A horse to water

You can take a horse to water...

Sometimes unhappiness erupts like a geyser, spraying everyone in sight with gunge the unhappy person may not have even known was there. Other times it expresses itself in a sort of emotional flatline, where the unhappy person’s voice betrays a numbness which speaks louder than the words she may say.

As one who loves a currently-very-unhappy person, I am not sure which of those two extremes I prefer. Living at a distance, I rely on Skype, and as the computer plays its tonal dialing, I wait in prayerful suspense, trusting God to give me the right words, the encouraging replies and the loving understanding to respond helpfully. 

When situations in life change irrevocably and we don’t like where they have dropped us, we choose how to respond. We can accept and then embrace the change, and make the most of our shrinking horizons. Or we can hunker down and survive, looking at the change as a sentence and resenting the events and perhaps even the people who have occasioned it. 

We can blame our unhappiness on our circumstances, our location, or other people, but basically it is birthed within us. It is an attitude of heart and mind. I will never forget the choir of African Aids orphans who bubbled with joy and were eager to thank God for the sunshine, for the flowers, for every breath they took. They had nothing – perhaps not even much of a future. But what they had they recognised as gifts from God and were grateful. 

We in the west usually have much more than those sweet Aids orphans, but sometimes we nurture a deep discontent. We know what we want and if what we have falls short of that, we are unhappy.

This is not meant to be a criticism of unhappy people, because I know myself that there are times we just cannot muster optimism or contentment within us, though we know we should. My first three years in Scotland were full of joys: a happy marriage to a wonderful husband, two beautiful and healthy children, a home of our own and enough to get by. Yet I teetered on the brink of depression, so homesick was I. 

Nothing I read or thought or tried drew me into a better place until, at my lowest point, I found myself in the company of a few people who knew and loved Jesus passionately and personally. I saw in their eyes what I knew I longed for: the assurance of purpose, the assurance of the love of a divine and powerful God. When I finally cried out to him, he marinated me in the Holy Spirit and I was changed. I was sweeter to the taste I’m sure, and in myself, I finally settled and was content. Happy.

I am thinking a lot about this dear, unhappy person in my life and I am praying that in the depths of her sorrow and grief, she will cry out to the living God and know him in a new and deeper way than she ever has before.

She is the one who took this horse to water and finally, after several years, I chose to drink from the well springing up to eternal life. Now I pray that my words can encourage her to choose to drink again from that same well. I fear she has run a little dry.

I look forward to hearing this problem shift. I am anticipating God’s miracle.

Over-flowering Love

I’ve been blessed by friends and family filling my home with flowers. There is something so warm and welcoming about a bunch of flowers. I don’t want to slip into an advert slogan from inter flora or anyone else, but a bouquet means a lot.

So this morning I decided to push out the boat and bring in some greenery in order to attempt an arrangement. I am artistically challenged and don’t really know what I’m doing – but am pretty ok with the result of this morning’s fun.

Our lives are like flower arrangements. Sometimes all the good things bunch together – think a dozen red roses here – but usually the moments of beauty and grace are interspersed by more prosaic moments – the greenery of ferns and fillers. It’s the bright sunflowers and roses which catch our eye but when we look closer at the mundane everyday we perceive beauty and grace there too.

This is the day the Lord has made. He has made the glorious flowers which greet me in many rooms today, reminding me of the love of others, and he has made the varied greenery which fills most of my days. 

Life is good. Today God is going to do something wonderful. May I have the eyes to see it.

Rogue Roots

As I sit in the prayer alcove and gaze out the window, I notice the way the pretty bush outside is shooting random branches in all directions. Then I see the thorny stems of a rogue wild rose weaving between the bush’s branches. And bird-planted seedling of a Norwegian spruce. Not to mention a couple of purple willow herb weeds and even a straggling honeysuckle. 

Gosh, I wasn’t away that long but it doesn’t take long for the weeds and unwanted plants to infiltrate and take root. 

Life is all about change. Some is welcome. The bush itself is about to burst into pretty pink flowers, dainty and profuse. Some is unwelcome. Weeds winding their roots in and out of the roots of this bush (whose name I do not know!). 

The bush of life is beautiful but requires diligence to prevent unwanted entanglements to stunt or hamper its growth. Today I have heard the news of another acquaintance facing terminal cancer. That’s the third in as many months. Tragic and sad but still, the bush of life is beautiful. God is love. I will continue to see his love and his faithfulness even through the tears and sorrow. I don’t understand but he does, and because he is love we can be assured that in the end, all will be well.

Change is hard. My dear mother is struggling to adjust to a new environment, a new way of life, at nearly 91. Her own things surround her but other than that, everything is different. It’s so sad. I don’t like the change either, but I will pull back and see the big picture from the eternal perspective Jesus has given us by ascending to heaven and taking us in him. (Ephesians). 

Focusing on the hope, trusting in the promises, takes diligence and effort, but with God’s help I am sure it is possible to walk through any season in his peace and in his presence.

Signs of the Times

Home again. I had my plans for the day. Do the on-line tasks necessary; catch up with e-mails; read some of the accumulated notices which came in while I was away. Then I would step out into the wild wilderness of my garden and very gently start the eternal task of weeding.

Interrupted by the sound of big drops falling from the sky, I dashed out to bring in the nearly-dry laundry, and then resumed my internet-work. A distant rumble of thunder jolted my complacency and I popped upstairs to turn off that computer. I was still on-line downstairs and didn’t want that session disrupted, so kept things plugged in...until the next clap of thunder sent me scurrying round pulling plugs and disconnecting modems and phones. End of on-line session. End of outdoor gardening plans. Onto plan B.

