A Chill Wind

Minus 10C, around +20F, this morning but my neighbour and I braved it for our walk. Oddly, the road was not slippery, which is the criterion by which we make our decision to walk, or not to walk.

Ice crystals define the twigs and branches all around and set up beautifully against a pale blue sky, lightly swept with swatches of cloud. Not a breath of wind. 

I’m a warm-weather woman, but I can appreciate the beauty of such a day as this.

There is a chill wind blowing from DC these days, though, a chill wind with a sharp cutting edge, whining away under dark skies. A wind of hostility and hatred; a wind of selfishness and protectionism. A wind which is blasting the lives of the innocent and the hurting, both those inside and those outside the country. There is no beauty in what is coming out of the White House now.

Ripping up the generosity of past generations; denying the hospitality and open-armed welcome of a couple of centuries. Rejecting the notion that we are all immigrants. Among us, there may be a few with ill intent, but isn’t life itself a risk? Without a willingness to take a calculated risk, we might as well retreat to a dark underground bunker and await death, which comes to us all anyway.

Shock. Disgust. Dismay. Sorrow as I think of the sacrifices of my dear old Dad, who fought the terrible war in the Pacific in order to preserve a nation founded with high ideals of liberty and justice. I’m glad he’s not here to see what is happening to that nation. 

We didn’t pray in schools when I was growing up in the 50s and 60s, but every morning we started by standing and reciting, hand over heart, ‘I pledge allegiance, to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.’

No longer. Unless the system of checks and balances begins to operate as it was intended, and the xenophobic hatred is curtailed and denied, and the executive orders stop. 

The world we live in may be harsh, but it can be beautiful if we live with faith in the God who loves each and every creature, and if, with arms wide open, we welcome all those who are hurting and vulnerable, and we help those who are too weak to help themselves.

Season of Hibernation

One or two of the broom bushes on the drive have been pruned so hard it’s difficult to know whether or not they are even alive. They are nothing but twisted skeletons of bare branches looping and lacing round each other. 

Another few weeks, and it may be a different story. Hopefully there will be green shoots poking through the hard brown wood, promising new life.

We all have seasons in life when we need to pull in, like a tortoise pulls in its appendages, and hibernate. Perhaps we’ve been ill, or through a difficult time relationship-wise, or struggling with depression. 

Two images of living things taking a break from life. The broom bushes, and the tortoise. When conditions improve – when the air warms up and the sun pays us more than a passing glance – life should begin to stir again. 

Hibernation is a natural state, but it does render one more than usually vulnerable. My cousin’s tortoise failed to respond as winter gave way to spring one year, and they discovered it had been consumed totally – by rats, or a dog, or some other kind of predator. 

So make sure if you are hibernating, that you are in a safe place, protected and yet in a position to respond when conditions improve.

Best place I know to hibernate, is in the shadow of God’s wings.

Worship with Royalty

Every Sunday I worship with Royalty. No, that’s not correct. Every Sunday, and every minute in between them, I worship Royalty, the King of Kings. The Ruler of the Universe. The Creator, from whom all things are made. My Saviour, who stood in my place to take the rap for my sins, and never stopped loving me. My Lord. Jesus.

But last Sunday, in addition to worshiping the King of Kings, I did it in the presence of the Queen of the United Kingdom, who also bowed her head to Jesus. Members of Crathie kirk sat in the first pews, and we unknown visitors sat in the back half of the small church. We were far enough forward to have good views of those members of the Royal family who were with the monarch, as well as the Queen herself. It was exciting.

Strange, isn’t it? All the excitement over an ordinary woman doing an extraordinary job. 

We were there to support our own minister who was guest preacher, and who did a wonderful job. He spoke on our insecurities in prayer, our lack of expectation to see them answered, and took heart from a story in the Bible of the early church praying earnestly for Peter’s release from prison, but who, when he was miraculously delivered, left him pounding on the door because they weren’t expecting their prayers to be answered. 

Our faith shouldn’t be in what God will do (ie, initial our requests and act on them every time) but in who he is. Love personified. Love with arms outstretched to us, for us. But it’s risky to put our faith in his love because it makes us vulnerable, open to disappointment when he doesn’t do what we want. That’s why our love should be for him, not for what he may or may not do. We have to trust that everything he does is for the best, even when we don’t agree and it doesn’t make any sense to us. It’s risky.

We can’t ever love properly, though, if we don’t risk being hurt. We have to be open and make ourselves vulnerable if we want to experience the full flowering of true love. 

I think the Queen is amazing. 

But not as amazing as the King of Kings.