Heaven

Dusty had a foretaste of heaven last weekend, when she bunked in with the rest of us at Kindrochet Lodge on the Atholl Estate. 

First and foremost, all of her favourite people were there. 

Next, within a few feet of the front door were bushes under which burrowed many rabbits. At the bottom of the garden, a burn bubbled past, with sticks strewn round its banks just waiting for me to toss them in to her. 

Round the back of the Lodge were some free-roaming sheep. That required a bit of input from me, but once she’d accepted the stern admonition that these four legged balls of wool were not there for her amusement nor to be rounded up, she got on with the serious business of sniffing every inch of the pasture.

The day of the wedding wasn’t so much to her taste, of course, as she was abandoned for nearly 12 hours as we all celebrated in style. But she managed with walks on either side of the lengthy span of time, and has returned home unscathed.

We also enjoyed a foretaste of heaven last weekend, and that foretaste also centred round relationships with our favourite people. Not all of them could be there, but there were a goodly number who were, and we enjoyed conversations, hugs and kisses with them all.

Knowing how wonderful heaven will be, makes the journey through life less fearful and the approach to new life more inviting.

Anticipation

Every time I awoke during the night, I prayed for my mom and my daughter Mhairi, knowing they were somewhere 35,000 miles above the earth headed this way.

I just checked Heathrow Arrivals and they are just about to land there. The prayers continue, as I think about the ordeal ahead getting an 89-year-old exhausted Gramma from Terminal 3 to Terminal 5. And as I think of her loving granddaughter fighting her corner, finding a wheelchair and its requisite pusher, getting her to the next point of departure, buying her a nice coffee, rubbing her arm lovingly. Praise God for such an amazing daughter / granddaughter. I know I do.

So my anticipation mounts as I continue to work in the kitchen, preparing food for tonight and the weekend of festivities to come. It isn’t work but a pleasure, knowing that only a few short hours separate us from another blessed family reunion. 

After all the weeks of preparation, we are nearly there, ready to celebrate this new beginning for Robbie and Emma. And I am so happy ... fighting the tears as another of our boys gets married, the third in three years. So happy, and yet tinged with sadness that those special years have slipped past. I know, to be replaced by new special years, but still ...

Of course we’re approaching Advent, the church season in which we anticipate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ into this dark world. It makes me think of Mary, that very special young woman who was waiting to give birth to the Saviour of the world. How excited she must have been, anticipating the birth, and yet tinged with possible apprehension about just what it would all mean.

The Bible says that after the birth, as shepherds and kings came to worship Jesus, she watched, and ‘pondered these things in her heart’.

Sometimes our feelings are just too much for words.

Wedding Whirlwind

In the run-up to my son’s wedding on Saturday, I find I have so many lists I almost need a list of my lists! It’s a source of great amusement to Don but without these lists I’m sure we’d forget something major.

However, while walking Dusty round beside the trees resplendent in their autumn finery, and mentally reviewing my lists, I suddenly thought of Mary and Martha. 

You know the story in the Bible. Jesus was visiting his friends in Bethany, two sisters and a brother – Mary, Martha and Lazarus. As Martha rushed round preparing the supper, Mary sat entranced at Jesus’ feet, listening to what he had to say. Eventually the over-wrought Martha complained to Jesus, hoping he might tell Mary to get up and help her sister. Instead he gently reprimanded her for having her priorities wrong.

I believe God was reminding me that there may be loads to do but in fact only one thing really matters – and that’s listening to Him. Sitting at his feet from time to time, as Mary did, and drinking in the beauty of his presence and peace.

This is a wedding between two lovely, strong Christian believers, and we want to celebrate their love but also lift up God and glorify him in this. Their meeting was no coincidence, but a God-incidence, just as Don’s and mine was all those years ago. 

So I’ve added one thing to my list. Prayer and listening time, in my prayer alcove, where I can shut off from all the bustle and concentrate on the one who is worthy of celebrating.

Take time to breathe deep in the presence of the Saviour today. It takes self-discipline to step out of the swirl of activity but I know it’s the best thing any of us can do. ‘Seek me and I will be found,’ God promises. Sometimes it takes a bit of perseverance, but it is a promise and God is faithful to keep his promises.

