Emerald Rainbow

 

What a blessing we were treated to this morning. When I glanced out the prayer window, in the flurry of children donning coats in prep for the school dash, there, sprouting from the neighbour’s garden, was a glorious rainbow. A full rainbow, arching over the field and planting its other foot on the Hill of Fare. A vibrant, dazzling bow of intense colours. It remained a few minutes, and then disappeared, leaving the landscape looking earthly, not divine.

I know I wrote about a rainbow yesterday, but following that early sighting this morning, I came to my daily reading. It was Revelation 4, where I read that John’s vision of heaven included God seated on a throne which was encircled by an emerald rainbow.

An emerald rainbow? That seems an oxymoron to me. How can a rainbow, the splitting of white light into its component colours, be emerald, just one colour? Turning to the 21^st century guru, Dr Google, I scanned a sermon from 1871, delivered by Archibald G. Brown at Stepney Green Tabernacle: a sermon entitled An Emerald Rainbow.

A couple of thoughts from it have distilled in me: that the rainbow, as a sign of God’s covenant with man, is the prism through which he views us, and it is a prism of grace, a covenant of grace. It is the filter through which we view him, too, through the covenant of grace. And that in heaven, it is never separated out and broken, either into different colours or as an arc, but instead is a complete circle. From whatever vantage point we look at God, we see him, and he sees us, through the covenant of grace. His promise. Jesus’ sacrifice.

May we emerge from the storms of the last year trusting in the faithfulness of God to keep his covenant with us; may we bring rainbows of light and promise wherever we go, trusting that even though our ‘rainbows’ are broken and incomplete, an emerald rainbow of promise encircles the throne of God. In him we trust and in him we put our hope.

Rainbows

 

I gazed gratefully out the prayer window at the dappled sky, while the sun played tag with the rain-heavy clouds. As I watched, a faint rainbow appeared on the horizon, growing fatter, more vibrant as I watched, but not extending further than a third into the arc. Gradually, it disappeared and left a canvas of greys and blues and shades of white.

I am gazing gratefully at the day ahead. There are things in it which shine like a rainbow; there are other things which loom like a deep grey cloud.

God is in them all. Before a prayer is on my lips, he has heard it. He knows the desires of my heart. He is faithful. His rainbow is his reminder, his seal. He is so good.

May there be rainbows in all of our lives today, linking the tears with the joy. In every teardrop, there is a rainbow. His promise.

River roads

 

What better way to follow another blood test than to walk along the beautiful River Dee and take in the beauties of that arterial system bringing life to the countryside? With the peekaboo sun glinting on the bubbling waters, and the fishermen standing waist-deep along the banks, a brisk walk was so restorative. There is something life-affirming about the sound of water rushing and dancing over and around rocks in its way. It provides habitat and shelter for so many aquatic creatures, moves debris and particles around in an act of constant creativity. It satisfies our thirst and restores our well-being.

Just like the miracle of blood, carrying oxygen to my brain, transporting the building blocks of good health from one bit of my body to another. So grateful to God for the miracle of his creation.

There is such an inter-connectedness in our world, and we will only create a healthy world when we finally cooperate rather than compete, when greed gives way to generosity, and when love sweeps away the last vestiges of hate. Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.

Languishing

 

Languishing. I read an article the other day which suggested most of us, at this point in the pandemic, are languishing, and we should be confident to say that when folks ask us how we are. We don’t need to be polite and say, ‘Fine’. There will be some of us who are definitely not fine, and others who may be soaring, but probably most of us are bobbing along, having left behind the erstwhile joy of forward planning and now settled into a rather boring routine of not looking too far ahead, just taking one day at a time.

Languishing.

A better word which has settled down in me these last couple of days is the ancient Hebrew word, Shalom. Peace. Not just the peace the world gives, but the peace of Jesus Christ, that deep, inner peace which carries us through the highs and the lows and stokes our hope boilers with faith in the God for whom nothing is impossible.

