Life is a Gift

 

First walk of 2023 with Mary. A glistening morning with a sharp frost but a full sun. Beautiful.

A tiny songbird lay dead on the road, her little body frozen. Mary tenderly laid her under the long grass on the verge, so her perfect body would not be squashed by the tractors and vans, cars and bicycles.

Life is such a gift. Whatever this day holds, I am grateful for the bounty but mostly, grateful for the basic: the miraculous gift of life.

I came so you might have life to the full, Jesus declares. Help me to embrace that today, Lord, and to learn exactly what that means in this moment, in this month, in this year.

Peace

 

Peace. Possibility. Promise.

It’s a new year, but it isn’t a new world. Yet.

The strife is not over. The suffering goes on. Confusion, anxiety, fear. And in the midst, opportunity. Opportunity to carry the light into the dark spaces. To be the peace in the tumult. To offer hope in despair.

Lord, we are all weary. Strengthen us with your Holy Spirit as we enter this new year, that we would walk with resolution and assurance, that we would smile with confidence in the Lord who saves, that we would share our faith through word and action.

Help me to double down on prayer, Lord, for therein lies the power. As I peer into the darkness, may fears disappear as faith deepens.

May we all walk into 2023 with confidence in the Lord who loves the lost, and may we show that love through all we do and say, in our world and in our homes.

Would you like to ... ?

 

‘Would you like to paint with me, Gramma?’ Flick asked.

I tossed the dishrag into the sink and joined her at the table. She commented that it was nice I didn’t have anything to do and could paint doilies with her. I explained that I always have loads of things to do, but it’s a matter of assessing which is the priority.

Today, at that moment, she was the priority.

I’m not always that good at assessing priorities. There have been days over this Christmas period when I have gulped a moment or two of quiet time, or missed out altogether – distracted by visitors I love and who are high up on the priority list.

But I remember that God has declared that he should have our first priority.

I fall down on this one pretty often. So I open the new year 2023 with a heartfelt ‘sorry’ to the Lord and Saviour whose birth we have just celebrated. I am so grateful for the gift of Jesus. I am also so grateful for the gift of family.

May God bless us all with a clearer sense of priorities in 2023. May his peace fill us all, despite any storms that are raging. May his joy fill our souls despite the sorrows we are or will experience. May his love direct our actions and words.

Did you know...?

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Mary, did you know….?

The haunting tune and meaningful words of this modern Christmas carol swirl in my mind and play on my lips.

The Word was God from the beginning, yet he was born in a humble stable as Immanuel. ‘Did you know…when you kissed your little baby, you kissed the face of God?’

This year I am sitting with the mystery that is Christmas. The mystery that says that Almighty God who threw the stars into space was born to a young virgin in Bethlehem, vulnerable and dependent on the fallible humans he had created. Totally dependent on their kindness and love. He entrusted himself into the hands of those who are often totally untrustworthy.

Mary did you  know … the child that you delivered, would soon deliver you?

The Saviour of the world first had to survive an uncertain childhood as a refugee, then as the child of a carpenter, before he could embark on his divine mission to save the world.

He did it. He loved the world so much, no sacrifice was too great.

He was in the world but the world didn’t understand, didn’t accept him. But to those who did, he gave the right to be children of God. No longer servants. Children.

The light shines in the darkness. Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come again in my heart; come in the hearts of those I know who don’t yet know you; come in the hearts of the perpetrators of violence and distress; come in the hearts of those who have no knowledge of you. Maranatha.

In the beginning was the Word. He is the alpha and the omega. Hallelujah.

Immanuel

 

I don’t know how Santa’s doing with his list, but I know mine is getting longer by the minute.

Yet I find myself sitting here gazing at the beautiful faces smiling at me from my wall of love. I’m smiling back. Sitting here, doing nothing, smiling at images that can’t see me. Images of people I love.

That’s all God wants for Christmas. He wants me – he wants you – to sit and gaze at his beautiful face, and not do anything. Maybe not even say anything. Just gaze in love, smiling at him.

Not much to ask, but I need his help to do it. To push aside that to do list, and worship the King of Kings. Immanuel.

Maranatha. In my life, in the lives of those I love, in the lives of those who don’t yet know their Saviour: maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Blizzard or Peace?

 

I look out the window and at the moment, there is a white-out. I have an appointment requiring I drive to Aberdeen soon, so a blizzard is not welcome.

Then I glance down at my lap. Oblivious to everything, Indy purrs contentedly.

The Bible promises that God’s love is constant, unconditional, everlasting. Whatever storm is swirling round me at the moment, underneath are the everlasting arms. Whatever global situation of violence or injustice is clamouring for my attention now, I hold it up before the throne of grace and ask God to help me focus on him. The Father encourages me to curl up like Indy, knowing that the Lord is in charge.

It’s all about focus and perspective.

The sun is out now in a watery-blue sky, but it may slip away again behind the passing rags of clouds heavy with more snow. I will head out with caution and with confidence, not in myself or my own abilities, but in the care of the loving God who never sleeps, never leaves me, and always loves me.

May you do the same.

Potica and Traditions

 

During my childhood, my mom was good at keeping traditions. Especially at Christmas. Certain Christmas cookies were made every year: Pfeffernusse, Viennese Nut Cookies, sugar cookies, candy cane cookies, gingerbread. My dad did the candy making: Divinity, chocolate fudge, and rocky road.

For a household that rarely ate desserts, Christmas was a real celebration of sugar!

In my teen years Mom began baking a morning sweet bread called Potica, which she read was from Yugoslavia. When our Bosnian friends  stayed with us in the 90s, though, they’d never heard of Potica, so I’m not sure…

Over the years here I have kept many of these culinary traditions. Potica is one of them, and today is the day. I’ll make it today and then freeze the two sweet bread rings for Christmas and new year.

It was one thing making Potica in warm southern California, where yeast could stretch and grow in the heat. In a Northeastern Scottish December, in my cold home, it is a challenge to get it to rise, but the last few years I’ve made use of the bread-maker to get the dough started, and that has undoubtedly helped. As long as I can remember how I did it last year …

Traditions are touchstones with the past, tunnels into times of laughter and love with people who may no longer be here. Traditions can draw us to recollect truths about who we are.

The godfather of tradition is God. He calls his people to remember all the times he has been involved in their lives and salvation in startling ways, and he establishes traditions to help the memories revive. Passover and other festivals on the Jewish calendar. The bread and the wine on the Christian calendar. They reveal the unconditional love of Father God for his children.

Not all tradition is so profound of course, so my prayer is that those traditions which really matter I will embrace with love and enthusiasm, and that those which have become a chore performed out of a sense of duty or perceived expectation, I will drop.

So far, I’m still finding joy in producing potica, so here goes.