Shotgun!

He took the corner wide and fast, perhaps distracted by the three vehicles behind him, certainly not focused on what might be coming in the other direction.

We were. We were coming in the other direction.

My neighbour and I were on our way to the pool, not anticipating an Aberdeenshire council highways maintenance truck to be careering round the corner, on the wrong side, at speed. The driver reacted just in time, pulling his big truck over towards the Mill while we took evasive action. I waved my arms at him in futility, and then we parted ways, carrying on with our journeys as if nothing had happened. As if a near-miss collision had never occurred.

It could have been different. A few seconds either way, and perhaps tragedy might not have been averted. As it was, Mary and I went swimming, and he went to work.

How many times has my life been preserved by a few milliseconds? Years ago, Mhairi skied down a slope in Andorra, oblivious that an avalanche was virtually following her. She only discovered the near-miss when she reached the bottom and was told that a café halfway down the hill had been buried in snow. It could have been her.

We are not always saved from tragic – difficult – situations; but whatever the outcome, we have a faithful God who is always with us, weeping when we weep, rejoicing when we rejoice.

I don’t need any other reason to be giving thanks as Thanksgiving is celebrated, though I have dozens of reasons to be thankful. But mainly I am thankful to the Lord who rides shotgun with me through life, whatever happens.

Thank you, Lord.

Keep Schtum!

In one of the early Narnia books by C S Lewis, the witch invades London and commandeers a taxi – pulled in those days by a horse. I have a picture of her in my mind’s eye as I write – she is standing with feet planted firmly on the footrest where the driver had been sitting. She’s pushed him off and now stands, legs akimbo, hair wildly blowing, one hand holding the reins, the other lifting a whip high, ready to be brought crashing across the poor horse’s back. She is jolting from side to side through the wet cobbled streets of London.

I like to think I let God do the driving in my life. I know that is the best way. That is what I want to do. But.

I have a situation in my life. I am upset about it, and long to wade in and fix it...though I am aware that my ‘fix’ might just make things worse. God’s been highlighting a truth to me for some time now: the Bible says that Jesus’ mother Mary ‘pondered things in her heart’, and I read the other day how Jacob, when hearing Joseph’s dream, ‘pondered it in his heart’. It seems it is a good policy to keep ‘schtum’ sometimes. Maybe always. Ponder and pray. Trust and obey.

Initially I felt relief that I didn’t have to sort this situation. God would. I praised and thanked him. I felt great. Until 3 am, when I awoke and began to stew. So one night I got up and drafted out an email, convinced that perhaps, in fact, I ought to just say a couple of things. I didn’t press Send,  though, realising that I needed to ask advice and consider it in the cold light of day. 

Which I did, and then, still convinced that the time of pondering was over and I should take action, I pressed Send. Twice. My laptop did not respond. It had switched off Wifi. I found the button and switched it on again. Still no connection. By the time I had Troubleshot the problem and was back on line, I had recognised my folly. My disobedience.

Like the wild witch in the Narnia story, I had given up riding shotgun and had pushed Jesus over and grabbed the reins. I was about to run roughshod through the situation, so God in his mercy shut me down. 

I feel peace again. I am where I belong, riding shotgun, with Jesus holding the reins. Grateful that he sometimes intervenes in spectacular ways to help us obey him. Like the psalmist, I wait for him to sort the situation. He’s the God of miracles, after all.

Shotgun Shadow

Memories crowd my mind of better days, better times. Days when Dusty was young and full of life, riding shotgun in the car with me and sticking close as my shadow. This will be her last night as she is suffering with kidney failure and we will need to get the vet in tomorrow. 

I know she’s only a dog, but the anguish of deciding when to call the vet feels like treachery to the faithful friend I’ve laughed with so many times through the past thirteen years. Maybe only ‘doggy’ people will understand the shredded feelings we are all dealing with...

Only a dog? How could I have written that? She has been so much more than ‘just’ a dog over these years. Her frolics and antics have called forth laughter and joy from deep within me, even in troubled times. Her exuberance for living and the joy with which she greeted me every time I returned from wherever I had been will remain as a ray of sunshine in my mind forever. 

Do dogs go to heaven? I’ve been telling her that for the last three days, making a date to meet and throw sticks for fetching out of lochs and lakes, in a place where God has wiped away every tear and death is no more.

Roll on that blessed day. Your Kingdom come, o Jesus, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Meanwhile, we’re in the pits as the four-legged shadow is lengthening and beginning to fade.