Maranatha!

The sun is out and the conservatory is warm! Spring is here, and so is my birthday. I thank God for the blessing of life, for the gift of a wonderful husband, children, family and friends, for drawing the boundaries for me in very pleasant places. I thank him for the joy of church family, the blessing of his presence in my life and for his incredible patience with my sometimes chaotic walk with him. I am excited for the next chapters.

Life is a gift, though for so many today it may not feel like one. Thinking about and praying for all those in the firing lines of super powers and tin-pot dictators, whose suffering is unimaginable and heart-breaking. We need the Prince of Peace now more than ever.

Praying he comes in our hearts, in our churches, in our communities, in our countries, today, in new and maybe surprising ways. Keeping my eyes peeled. Maranatha!

Over to You

If I were an artist, I would attempt to paint the picture the Lord gave me a couple of weeks ago, of the stagecoach being dragged wildly over rough terrain, pulled this way and that by six or eight untamed horses, with a driver crazily distracted and aware that there was a cliff somewhere up ahead. Suddenly Another was beside him, taking the reins, calmly taking charge and reassuring the driver that He knew where the cliff was and He was in charge. That picture so filled me, the erstwhile driver, with peace for the day’s tasks.

This morning He reminded me that this is the day that he has made. Last night a message came in for something for Mom which filled me with fear and required midnight Skypes. With Mhairi’s help, it is resolved this morning, though there remains in me a frisson of unease because there is another element to the story which remains unresolved.

But this is the day that the Lord has made. He is in charge of my circumstances, of Mom’s circumstances. He has the reins. If I allow him to drive this, I should be able to enjoy an exhilarating ride and not be driven by fears and forebodings.

I have said that if I have a regret, it is that I am not more adventurous and less timid and easily frightened by heights, speeds, water, whatever. Perhaps this is the day, when the Lord is inviting me to enjoy the adventure with him, not anticipating disaster, but revelling in the moment.

Thank you, Lord, for entrusting this to me, and may my squeals be ones of delight and joy, not fear. Over to you.

Stains

I replaced the Christmas table cloth still on Mom’s dining room table with a plain white cloth, popping the red one made years ago by my aunt into the wash. Later that day, setting the table for a light supper, I put a full bottle of red wine onto the table, forgetting that there was an uneven place underneath the cloth. The bottle tipped, glugging red wine onto the cloth, but fortunately I caught it before it splashed onto the beige carpet!

So that table cloth got treated and into the wash. I put on another table cloth, a pretty white and blue one. As Mhairi poured the wine, I reached for a napkin to dab away the drips … too late. A drip of wine spread on the final table cloth, which went into the wash right after dinner.

Stains are always easiest removed when tackled immediately. Those left too long can become ingrained and impossible to wash out.

Of course, the Lord can get our clothes whiter than white. That’s the promise we have from him. I am so grateful.

In Training

We strode out in some of our new hiking gear, headed up Scolty as part of our training for the pilgrimage walk we will be making in a few weeks. We needed to catch our breath a couple of times on the ascent, enjoyed the view briefly, and then headed down. Four km in an hour. Could we do five times that length, day after day? Hopefully so.

I remember hearing golf described as a good walk ruined. A pilgrimage is more than the physical exertion of journeying. It should provide mental and spiritual space for rest, contemplation, and renewal. For that to happen, we need to be strong and have the stamina to endure the physical challenge so that our minds and spirits can soar, and not be tethered to the ache of our thighs or the rubbing of blisters. I don’t want our pilgrimage to end up being a good meditation ruined.

Paul talks about the spiritual life requiring training and discipline. It’s tricky building those elements into our already busy schedules, but hopefully as we discipline ourselves to undertake regular physical and spiritual training, we will position ourselves to benefit from a close encounter with our Lord.

Buon camino!

Birdsong in the City

I awoke early to the sound of tweeting ... Not from a sleepless president but from an exotic bird. In the heart of Los Angeles, a mile or two from the famous Hollywood sign, the predominant sound at 5 am was neither traffic nor siren, but birdsong.

Three hours later, when Mhairi  required silence in order to record a job from her tiny sound studio, the street sweeper roared up the street, water sloshing and brushes sweeping and engine grinding. A frustrated driver revved his engine impatiently. A helicopter crept past, hovering, rotor swirling noisily. A neighbourhood dog barked and the neighbour shouted at it. In the cacophony of an awakening city, the birdsong was lost.

I hear God's voice most clearly when I sit and wait on him in the silence of my room. When I look for his highlighted message in the Bible reading I am doing. When I walk out in nature and observe, guided by the Holy Spirit.

As my day roars into action, His voice can be drowned out by the demands of others, by mindless activity or even tedious news reports on the radio. But his voice, like the birdsong, continues to sing over me, guiding me in the way I should go, if only I will take the time to discern him.

Now I sit in the hubbub of Los Angeles International Airport departure lounge, awaiting a call to board the flight to London. As I walk among the crowds, settle into a seat, prepare for takeoff, I ask for sharp spiritual ears, so I don't miss anything from my Saviour.

Secured

I don't do much sewing anymore, but I grew up making my own clothes. My dear Mom was a talented seamstress and taught us well. It was in the era of gathered skirts, and I remember that once the three lines of basting stitch had been sewn, we carefully pulled them, gathering the full skirt and finally securing it, wound round a pin until we sewed it down securely.

I've been busy here, handling a variety of different threads of Mom's life and trying to make sense out of sometimes tangled situations. Today I am packing and starting my return home, feeling sad to know Mom feels safe and secure when I am here, and anxious when I go. I am praying that the threads which I have pulled into place are securely sewn down now, and that Mom will recognise that she is safe.

Jesus must have felt that he was torn from all that he was working on, when he was nailed to the cross. But he came back, he rose, and he spent time securing the threads. He walked the road to Emmaus and explained things; he appeared in the upper room; he spoke with the women and the men, the crowds and those on their own. What he had gathered, he secured.

We are safely secured in Jesus, the perfect craftsman. Mom is safely secured in him, and as I reluctantly hug and hold her and then leave, I give her to him in trust, knowing he is faithful, and he never lets us down. Even though it is hard.

Hallelujah!

He is risen! He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

Where do the bunnies fit into this story? All I see at doors and desks are pastel coloured eggs, cute yellow chicks and lots of cute bunnies, in hats and overalls, dresses and bonnets. Many today will be lost in the chocolate cutieness of the day and the global, stratospheric significance will be lost in the haze.

But many others today, in situations wildly different, will be worshiping the one who died and rose again, so that we might be saved and live with him forever.

Happy Easter. He is risen indeed.