influence my thinking. He can inspire my activism. He can change me.

It feels as if we are in a race to the bottom, spiralling out of control politically, as nation rises against nation. Some of our leaders are delusional, yet there seem to be no people of integrity and courage, of noble character, willing to stand up and depose them. Their actions and careless words bring death and loss, suffering and anguish, and still they speak. Still they sit in positions of power.

In the Bible, God looks down and cries out: is there nobody to stand against the evil?

He sent his son. Jesus.

The world is crying out. Peace, peace, but there is no peace. No real peace outside of Jesus.

Jesus is our prince of peace. He is the source of deep peace, peace beyond intellectual understanding, peace in the midst of turmoil.

He wipes away my sin. He guides me into responsible living choices. He heals my wounds. He mends relationships. He makes me brave. In the thick of things, he inspires my heart as I look to him. Peace. All to him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain; he washed it white as snow.

A miracle.

Thy Kingdom Come

Thy kingdom come. Looking out my prayer window this morning, I think perhaps it has.

A clear blue sky, no wind, daffodils bobbing gently in a light breeze. The birds chattering and singing continuously. No traffic on the road. Peace.

Most of the time, most of us don’t live in such a place. Most of the time we are navigating stormy seas of one type or another. Relationships, circumstances, financial challenges, bereavements, anxieties. And even though I gaze out at such peace, my life just now reflects the tempest rather than the calm.

Jesus invites us to bring all our anxieties to him, and he will give us that peace which passes all understanding. Somehow in the midst of wild storms, we can walk as though under blue skies hearing birds chirping happily. I know this to be true; it still takes will power and faith to claim it moment by moment.

May you find such faith today, and may I, too.

Rainbows

A vibrant rainbow this morning caused my neighbour to wonder which arch-end rested on that legendary pot of gold. The postman asked if we’d found the pot of gold for, as he drove towards the house, the rainbow seemed to rest on our property.

I love rainbows. During a particularly difficult time, I felt God whispered to me, ‘In every teardrop is a rainbow’. Sunshine and showers are the ingredients for a glorious rainbow.

Rainbows are a sign of God’s promise of mercy and love to a flooded world. It’s so human for us to add a pot of gold to something which is intrinsically worth so much more. We are more tempted by tangible treasure than we are by divine love.

Today may my focus be on God’s gift to us in Jesus, a treasure beyond all others, and may that focus bring peace, contentment and hope.

Smell the Coffee

Smell the Coffee

Dear friends came to visit us after they’d been in Rwanda for a month, so they brought us a bag of coffee. We so enjoyed our time seeing them again, and long after they have gone, I am reminded of them every time I make coffee. It is delicious coffee, with a mild, rich aroma and taste, and its fragrance makes me smile as I remember their cheerful smiles and the time we spent together.

Their presence lingers on in the smell of the coffee. Jesus’ presence lingers on in the words of the Bible. Reading about what he did and what he said fills my mind with the rich fragrance of his loving presence. His words draw me into his warm embrace where I can linger and sense his encouragement and peace.

May you sit back and enjoy the fragrance of Jesus today, either through his words in the Bible or through the lives of others who love him. May his fragrance draw you into his embrace, and overpower the foul, worldly smells rising all around.

Sunrise, Sunset

The sunset last night. Only God could have painted such a thing of beauty. I rushed for my phone and ‘captured’ it, three times. None of the pictures begins to do it justice.

I remember seeing the Grand Canyon a few years ago, after a lifetime of seeing pictures of it. None of them did it justice. It took my breath away, literally, and was almost a transcendental experience itself.

Some things of beauty can’t be captured, explained or passed on. They have to be experienced.  I can share my experience of being born again into God’s kingdom, and the most I can hope for is that the listener will be so excited about my experience that she will rush off and start asking God to reveal himself to her, too. She will never be impacted by his presence until she opens herself to be impacted by his presence.

May your day be shot through with beautiful ‘sunsets’ which can’t be explained, only experienced, and may you take time to drink those moments of beauty deep into your soul.

Over to You

If I were an artist, I would attempt to paint the picture the Lord gave me a couple of weeks ago, of the stagecoach being dragged wildly over rough terrain, pulled this way and that by six or eight untamed horses, with a driver crazily distracted and aware that there was a cliff somewhere up ahead. Suddenly Another was beside him, taking the reins, calmly taking charge and reassuring the driver that He knew where the cliff was and He was in charge. That picture so filled me, the erstwhile driver, with peace for the day’s tasks.

This morning He reminded me that this is the day that he has made. Last night a message came in for something for Mom which filled me with fear and required midnight Skypes. With Mhairi’s help, it is resolved this morning, though there remains in me a frisson of unease because there is another element to the story which remains unresolved.

But this is the day that the Lord has made. He is in charge of my circumstances, of Mom’s circumstances. He has the reins. If I allow him to drive this, I should be able to enjoy an exhilarating ride and not be driven by fears and forebodings.

I have said that if I have a regret, it is that I am not more adventurous and less timid and easily frightened by heights, speeds, water, whatever. Perhaps this is the day, when the Lord is inviting me to enjoy the adventure with him, not anticipating disaster, but revelling in the moment.

Thank you, Lord, for entrusting this to me, and may my squeals be ones of delight and joy, not fear. Over to you.

Connective Tissue Disorder

Connective tissue disorder. One of the descriptors for a syndrome I have. Sufficiently vague for me to ignore unless my joints flare up and cause pain. Then I think I understand what it is.

