Three-ring Circus

‘It’s like a 3-ring circus,’ my dad used to say, describing anything that was a bit chaotic. I wonder if 3-ring circuses even exist anymore? Mmm, in my memory I can smell the hay and the animals, sense the steamy heat in the Big Top Tent, and thrill to the energetic music as the Ringmaster ran into the centre and introduced the acts taking place in the three rings, all at the same time. Clowns, trapeze artists, animal acts. As a child, it was just amazing. (I hasten to say that I don’t agree with animals in circuses, but the memory lingers on...)

I sat down to be with God this morning, and my mind was like a 3-ring circus. I was reading the Bible when I realised that though my conscious mind was recognising the words in their coherent order, below that level I was thinking about my mother’s insurance and my nagging tooth ... it was a 3-ring circus, without the razzmatazz, just the chaos.

Jesus spoke peace into the storm at sea, and the wind and waves ceased and peace was restored. I reminded myself of a verse from a recent reading, Psalm 34:4: I sought the Lord and he answered me, he delivered me from all my fears, and I breathed deeply. My peace, Jesus claimed, is different from any other peace. You’ll never understand it, but it is real and it is powerful and it calmed my mind and helped me regain focus on him.

Shalom.

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.

Terra Infirma

Recently it was explained to me that the earth’s crust undulates, pulled this way and that by pressures exerted on it. Contrary to my assumption that terra firma really was terra firma (apart from tectonic plate shifts causing earthquakes), it seems it is terra in-firma. Changing all the time, sometimes subtly shifting, sometimes spectacularly shaking. Not, then, to be fully trusted. 

I hear the news, and my emotions are pulled this way and that. I find tears come readily when I hear stories of Syria. My heart bleeds when I hear of another mass shooting in a school in the US, and the response of some people in power. My heart breaks when I see a picture of the face of a shell-shocked Marine during the Vietnam War. My generation. And then my spirit soars when I celebrate a family birthday, when I play goofy games with a three-year-old precious granddaughter, or build blocks with a couple of one-year-old grandsons. My heart swells when my kids get involved in making this a better world through lobbying, through praying, through helping the poor, through loving in spite of everything. 

Jesus said to be alert to the signs of the times. Perhaps every generation since Jesus has seen the wars and atrocities, the violence and abuse and injustice, and reckoned the end was coming soon. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t. 

My job today isn’t to worry about what’s happening tomorrow, but to love without ceasing, drawing on the Spirit to inspire and fuel that love. To walk in the Light, towards the light, shattering the darkness and bringing reconciliation. As He enables me, I can speak shalom.

Perhaps the world is terra infirma, but God isn’t. He is faithful, and he is love. And he never changes.

Shalom

When they planted saplings just beyond the ‘haunted house’ a few years ago, they wrapped them in a protective plastic tube to keep the deer from nibbling them. As the trunks grow, the tube expands until eventually the girth of the tree pushes the plastic tubing right off. Presumably at this point the trees are strong enough to withstand any errant deer nibbling at its bark.

I noticed that as I walked by this morning, deep in thought and crying out to God. Serious situations beyond my control have arisen and as I voiced a fear this morning I was rebuked for my pessimism. As I reflect on that whole thing, I realize that as a mother, my instincts are always to protect, a bit like the plastic tubing. My family have all burst their plastic tubes long ago now, but still the instinct to protect is strong. And I think that has translated itself into a sense of responsibility to foresee all eventualities so that I can be ready with a plan in case it happens. I think that’s what my dad called being realistic when we accused him of being pessimistic, and I see myself in that same situation now.

I don’t want to put myself on the analyst’s couch here, but I do think that there is an element of not being able to relinquish and release. I know all of the promises of God and I believe them completely, but sometimes they sit in my head and fail to take the inward elevator down to my heart.  There is an element of control here, perhaps, of not completely moving on into my next season, letting go and trusting God. Still trying to stretch that protective wrap around my children when they have long ago outgrown it.

Today I will fast from every negative thought which threatens to invade my mind. I will close those doors. I will not allow fears of what might be to rob me of the peace of God which passes all understanding. I’m going to do what Paul coached the Philippians to do in chapter 4: ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.’

Shalom.

Reactive or Proactive?

Today has been a day where the shots have called me, instead of the other way around. I prefer the other way around. It’s tough to remain serene when you feel so out of control.

If I thought it was tough for me today, though, that was nothing compared to someone with a brand new baby! Watching my new granddaughter rule the roost at her parents’ home reminds me of just how unrelentingly demanding someone so little and cute can be. It takes patience, endurance, strength and ... youth.

Well, it makes me wonder how God views his ‘days’. I mean, does he see the sun rise over Scotland and think, ‘Great! I’ve got great plans for Michele today!’ and then watch as I buzz off on a path independently, maybe a cul de sac or even a downhill road. 

Does my initial neglect of a quiet, listening time result in a Reactive day for God as he tries to keep up with my chaotic choices? If I were more disciplined with that daily routine of sitting in my prayer alcove and listening, would God be left metaphorically rubbing his hands and whispering, ‘I love it when a plan comes together!’ 

Would I notice a big difference at the end of the day?

I know the answer to that one. I’ve done that experiment so many times you’d think I’d be more disciplined. Trying to digest Scripture like fast food grabbed on the run usually results in regurgitation or indigestion. Neither is pretty nor fun. 

So, as the day draws to a close, I am pleased to note that apart from a couple of dates with cooking full Scottish brekkies early, and a walk in the park later, I should be able to walk through tomorrow in shalom, assuming I start in it.

Jesus rose and went out on the hills to talk to his Father while it was still dark. Is it really so much for me to ring-fence a half hour?

I’ll let you know tomorrow...