One thing I’ve learned from my years in Scotland is to read the signs of the weather and adjust my plans accordingly. Having grown up where the sun shines more or less all of the time, that has been a hard lesson. But it reminds me of Jesus’ warning that we be alert and aware of what is going on around us, and adjust things accordingly. And pray without ceasing.

I’ve had my head down for a fortnight as I made all the arrangements for my mother’s house-move. Focused on phone calls, weeding through piles of accumulated mail, closing up one place, making all the arrangements at the new place, I never watched the news and was pretty unaware of what was going on even where I was staying. Sometimes we get overwhelmed by life and can’t ‘see the forest for the trees’. But it’s no way to live.

We were created to live with broad horizons. We are designed to have eternal perspectives. In Christ we have already stepped into eternal life, though our shoes are often mired in the everyday clay.

It’s good to be reminded that our little tasks, as major as they seem and often are at the moment, are not all there is. It’s good to have our focus adjusted, our eyes drawn to the horizon, our hearts recalibrated to Jesus. 

So, as frustrating as I might find it to cease the session I was having, as the rain continues and the thunder rolls, I shall pour myself a cup of cinnamon tea and read last Saturday’s newspaper. Or maybe catch a few more ZZZs.

No airports in heaven

In a few hours I will be back at that old familiar place: LAX. I have lost count of the number of times I have headed off to LAX, stomach churning at the impending separation from the loved one driving me there, face tears stained from having said goodbye to the loved ones back in the house. This time, having moved my mom into a senior living facility, aware of the lingering and severe pain of shingles from which she still suffers...well, this time will be another one of those I will probably always remember.

So I am awake at 5 am, perched on the bed in front of the open suitcase. It has odd things in it taken from a previous life, happy times, absent people. It is not full, but it is heavy.

Last night, from the windows of mom's new apartment, we watched a spectacular fireworks display over the golf course opposite. It was as if it were put on for us, and us alone. The three of us oohed and aahed from the comfort of her living room as each rocket shot up, burst out and rained down its twinkling, coloured lights. The blue ones are the most expensive, I was told by Mhairi.

The darkness of the night sky, rent by a spectacular show of light. Sounds like a description of the Christmas story. The shepherds got an amazing show of light and song in the sky over Bethlehem, and it was just for them. Maybe not so crazy to feel the show last night was just for us.

It reminds us that in the darkness of illness and pain, in the emptiness of separations, in the dread of what may lie ahead, God gives us a spectacular reminder that he is here, that he is good, that he is love and that his love can light up the darkest night.

It is hard to leave an unresolved situation. I have done it before. So I will walk out of here in a few hours,bruised and tear stained, leaving my dear, confused mom in the hands of Jesus and trusting him, again, to look after her better than I can.

And though I know that to be true, I will say again the phrase I have said so often in the last forty years. There are no airports in heaven. Whew.

Familiar Faces

The furniture is in place. Clothes are in the closet. Cupboards are filling with the merchandise of daily life in the 21st century. Lotions and potions, tissues and sprays. So with our last ounces of strength, Mhairi and I tackled the mountain of family photos from through the 90 years of a life well lived.

We estimated and judged, sometimes measured, usually went by our estimations, and hammered in the nails and hooks and hung up the smiling, familiar faces of days gone by. Happy faces, usually happy times. Though in one photo of me as a child there is still visible a trace of a tear in an eye. In another photo of my sister there is a sadness that is visible. A sadness for the loss of a desperately desired dream. There are pictures stretching back through time, of people young who are young no more, but whose preciousness remains.

We nicknamed it the hall, or corridor, of love. Loves which don't die. Which linger on and grow. Which warm the heart and recall memories, laughter, joy.

With God's help, we have done it. We have managed to move a lifetime of stuff from one place to another, get it in order and now, hopefully, enable life to continue here in a safer environment.

We have done what we could, motivated by love and the best intentions. The great unknown stretches ahead but we focus on God, and step out, trusting in his never failing love. Our hope is in him and that enables us to continue to live with grace and purpose.

We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses spurring us on. Those who are out of sight and those who are still with us, praying, visiting, bringing tomatoes from their garden and laundry soap parcels to make the job easier.

God is good. His face is familiar in the faces of those all around us. So thankful.

Lightning strikes!

Lightning struck the beaches in Southern California a couple of days ago, driving bathers inside to shelter from the incredibly unusual weather. Thunder and lightning rent the skies over northeastern Scotland that same night, awakening sleepers and at least at one home, causing a wild rush to pull the plugs on phones and computers before any damage could be done.

The heavy atmosphere before a thunderstorm can be so oppressive that it is a positive relief to hear those claps of thunder and see the flashes or arrows of light. Usually it clears the air, at least a little.

Sometimes the situations through which we walk and live oppress us. We find we have to do things we would prefer to avoid doing. We perhaps clash with others in our assessment of what should be done. The atmosphere can grow more and more oppressive and heavy and finally tempers flare, feelings are roared, and opinions expressed, landing like lightning bolts on relationships.

Life is tough. But it is also beautiful. The drama of a thunderstorm, the awesome power of nature, sets the heart pounding. Words spoken in love, though hard to say, also set the heart pounding and can burn or cut but in the end, new life emerges. Love is key. Without it, walking away from hard times is a definite option. With love, it never is, because however oppressive it feels, however sharp the lightning or loud the thunder, the aim is selfless.

The thunderstorm through which I am walking is such a one. We will all come out the other side, battered and bedraggled, but arm in arm. Someone famous has said that life is all about walking each other home. It is a privilege and a quiet joy to be able to do that for another person.

Like everything else, it is only possible as I remain in Jesus, relying on him, trusting in him, praying in the Spirit when words fail me and confusion reigns.

Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. Just because it doesn't always look peaceful, calm and loving does not mean he isn't intimately involved. Whew.