Families can suffer from connective tissue disorder, maybe more so now as so many connect with others through some sort of device, rather than over a cup of coffee on a couch or at a table. It isn’t necessarily anger or an incident that creates dissonance in a family. It may be down to a simple lack of communication, a failure to hang out and high-five each other, watch the birds at the feeder together, or cook a meal together. Failure to connect. 

There is a wonderful woman in church whose quiet, behind-the-scenes work prevents connective tissue disorder from developing there. Faithful to serve at Friday coffees, always the first there getting things underway. Faithful to choir practice before a service. Faithful to take care of the communion dishes and what goes in them. She gets on with her work quietly, without fanfare. She lives her life quietly, without fanfare. She puts no detergents down the drain but rather washes everything in a basin, which is emptied in the yard. When her time is up, she will have left the smallest of detrimental footprints on God’s beautiful creation. I think she will be at the top table in God’s Kingdom. She was never the big joint getting things done, moving places, changing things, but quietly and unobtrusively has kept the body working together. 

Our nation – the world – suffers from connective tissue disorder. What we need is someone to keep us connected, keep us communicating. A peacemaker. The Prince of Peace – for the time being, he is reaching out to others through you and me. Shalom.

WMDs

WMDs. Remember those? Weapons of Mass Destruction. Never did find them in Iraq, but there are many squirreled away in cupboards and on shelves in the USA. Available and ready for an adolescent with a grudge to pick up and use to destroy lives. 

Again.

WMDs. Words. The tongue is a flame of fire, a whole world of wickedness. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names will never hurt me, we used to chirp. Not true. Words, names, verbal attacks go deep. Words spoken cannot be unspoken. It is easy to lash out; impossible to take back. 

Peace. My peace I give you, Jesus said. Living in his peace, I will not launch my WMDs. I pray that he will help me abide in his peace today.

Praying for the bereaved in the Florida shooting.

Appeasing the Lion

Imagery of the wild and untamed world yet again. Too much cheese? Or is God speaking? I know what I think: see what you think.

So last night I had a powerful dream which I actually remembered when I awoke. I was back home in Long Beach, on Josie Avenue, in the bedroom I grew up in at the house my Mom sold a couple of years ago now. I was in ‘my’ bedroom lying down in a double bed. I was sharing the bed with a lion, a male lion with the full mane. While I regarded him with apprehension, he slept peacefully. 

Somehow I knew that Mom was in the house somewhere, and that there were an additional two lions in the house too - lionesses. I wasn’t terrified; I didn’t run away or rush to warn Mom or try to kill the lion(s), but with a measure of anxiety in my heart I headed to the fridge to find something to feed the lion when he awoke. I had a very real fear that otherwise I would be his next meal. 

I retrieved what I thought was a chunk of cheese from the pretty empty fridge, only to discover it was butter. Somehow I thought that he might have been satisfied with a chunk of cheese, but that butter just would not do the trick.

Just back from a walk where I examined the dream with God, sure there are depths in there that need plumbing. For now, what I understand is that although I am in ‘bed’ with God, I’m not trusting that he is happy just to have me near. I feel I need to placate him somehow, to bring him offerings from my ‘store cupboard’, and without such gifts of appeasement I just might come a cropper and be devoured by him. 

Considering my previous two blogs about the real wild enemy who does seek to devour us, I know in my heart that my loving heavenly Father does not want to devour me but keep me safe. I need that knowledge to penetrate to my very being so that my thoughts and actions reflect that truth.

It occurs to me that it’s incredible that He has enough confidence in me to ‘sleep’, trusting that I will not betray him, and yet I often lie awake at night trying to work out ways of ‘fixing’ things in my life so that I and my family will conform to his expectations – or hopes – for us...not trusting him to fix things as only he can do.

Come to me, he invites us, everyone who is weary and bearing a heavy burden, and I will give you rest, give you peace, give you a break. My prayer for myself, and for us all, is that I will deepen my trust in Him so that I can lie down and sleep in peace, knowing that He is near, protecting, guarding, and loving me – not for how well I’m ‘fixing’ things but for trusting him to fix them.

Vintage

Vintage Fisher Price boy, baseball cap sideways, red freckles scattered over a grumpy face, found lurking under a living room chair. That – and the sheets and towels hanging up drying – remind us of a weekend of laughter and fun as most of the family gathered. Four wee cousins together for the first time: precious. Priceless moments to be savoured.

Blessing upon blessing. By coincidence (!), our reading this morning was Isaiah 61:1-3. Verse 3 was God’s promise last year, a promise graciously fulfilled: during this year we have watched and experienced God’s loving hand on our lives, comforting all who mourn, bestowing a crown of beauty instead of ashes, anointing with the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and bedecking us all in a garment of praise as wee Eliott joins cousins Callan, Felicity and Gregor. 

God is good. As peace settles back on this rather empty home, our memories pop with moments relived, of laughter and joy, love and conversation, fun and an unspoken communion between us all. 

Happy Monday.

Another Flat Tire

Another flat tire this morning. As I moaned about how frequently we have these, Don explained that the metal rims are corroded and so the tires don’t lean in tight and that’s what deflates them. (I think. Not overly interested in the causes, I just don’t want them!) 

Yesterday in Bible study we did an exercise in listening to God’s voice speaking to each of us. Some of us found it easier than others to distinguish what he might be saying from what we might be thinking ourselves. 

Perhaps spiritual corrosion keeps us from leaning in to God and being aware of his presence, his stillness, his peace, his voice. Spiritual corrosion resulting, perhaps, from overly-busy schedules, lack of teaching, even disbelief that he would want to speak to me.

I believe God speaks frequently to each of us, but that most of the time his words fall on deaf spiritual ears. Today I aim to lean in more, to take risks and to step out in faith.

No more flat spiritual tires.