Starkness of winter

There is a beauty in the starkness of winter. The twisting trunks of the rowan outside the window are more visible now without their robe of leaves. The dawn light illuminates those brown trunks and branches, picking out the knots and prunes and breaks. It is the light side of the trunks that I am noticing this morning, but there are mornings when all I can see is the dark side of the trunks. I can become stuck, staring at the shadows rather than moving to another spot and gaining a new perspective.  It’s the same wood, the same tree, the same trunks, but perspective is everything.

There are times, there are circumstances, which can catch us in a mire where we can only see the shadows. We need God’s help to shift to another spot, to gain a new perspective. As the truth of the real meaning of Christmas dawns on us, may we all be enabled to see the wood in our lives with the Light shining on it. The hope of the world.

Leningrad or St Petersburg?

We have been blessed to meet an interesting parade of people through our small B&B. Earlier in the year we had a friend of a friend stay, a retired professor from the USA who had been married for a time to a Russian from Siberia. Her stories were fascinating, and after she went home she sent us an account of her time living in fairly primitive accommodation in Siberia in the depths of winter, along with a Soviet-era picture booklet on Leningrad – which has now reverted to its original name, St Petersburg.

As I looked through the pictures, I realized the glaring omission: not one photo of the stunning Cathedral of the Saviour on Spilled Blood. Instead, the booklet boasted pictures of Communist era high-rise cement flats, stark and featureless.

It occurs to me that our perception of beauty depends in part on our ideology, on our view of the world, perhaps. To the graphic designer working on the tourist booklet on Leningrad, the accomplishments of the Communist period could be seen in the modern high-rise flats. Because religion was demoted and believers punished, the glorious onion dome architecture of the Cathedral was dismissed, perhaps deemed archaic and ugly.

When we visited St Petersburg a couple of years ago, I found myself constantly wanting to go back and see the Cathedral from the perspective of the canal, or coming to it from a different angle. Its beauty reminded me of the faith of the builders and those who commissioned them. Its beauty reminded me of the love of our Creator, who humbled himself to be born in the body of a man, so that we can live with him forever. Those Soviet-era flats only remind me of the hubris of political systems – not just Soviet ones.

Gently steaming

The landscape has been changed. As I settled into my prayer window this morning, across the frozen field lay four new mounds, gently steaming in the icy air. The farmer has been clearing his barns, dumping the manure into hillocks for later spreading.

 

How often in life does our view become marred by something unpleasant? A relationship sours; a job reveals an unpleasant task; a beautiful situation grows stale. 

And yet, those piles of manure outside my window are steaming because within them is life. Bacteria are munching away and creating a rich resource for next year’s crops. The very thing that seems to mar our view may hold within it the fertiliser, or the seeds, for our next season.

The former things have taken place and new things God declares. He is always creating. Always making things new.

Best Christmas Ever

‘I want it to be the best Christmas ever!’ the lady enthused, planning her seasonal purchases. 

The best Christmas ever. In a material world, that distils into a pile of presents under the tree, a loaded drinks cabinet and a fridge stuffed with all the delicacies. Perhaps for some it includes parties, amongst colleagues or club-members, often characterised by excess consumption of one sort or another. 

The truth is, the best Christmas ever has already been. It must have been the first Christmas, as a perfect deity was incarnated as a helpless baby and began the slow trudge towards the cross. For each of us, it must be the time that perfect man/perfect God was born into each of our hearts and took his place on the throne of our lives.

The best Christmas ever started with relationship: the Father bending down and kissing a twisted world with a loving kiss in the shape of his Son Jesus. The best Christmas every year involves relationship: families coming together to play and laugh, reminisce and wipe away the odd tear. Friends meeting up to share time. Those who, through no merit of their own, find themselves with treasure, reach out to share it with those with none. Those who, again with no merit, find themselves with time, reach out to share that with those who have no-one. 

All of us trudging through this weary world, taking time out from the frenzied preparations to sit with Jesus, refreshing and renewing that relationship, lifting him high in our praises and high in our lives. 

Jesus is the reason. Jesus is the relationship. Jesus is the Lord.

He has given us everything for the best Christmas ever.

Lag

Wide awake at 2.30 am. Jet lag. The reality is that my body has travelled thousands of miles in half a day, but my inner self has yet to catch up.

We pray for something. By faith we hear God’s voice, promising change, promising healing, promising breakthrough. The reality is that there has been a step change in our circumstances, but sometimes our inner self has yet to catch up. Faith lag.

My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me. Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. (Psalm 63).

Praying that for all who wait for the fulfilment of a promise, the reality of God’s word will quickly align with the reality of circumstances.

Mary awaited the fulfilment of a promise. That promise gestated within her as the Son of God developed and grew. She didn’t agitate as she waited. She watched, and pondered things in her heart.

The word for the first week in advent is hope. Hope in God is never misplaced. He is reliable; he is true; he is love. As advent unfolds, may the truth of his promises overlay the writhing of this world, encouraging hope and bringing light and life.

One day there will be no ‘lag’. Past, present and future will align and peace will prevail. In the meantime, I watch, and ponder things in my heart.

Home

The wind wails slow and low through the inevitable gaps in windows and doors. Yes, back in Scotland. Behind me is the perfect weather of Southern California. The congested freeways confirm that many millions agree that the weather is perfect. But the congested freeways confirm to me that perfect weather is not enough.

And anyway, what is perfect weather? Though the wind wails a lonely sound, from my prayer window I see a lovely landscape. Now that the trees have dropped their leaves, the horizon has expanded. There are no wildfires spewing brown smoke into the air. Only clouds zipping in from the west, bringing, according to Don, snow by the weekend.

As we took off from LAX a couple of days ago, we headed west over the Pacific before turning back east. The plane was remarkably empty and I was blessed with three seats on which to lounge for the ten hour flight. So I slid over from the aisle to the window and admired the view of LA, which, with all its shortcomings, will always feel like home. Millions, billions of lights shimmered like divine gems against the dark sky. All the usual lights, plus the plethora of Christmas decorations proliferating in residential and business districts alike. Conflicted: I found the lights breathtaking, in spite of my deep concern that we reduce our detrimental footprint on the world and become more responsible caretakers of it.

Many prayers were answered as my flights were wonderful, and I made the short connection time in London, as did my bag. Greeted by my soul-mate in his unique green knitted tam, welcomed in with flowers and a roaring fire: it’s good to be home.

If home is where the heart is, mine shall always be wherever he is (inevitably Scotland!), as well as LA. But my real heart, and my real home, is in God, whose presence and guidance and comforting hugs were so evident over these last weeks, especially. And that home will never be marred with congested freeways nor wildfires out of control; neither will it be marked with howling northerly winds and the prospect of freezing temps and snow. When we move on into God’s dwelling, there will be no more tears or death or crying or pain or goodbyes, because he will have made everything new. And then, we will really be home.