Over the Rainbow

Although the sky was fifty shades of grey, there must have been enough of a hole in the clouds to allow a shaft of sunlight in: we walked towards a weak, but visible, rainbow.

Life can be five hundred shades of grey sometimes, but through it all there will be a rip in the clouds, a shaft of light, and a rainbow. In every teardrop, a rainbow.

I’m thinking about friends and family struggling in tough times right now, but underscoring these thoughts is the low bass drone of a world in turmoil through man-made violence and through natural disasters. Myanmar and Yemen, Bangladesh and Houston, the Caribbean islands and Mexico, Syria and North Korea. And more. 

In all that, it’s hard to see a rainbow. I have to keep focused on the Light of the world. In him is the rainbow, and the promised land.

Glut or Scarcity

Suddenly the ‘crops’ in the veggie patch are ready to eat, and like a two-year-old seeking attention, they want attention NOW or they will bolt. 

The lettuce and spinach will bolt, that is. The peas will swell until there is no room in the pod and then they will wither. The fruit will be pecked by birds or shrivel. The green beans will grow longer and longer until they are as tough as the sole of a shoe.

Moving from the veggie patch to the bus stop, it’s like the saying that you wait an hour for a bus and finally three come along at the same time. 

Why don’t they space themselves out? (as they’re supposed to do) Why don’t the veggies ripen at varying times? 

Makes me wonder about other aspects of living. Are we allowed only a few precious moments to flower and bloom, and then wither and droop and become useless to others?

I don’t think so. I’m thinking about the fruits of the Spirit. They grow in each of our lives, some slowly and imperceptibly (like patience!) and others in spurts and very noticeably. I believe that as we allow these fruits to ripen and then nourish those around us, new fruits ‘set’ and perhaps have a sweeter or more mellow taste. 

I believe that the climate in the Promised Land allows for three crops / harvests a year. Continuous growing at varying speeds of development. Unlike Scotland’s short sharp growing season, our lives are like the seasons in the Promised Land. If we give ourselves to God, we will bear successive crops of fruit to nourish those souls whose spirits hunger and thirst for they know not what.

To bear such crops, though, we must remain rooted in Jesus. Refreshed in him. Fed and watered by him. Trusting wholeheartedly in him.

Jesus is the real source of nourishment and fruitfulness. Abide in me, he said. Not a suggestion. A command.

Promised Land

We have a colloquial phrase about ‘going into the Promised Land’. I suppose we think of such a place akin to heaven itself, a place of perfection and peace. 

The Israelites certainly thought of the Promised Land as a place blessed by God in which they could live in peace and prosper. They had a few problems going into it, associated mostly with their lack of faith in God to deliver.

I read the other day that whatever we focus our eyes on grows bigger in our sight. As we focus on our fears, they inflate until they totally overwhelm us. Many are the stories of agonising childbirth experiences which are told to expectant mothers, drawing them to consider elective C sections rather than endure the horrors recounted to them. Others like to inflate the difficulties associated with a probationary teaching year until those embarking on this second part of their teacher training feel overwhelmed and totally intimidated. Just two examples of ways in which what we focus on turns into a giant which can paralyse us in anxiety and initiate self-doubt and fear.

We need to train our eyes to focus on God and to stay there, not to wander. I don’t imagine that David’s gaze shifted from the target of Goliath’s forehead as he slung his rock. But his inner eye would have been totally trained on God, who he knew was mighty to save and to deliver. 

Giants prevent us from entering all that God has for us. We are easily stalled by fears imagined by us or fed us by others. I know that God has a promised land he dreams that each of us will step in to. 

Today I want to extend the borders by focusing on God and trusting him for what he has promised.

Years ago, he promised that he would find the publisher for one of the books I have written. I am waiting for the fulfilment of that promise, but I am aware that over the years I’ve not so much shifted my gaze on to giants as let my eyelids droop and fall asleep. In other words, I’ve kind of given up on the fulfilment of that promise. But today, publicly and deliberately, I am going to refocus my gaze on God to deliver on this promise, and move forward into a new writing project.

I am going into a new neighbourhood of my promised land, trusting in God all the way. How about you?

Through the Desert

Moses sent scouts to check out the promised land. Go through the desert and on into the hill country, he instructed.

It seems that in every promised land, there are deserts. I am in one now, grieving for a very special dog whose bright eyes and wagging tail lit up my every day for the last 13 years. But I sense the instruction to go on through the desert, don’t set up a camp here and nurse the grief. 

We all face deserts of one sort or another. They are arid and lifeless places, monochrome even, and when the going is really tough, the temptation is to stop. To hunker down and live in the desert, live in the loss, live in the pain, live in the shadow. 

No. Press on. Press on through the desert towards the hill country, fertile and full of promise. Yes, there may be giants to face there, too, but as long as we stay close to God, they too can be overcome. 

Our lives become productive, feeding others the fruits which our experiences have grown as we encourage those lagging behind in the desert to press on towards the hill country.

I’m not in the hill country today, but I see it on the horizon. I will press on through, with God’s guidance, reassurance, comfort and help. My loss is so miniscule compared to the horrendous suffering in so many places in the world, but nevertheless, it is my loss and it is personal and painful. 

It has potential to become the compost for fruit to feed others, if I let the Lord use it.

With his help, I will.