The Speed of Life

As I de-clutter I find old bits of writing, scribbled or typed during times of turmoil and busyness. Most bring a smile to my face, some a sense of awe that I actually survived those times. They all startle me by reminding me of things I have little or no recollection of. Is my memory that bad, or is there just too much in there to have it readily available?

I wish I’d written more, as it brought a smile and chat to all the family when I shared one yesterday. But there was one plaintive query from the youngest. Didn’t I write anything when he was older, and no longer the annoying two-year-old?

Actually, I thought he was cute. I’m sure at the time I was frustrated as I swept up the sand one more time, but inside, I smiled. He had personality. He was alive. Sure, he was tiring at times, but he was a two-year-old. And now he’s nearly a quarter of a century. (Still cute, in his mother's eyes anyway!)

Where did those years go? 

I hope in living life, rather than in writing about it. Life happens. And it happens at top speed. 

Carpe diem. 

I think I’ll go out and do something. Stop writing. Have a coffee with Don.

Flapping Plastic

The farmer is using the straw bales he stacked like a giant little piggie’s house in the autumn. A few bales at a time disappear down the road, and the result is voluminous black polythene left flapping in the often fierce winter winds. 

From our driveway the noise is surprisingly loud. To Don it sounds like the flapping of sails that have lost the wind on a small yacht off the west coast of Scotland. To me, less poetically, it sounds like the gentle roar of the San Diego Freeway passing my childhood home.

Perception. The same noise, but interpreted by two people totally differently, because of our histories, our memories, our experiences. 

When we talk about God as our Father, some of us unconsciously cosy into his lap, spiritually, confident of his loving care. Others draw back, suspicious, slightly frightened perhaps, remembering fathers who fell far short of the mark. Others may just have a sort of blank, a feeling of abandonment, of rejection perhaps, unable to remember a father at all because he had disappeared from family life. 

The same God. Different perceptions. 

Only God, by the power of his Holy Spirit, can heal memories that still have power over us for years. Only he can show us what He means by being our Father. The sacrificial, unconditional, eternal love he has for each of us no matter where we’ve been or what we’ve done. 

Don hears sails. I hear freeways. But really, it’s black plastic, flapping in the wind.

Good Grief?

Good Grief?

Can grief ever be good? Where did such an expression originate? I could probably find out on Google but I’m not going to spend time checking it out.

A baby who didn’t live to see her mother’s or father’s faces, but instead opened her eyes onto the face of Jesus. Tragic, sad, and yet with a happy ending for her.  Good grief?

Sewing yet more curtains last night; code for watching some television. And what I saw filled me with grief.

Grief for the poor in America. The forgotten poor. A man who can’t afford to get an operation because the price is four years’ salary to him. Four years. $20,000. Four years. And this in the USA. So he left the hospital, without the surgery, to go back to work. He was stoic. His wife was in tears. He’s probably dead by now. Why aren’t the vocal Christians standing by these poor people?

Grief for the poor in America. Living in Tent Cities on the outskirts of all the big cities. Including Detroit, not known for its gentle winters. The homeless shelters are so overcrowded that some residents in Detroit’s Tent City have been there a full year. The directors of the homeless shelters regularly refer newly homeless out to Tent Cities. What’s the difference between these Tent Cities and the IDP camps in so many warring nations around the world? How can this happen in such a rich country?

Grief for the destruction of 95% of America’s natural forests. Grief for those peaceful protestors whose voices were ignored, and who, when staging a resistance to the felling of 500-year-old trees in Oregon, were soaked in pepper spray administered straight  into their eyes and other sensitive body parts by the police. For those who finally broke, in frustration at the impotence of their resistance, and then broke the law and burned down a couple of buildings. Not that I condone arson. But the guy who has admitted burning down two buildings is looking at a life sentence plus 350 years! (What?) A peaceful guy, who loves nature and lost it when he was ignored when he tried to protect it.  Now he, like Abu Qatada, is under house arrest until his case is heard, unless he ‘co-operates’ and implicates others.

Grief for the uncharged and yet still unreleased prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, despite Obama’s election promises four years ago. Grief not because I know or think they’re innocent, but because they are imprisoned by a government who proclaim liberty and justice for all, and no imprisonment without charges being filed. Is that a joke?

Grief when I see the quality of candidates running for President of this great nation. Where are the men and women of stature and of vision? 

Grief for this once great nation, ‘One nation, under God’. Really? Where is God in a nation that doesn’t provide basic healthcare for its poor, that is prepared to disregard natural beauty if a buck can be made from it, that no longer assumes a person is innocent until proven guilty, that can’t field a candidate with moral stature possibly because no such person with enough money exists?

My grief, like that of those sad, bereft parents, doesn’t feel good at all. I’m going to strike that stupid expression from my vocabulary.

Let Go

The message challenged me. Following Jesus does involve giving up. It requires you to give up what you have, but are not meant to have, and giving up what you do, that you are not meant to do.

Jesus has fitted each of us for a specific purpose. He calls each of us to do something special, and he has equipped us so that as we rely on him in that purpose, great things happen. The other stuff we are doing, good though it may be, may not be the best. It may not be what God has called us to do.

So looks like I need to take some time out to ask the Holy Spirit to examine me on this one. What do I have, that I am not meant to have? That’s a tough one. I am in the process of a spring de-clutter so perhaps ‘things’ will be highlighted as I sift through drawers and closets.

What am I doing that I am not meant to be doing? And, as an obvious corollary of that, what am I neglecting to do which I have been made to do? I’d like to think it might be the housework that I’m not meant to be doing! 

Scripture says that God gives us the desires of our hearts – and my biggest desire remains to be writing more. But my days are full, so I guess that’s where I need to figure out what I am to let go of.

An on-going task. Like the de-cluttering.

Plans

Plans.

Sometimes they work out. Sometimes they don’t.

Rabbie Burns had something to say about them. ‘The best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley.’ 

God has something to say about plans, too.  Many are the plans in a person’s heart, it says in Proverbs 19, but it is the LORD’s purpose that prevails. 

I have ambitious plans for today. For a Saturday we were up at a ridiculous hour, 6 am, so that Don could get away to the building project in Newtyle.  Washing the carpets was first on my To-Do list. A long To-Do list. And the sun was just about breaking through the cloud cover. Perfect for drying the wet carpets.

But before 7, just when I thought I would start the great spring shampoo, I had an overwhelming urge to spend time with God. So I did.  I worshiped along with a Jesus Culture CD, which is just a fantastic door into heaven, read my Bible, listened. 

My plans for today were, and still are, many. But the Lord’s purpose for me prevailed. It was a rich start to my Saturday, and as I continue on through my To-Do list, I’m doing it with a song in my heart and praise on my lips, and a renewed perspective on just what is important today, and what can slide.

Why don’t I do this every day?