Are you connected?

A family birthday looms large and I was given an on-line gift list from which to choose. That’s great – it means he gets what he wants and I get it from the comfort of my living room. EXCEPT ...

In order to purchase the gift I chose, I needed to log into the site, which I’ve been on before for various gift items. Logging in of course means a password, which of course I’ve forgotten. So, I apply for a new one, which is emailed to me, and I click on their secure site and fill in a box and hey, presto, I can now enter that on the shopping site and ...

Now my credit card has expired. I need to re-enter a new one. Then there seems to be a problem with the delivery address. Oh, and I need to add a descriptor. Great, now ...

The credit card issuer has another security hoop through which I must jump. Try to remember the stuff. Fortunately I do, and yippee, the birthday gift should be winging its way my way.

In time for said bday.

I am so grateful that I don’t need a password to talk to God. I don’t need to remember a security word or question. I don’t need a credit card. 

Speaking to God is free. He’s always available. And because he knows everything, he doesn’t need to test my validity by keeping security questions up his metaphorical sleeve. He knows if I’m serious about having a relationship with him, or if I’m just out for all I can get.

And whatever the case, he still loves me unconditionally and is ready to talk.

Of course, if I want to speak to him constantly, throughout my day and night, I can keep the line open via the Holy Spirit, who takes me right through Jesus to God. I don’t ever need to log off, and nobody is going to hack in. 

The line is open, secure, and hassle-free. 

So why is it so hard for folks to connect?

The Fragrance of Spring

Walking down the drive with Dusty this morning, my nostrils were greeted with the glorious fragrance of spring blossom. The flowers on the broom, flame-yellow, have that slight aroma of coconut – delicious.

Sad, then, to see so much blossom already dying on the ground where it’s fallen. It doesn’t last long. Of course, if the blossom is from a fruit-bearing tree, although the blossom is on the ground the fruit is beginning to sprout on the trees – hope of a feast to come. Cherries are the fruits along our drive. Usually the birds harvest most of the sweet, tiny dark cherries, known locally as ‘geens’. But if we’re quick enough, we’ll rescue a few, and enjoy their juicy flesh.

Paul writes about the fragrance of Jesus. It is the essence of pure love, sacrificial, unconditional, eternal. He says to the Corinthians that God spreads the aroma of the knowledge of Christ through believers, arousing a reaction among those with whom we mix. Those whose faith is in Christ smell that delicious scent of blossom, with the promise of fruit to come, fruit for the hungry. Those hungry may find the aroma arouses an appetite in them to know God, a spiritual hunger and thirst they never before experienced.  And the promise of Jesus is that whoever comes to him will never be turned away.

There are also people, however, who will find the fragrance of Jesus to be a stench that wrinkles the nose and causes them to turn away in disgust. Some will choose to seek to satisfy spiritual hunger and thirst in other ways. 

Of course it is true that in every generation, there are Christians who are Christians in name more than in heart, expressing itself in attitude and action. Those who are quick to judge, quick to condemn, self-righteous and proud. Such ‘Christians’ do give off a stench of death and bring the name of Jesus into disrepute. 

It’s so important for believers to spend enough time marinating in Jesus, so that the scent they carry is attractive and true. Any one of us could fall into the trap of busyness in church activities especially, which robs us of time spent lingering in the presence of Jesus, and which then allows the fragrance in us to go sour and our witness to become off-putting to the world.

Today I pray that the fragrance of Jesus in me bears fruit that nourishes the dry and hungry spirits of others.

Sensible Shoes

Picture one of Disney’s Seven Dwarfs. Shave off the beard and trim the untamed eyebrows. Remove the pointy felt hat. 

Well, that’s who I resembled on my dog walk this morning. Another glorious morning; sun with warmth in it beaming down a blessing from the clear blue sky; birds singing their hearts out; slugs getting sluggier by the day underfoot (yes, one of the downsides). 

We’re havin’ a heat wave here in Scotland – it may only be about 20C/70F, which is practically winter temps for where I’m from, but compared to 9C/48F of last week, positively balmy. So I am dressed accordingly. Knee-length leggings and an overshirt (which is where the resemblance to the dwarves begins) – yes, that was me this morning. 

Now that I’m back in my home, I’m back in my feminine sandals. But out there – out there where the slugs crawl thick and the ticks lurk in leaves and grasses – I was wearing what my dad would have called boondockers. DM’s to the modern generation. Well, not exactly DM’s – these are waterproof and fur-lined, but you get the picture.  Certainly not a fashion statement.

As I trudged along behind Dusty, I thought of another term my dad would have used to describe the way I looked. He’d have teased me for looking like a hunyock, or a country bumpkin. 

Does that bother me? Do I care? Well – I certainly don’t care when I’m out there with nobody to see me but the odd deer or rabbit. But would I set out so attired if I lived in the centre of Banchory? Hmm. 

That thought drew me to thinking about the armour of God. Not such an incongruous leap, because  I was thinking of the shoes of the readiness to share the gospel of peace spoken of by Paul in Ephesians. 

And those shoes can’t really be strappy sandals, or stilettos, or expensive trainers, because I may be wading through some boggy mires out there in the world. Swamps of opinions which might just suck nonsensical footwear right off my feet and leave me exposed and vulnerable.

Maybe sometimes my reluctance to share my faith comes because I’m, spiritually speaking, mincing around in my strappy sandals instead of being willing to be seen in my boondockers. I don’t want to appear weird, like one of the dwarfs. I want to blend in, even to be fashionable in my opinions, and so I am tempted to keep quiet when perhaps what I need to do is put on the sensible shoes and share the good news. Not in any preachy, arrogant way, but in the same way that I share my experiences about other things in my life. 

Because, unlike the appearance of the Seven Dwarfs – or me, this morning – there is nothing weird about the gospel. It can only be seen as the best news in the world, that the God of heaven and earth loves you and me without condition, even when we have been sucked into the murkier mires of life.

Even when we are wearing stilettos, or boondockers.