Season of Mellow Fruitfulness

The signs are everywhere. Season of mellow fruitfulness. The trees are beginning to turn lovely shades of autumnal orange, yellow, burnt reds, and even bright reds on the acer and the Virginia Creepers. The rose hips are brilliant red beads amongst the withering foliage. The rowan berries are still a tangerine shade but darkening by the hour. 

The final harvests are ready to bring in before winter’s wild weather hits. Potatoes, carrots, runner beans. And apples! Oh, the apples are looking good at the moment. I may not be so enthusiastic in a week or so when I’m peeling them for endless crumbles and boiling them up for apple butter.

Living rurally I am so aware of the changing seasons, as anyone who reads this blog regularly knows. I probably harp on about it too much, but it is such a reminder of the passing seasons of life. And this weekend I am being particularly reminded of those passing seasons.

Yesterday morning I received an email containing a photograph of a beautiful new baby girl born to friends in Seattle. A perfect wee treasure, snuggled down in her mother’s arms. All that promise of joy and laughter and love.

By lunchtime I was sitting shoulder to shoulder in church awaiting the start of the funeral of a very special and dearly loved lady who has gone to be with her Lord. The tributes were fulsome and the tears were real. She slipped away in such a gentle, quiet way, unexpectedly. Lovely for her, but to those who are left, something distinctly unreal about it all. Is she really gone? Surely she is just in the next room, or down in London for the weekend again? 

I am confident I will see her again, only not before I slip away, too.

And today. I’m about to spruce myself up to go to the wedding of another very special lady, a young lady whose musical talents are many and whose personality and smile are quirky, fun, and lovely. The start of another season in her life. Such a privilege to be there to share her joy today.

New beginnings all around. A new life in Seattle, bringing fun and laughter, challenges and tears: a wee miracle. A new life in heaven, about which we can only speculate apart from having the assurance that our dear friend is definitely there, safe in the arms of her Saviour. And a new life here in Aberdeen as two become one in this mystical union we call marriage, with all the joys and laughter, challenges and tears that accompany the season of new life together.

Our world is always changing, but our constant is God, who is faithful and whose love never fails. I will now go put on my glad rags, and prepare to celebrate with a heart that is tender – both hurting and happy. The hurts make the happiness that much more precious, highlighting these moments as treasures to be stored up and pondered at quieter times. 

Today is a day for storing up.

Walk on the Wild Side

We have been away for the weekend. We went south to a family wedding. 

We rented a very comfortable cottage on the island where all the celebrations were going on, sharing the house with Don's brother, sister and brother-in-law. There was the seaside atmosphere of a place the family used to own on the west coast of Scotland, with the same convivial family times, shared meals, good fish to eat and wine to wash it down. 

We were there for three days, and as we head back north now, I am reflecting on the fact that I only opened my Bible twice, never prayed with Don, missed church, and didn't say grace before meals. We slipped into the routines of those around us, those with whom Don grew up, and who don't share our faith.

It has made me think of the descriptions in the Bible about who we are...that we have been grafted in to the true vine, which is Jesus. I grow roses at home, and I know it doesn't take long for cultivated roses to revert to their wild state. Seven leaves instead of five. Different flowers. The grafting-in can revert to wildness.

I am the vine, Jesus said. You are the branches. Grafted in. If we don't stay in him, we revert to our default mode, our natural, wild state.

It takes thought and effort to remain grafted in. We can't assume anything. We can't presume to remain in Christ if we make no effort to remain in him, through building up our relationship with him in Bible reading and prayer.

I remember what I was like before I was grafted in. I remember the sense of emptiness and sometimes hopelessness. 

I don't want to go back there again. I want to remain grafted in. 

Glad to be heading north now, back to my own routine, my own wee prayer window. My routine walks with Dusty, which draw my thoughts to God. 

But I wonder, how long will it take before my default mode will always be with face turned upwards in worship, no matter the circumstances.

Of course I did pray. I did thank God for the food silently before I ate. I did pray for people and situations that I know of right now. So maybe I didn't so much revert to wild, to seven leaves, as just express my faith in a different way. Or am I just kidding myself?

Hmm.