Shalom, that even when we are languishing, there is good in that. Shalom, trusting that as we put our trust in God for the future, he is with us, guiding our thoughts, leading us forward, walking beside.

Shalom to you today, whether you are languishing or flying or face down in the mud, may God fill you with his peace and faith to believe that with God, all things are possible. He loves us with an everlasting love, and therefore I can say with confidence, it is well with my soul.

 

Old-Fashioned Projectors

 

Those of a certain vintage will remember the reel-to-reel projectors which ran the movies at the cinemas. Dad had a home projector when we were growing up, and Don had one as our children were going up. There was a clickity clackity noise as the tape fed through the projector and the image appeared on the wobbly screen on the other side of the room. We laughed to see each other, and ourselves, actually moving.

Occasionally, the tape would jam, its threading through the projector having been faulty or loose. If not dealt with immediately, the film itself would begin to disintegrate, the heat of the lamp melting the fragile tape. When that happened, a new connection had to be made to splice the broken tape together, causing the action to jump from one thing to another.

Up praying in the night, I sensed God making a link between that image, and the tired old narrative that plays through my mind. A narrative that casts me in a certain position of responsibility, which makes me anxious, which makes me sad, which makes me intervene when I shouldn’t. I found myself asking God to let the light of Jesus burn a hole in that tape, breaking it off, so that he, the Great Projectionist, can set me free of false expectations and responsibilities. He can splice a new vision into my psyche, a new narrative which will shine through me and project Him wherever I go. I want to be out of the picture. I want him to be the one everyone sees.

God can renew our minds; he can heal our spirits; he can make us new. To him I surrender. I surrender to his will, to his purpose in me, to his Holy Spirit.

As lockdown lifts and we begin to gather again, may I walk to a different drum, may I live out a new narrative, may there be more of Him, and less of me.

 

Divine Palette

 

I’ve been painting new plasterboard with a watered-down emulsion paint, to seal it before applying the colour. Some marks and plaster tapes still show through the weak wash, making the job tedious and unsatisfying. After it’s dry, the cover is slightly better, but during the application it looks scrappy and patchy.

I’m thinking about a line from Philemon, where the writer prays that the reader will ‘put into action the generosity that comes from your faith as you understand and experience all the good things we have in Christ.’

How well do I understand and experience all the good things I have in Christ, I wonder? Is my life like the plasterboard I’ve been painting, washed with a basic understanding of my faith, but missing colour? Am I vibrant, popping with colour, revealing Jesus through action and conversation? Or …

Painting the sealing coat onto plasterboard, I kept wondering if it was fully covered, or if I needed to go over it again, do more.

The Holy Spirit is our seal; we don’t need to wonder if we can do any more to earn acceptance. We’ve been prepped for the colours God has in mind for us. As we understand and experience all the good things we have in Christ, he uses the infinite colours of his palette to reveal his love and grace to a monochrome world.

Neighbours

 

Last time I saw this lady, she was adopting her grandsons, who were 5. In the post-vaccine recovery area yesterday, where we all waited in case we had adverse reactions, all masked and socially distanced, somehow she recognised me. Her grandsons are now 16. We caught up on the eleven years…

Then I noticed another woman, a mum of kids who were at primary school with my younger ones. We shared our experiences of navigating the covid lock-downs. I hadn’t seen her in ten years at least. Along came her brother and sister-in-law, who I know through my sister-in-law. I hadn’t seen them for yonks, as they say. And so it went. A couple of women from church and Bible study groups, from food bank.

A host of Crathes-area 70-year-olds, eager for their second injections so life can open up again. These people are near-neighbours; friends from past days, not seen for years.

Today I am grateful for being settled in this area for so long, being part of the community. I am grateful for so many kind and caring people. I am grateful for the NHS, and their care in ensuring this vaccine would be safe (probably!) for me, given my conditions. I am full of gratitude to the God who is faithful, and so I bring him the burdens on my heart, too, this morning, for situations other friends are enduring. I make my petitions to him, with thanksgiving in anticipation for what he will do.

God is love; he is good and his mercy never fails.