Winter-weary world

Winds whistle and whip the cold drops of rain in all directions. This is what my cousin calls horizontal rain, and I’m sure it happens in places other than Scotland but certainly, it does happen here.

The news is full of reports of the beleaguered folk in the southwest of England, some of whom have been living in a moated village for a month now since the flooding first began. Prince Charles paid them a visit yesterday, arriving in a tractor and wearing welly boots. His visit no doubt encouraged some people and raised the morale, but after a couple of hours, he left again. 

This morning the winds down there have uprooted trees from the soggy ground, sending them crashing across power lines and knocking out the electricity supplies, adding yet another layer of misery to people who have had too much water. And their royal visitor has gone.

So often in the Bible weariness is equated with dry, parched desert conditions, but a daily regime of grey skies overhead and flood waters underfoot is another recipe for creating weariness in people. 

Times of refreshment which the Bible promises the Lord will send may not always look like a bubbling brook. In our case, they look like clear blue skies and a powerful sun bringing warmth to a winter-weary world.

It’s hopeless to depend on the weather for refreshment from life. The Bible promises that ‘times of refreshment will come from the presence of the Lord’. 

Wherever you are today, may you experience the presence of the Lord, and the refreshment that only Jesus can bring.

Merry Christmas Eve

Weather outside is frightful.

The winds are whipping the trees into convulsive frenzies and driving the clouds through the sky. Occasional snow flurries blacken the day and then pass on to the next location. 

People all over the country are trying to get home for Christmas. In the south of England there are floods, trees on the rail lines and roads. All making for treacherous journeys. 

And I can’t control any of it. The weather will do what it will do, occasionally altered by a fervent prayer which times in with God’s plans, but more usually probably just the result of nature.

I can control the weather inside my head, though. Yesterday was the third anniversary of my dear dad’s passing on, and I was awake in the night remembering that night. I think about my ageing mother, thousands of miles away from me, grieving still. And I recognise I could give way to a raging storm of anxiety and fear for her future.

Or, I could focus on God. Psalm 63 says ‘On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.’

I can choose to think of God in the middle of the night rather than rehearse my anxieties. It isn’t an easy choice. The mind is notoriously rebellious and difficult to control. But again, the Bible declares that believers have ‘the mind of Christ’. He didn’t worry. He spent many of his sleepless nights out on the hills being close to his Father, from whom came his help. That’s why he could sing and worship as he headed towards the cross. He was in the shadow of his father’s wings, and he knew it.

So I have spent some time this morning in my prayer alcove, resting in the shadow of my heavenly Father’s wings. I have waited for his presence to be felt, for his peace to fill my heart. I have held those about whom I have concerns up before the throne of God, and entrusted them to his care.

My soul clings to God. I pray that yours does too. That is the way to perfect peace. Trusting in his faithfulness and love.

Merry Christmas Eve.

Too bright, too early

Too bright, too early

My father-in-law was right.

Not every time, but very often, when the sun is out bright at 7 am, by 11 am it will be hidden by clouds. 

Too bright, too early, he would say. 

To me, that throws a pall over the enjoyment of the early part of the day, as I look apprehensively towards the western skies, the direction from which our weather often comes. I’d rather enjoy the hours I have unclouded by ... well ... incipient clouds.

I prefer to live in hope and expect the best, than to cynically expect the worst. In spite of the fact that yes, my father-in-law, in this regard, was usually right.

This morning. Case in point. It dawned gloriously and full of promise. Now, at 11.30 am, there remain a couple of patches of blue sky only. 

But, so far, no rain! I am trying to keep my eyes on the bright side.

Why does this daily musing often reflect the British obsession with the weather, I wonder. I guess it’s because it changes so drastically, so frequently, and we’re all just desperate for it to settle down into a good long spell of hot, dry weather. 

A good long spell of hot, dry weather – rare as hen’s teeth here in Scotland. It can happen – but rarely.

My Bible reading this morning focused on Jesus’ words to the father of the girl who was dying. He encouraged him: ‘Don’t be afraid, only believe.’ 

I might believe with all my heart that the weather is going to hold, good and hot, but if the wind shifts no amount of believing will make that happen.

But if I can put all my faith in God, believing in Him with all my heart – well, anything is possible. Fear of what the day may hold (not meaning the frivolity of the weather but more serious matters) will be driven out by the faith that God’s plans are always good, and whatever the day may hold, he loves me and has me covered.

Jesus raised that dad's daughter from the dead.

 

It doesn’t get any brighter than that. And there are no clouds on that horizon.

The Hope of Spring

The weather is so perfect that both Don and I have been outside weeding the vegetable patch. The annual promise of delicious produce from our garden enticed us out and encouraged us to dig and dig. 

We do this every year. And most years, we are disappointed with the harvest. We enjoy some things fairly routinely – good lettuce and spinach, rasps and black currants, but usually we fail miserably with carrots, brassicas, and even potatoes. 

Sometimes we blame the weather. Too wet. Too cold. Too windy. Sometimes we don’t have time to weed and feed. Sometimes we blame the soil. Too thin. Too rocky. 

Could it be the gardeners?

I am so grateful that God is my spiritual gardener, and that he can give me just the right kind of spiritual food, the right amount of water, and the right amount of sunshine, if only I will linger long enough in his garden every day and soak it in. 

It’s the only way I can bear fruit. My prayer is that I will slow down on the activities, and increase my time resting in his presence and soaking in his Son.