Spirit Decay

 

So, I settled into the prayer window this morning, aware of the fresh taste of clean in my mouth. Having just brushed my teeth, I could feel that nothing that might rot or decay the enamel of these rather elderly teeth remained.

How important it is to keep my inner life scrubbed and clean, free from gripes and grudges that can fester and decay. We all have our preferences and can apply them to our expectations of others. When others fail to fulfil those expectations, it is so easy to allow thoughts to focus on the disappointment, decaying a bit of our own inner life. A cavity develops in our spirit and, if not brought to the Divine Dentist, can deepen and widen, causing more pain and more damage to the person God created us to be.

Lord, may I nurse no disappointments in others today: may all my expectations centre on you and your grace and mercy.

Golden Grace

 

Golden glow.

Yes, the leaves on the trees are in the middle of their seasonal transformation. Oh, how glorious! Greens are fading fast; yellows, russets and golden tones light up the branches as they strain towards the sky, turning trees to vibrant torches.

Across the browning grass, a carpet of these beautiful leaves thickens day by day.

As I walked through the house this morning, I noticed more than just the fall array on the trees and bushes outside: there was a golden glow in the air itself. Somehow the season’s colourful array is reflected in the atmosphere. There was a softness, a splendour, a majestic matte of golden light.

There’s a lot of talk right now about kings and kingship. Images of golden crowns. Misplaced – tragically misplaced.

‘The One enthroned in heaven laughs … then he rebukes them in his anger…Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth.’

The earth is the Lord’s. The heavens declare the glory of the Lord. Even the atmosphere glows with the golden grace and reflects the loving power of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

Worship him, and him only.

Bucolic Bliss

 

A picture of bucolic bliss extends into the field surrounding our house this morning. A few brown and white cows stand, necks bent as they graze the grass in the field they entered yesterday. Most of the herd are lying down, contentedly chewing the cud.

There is a rhythm to their ingesting and digesting. A wisdom to it. A peace about it.

It can be tempting to consume news and information constantly, scrolling our news feeds and social media until we have information indigestion.

I have a picture in my mind, a beautiful memory of my dad, sitting in his chair in an evening, having watched some news, read a paper, and then just sitting quietly, ruminating.

I am guilty of checking my To-Do list too often, of being driven to endless activity. I know I’ve posted about this before. Martha, not Mary.

Perhaps I need to add another bullet-point to that endless list. Ruminate.

Lord, may I be attentive to your still, small voice today, taking time to listen, reflect, hear, possibly understand – but at least, trust that whatever mess I and the world are in, you are in it with us. In that understanding, I find peace. Bucolic bliss.

Mayhem and Silence

 

Be still and know.

For a few days, the air bubbled with the joyful voices of children playing, laughing and whooping with delight. The sun shone; the leaves in their glorious array of autumnal beauty hung still. From the garage echoed the pounding of hammer on nail as one grandchild worked diligently to connect two sticks of wood together, for no other purpose except the joy of creating. In the green lane between buildings, other grandchildren rushed to gather slates and rocks and twigs and branches, to lay out a shop and find products to sell us. In the ‘orchard’, one granddaughter climbed the apple tree to pick remaining apples. Down the long drive, one grandchild pedalled the go-kart while another dad ran alongside a six-year-old, showing him how to ride a skateboard. Two others giggled and laughed and twisted and fell while trying to learn to roller skate. In the house, the baby granddaughter giggled and watched, alert to the busyness all around.

Today, six loads of washed sheets and towels later, (and very grateful for the gift of on-going dry and sunny days), I sit in the silence of my prayer window – after moving the binoculars from the seat, abandoned there by the grandson who so enjoys peering through them at the birds and trees.

I reflect on the goodness of God.

The fleeting visit of dear friends from Seattle, friends who shared life with us and raised our children together many years ago when they lived here – was the magnet drawing all our family living round Scotland back to the ‘hillock.

Happy reunions. Shared memories, poignant and joyful. Deep reflections on faith and justice and love. Somehow finding enough beds for 15 one night, 13 other nights.

Beside me, Don, revelling in the joy and sharing in the work. Actually, all the adults beside me over the days, cooking, clearing, cleaning, playing. Happy chatter. Memories.

And always in the mad melee, the shadow of absence, the vacant spaces where some are missing, some who live afar now, in America, in Australia. Some who have already moved into eternity.

The reminder, by their absence, of the wisdom of ‘Carpe Deum’ – seize the day. In this world, in these uncertain times, the future is not clear. We have this moment.

So, I try to live like Jesus, who, because of the joy awaiting him beyond the cross, was able to face the pain and loss of the cross with grace and peace and love.

Lord, help me to live light today, anticipating the eternal joy while embracing today’s joys and sorrows. Help me to focus my eyes on Jesus, so I can live life to the full, with all its inherent joys and sadnesses.

May my every inclination be ones of gratitude, thankful for your everlasting love, grace, mercy…and peace.

Eye of the Storm

 

A good friend had a prayer picture during a time of prayer in Bible study. She was shown a tornado, swirling and wild, throwing all sorts of precious people and things round and round chaotically. The tornado was not hovering across the land but rather was ploughing through layers of ground: first through a man-made layer of concrete/tarmac, then reaching another level which was arid and lifeless, like a desert, and finally it went deep enough to reach fertile soil. The tornado was not stationary; it was moving forward in a definite direction.

Chaos and speed characterise our world these days, and many of our lives. I am so encouraged to be assured by the Lord that although things feel out of control – that relationships might be tense, finances tough, the future uncertain – God is limiting the size of the tornado and it is moving according to his guidance. He has purpose in drilling through the man-made traditions and customs which harden our hearts and stifle our souls. He has compassion in cutting through the layer of disappointment and grief which can leave us feeling empty and despairing.

I am also reminded that in every tornado there is an eye, a still, calm space of peace. In the eye of the storm, we can rest and be renewed and refreshed and reassured: as we remain and abide in Jesus, we can rest in that eye of the storm and even if we don’t feel we’ve gained much perspective, we learn to trust. To trust in the One who is the way, and the truth and the life.

Jesus will reach that fertile soil, the fertile soil in each of our lives. Again, we will rest beside streams of living water. Again, the living water will flow through us, so that we bear fruit for the Kingdom.

I am so grateful for his love, for his guidance, and for the way he uses us as believers to encourage one another as we hear his voice expressing his love in many creative ways.

Praise the name of Jesus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

 

Out of Control

 

I was about 14, spending a weekend in the snow at Big Bear, in the mountains surrounding Los Angeles. I was with the church youth group, and we went tobogganing.

The hillside was steep, ending in a slight ski jump above a gravel lay-by on the roadside. Giant conifers were scattered across its slope. I’d never before been on a toboggan.

My friend Carol had spent a few years on the east coast and knew how to steer a toboggan with her body, leaning one way and then the other, so she suggested riding down with me. I got on first. She accidentally let go.

I took off at speed. Careering downwards, I could have just fallen off to stop myself. Instead, I closed my eyes.

Somehow, I missed the various trees. I didn’t wipe out any other kids on sleds. I made it to the bottom, where I flew upwards before landing with a conclusive thump on the gravelled lay-by. No cars were there and none were coming along the road.

God placed a guardian angel with me on that perilous journey decades ago. He held back any vehicles. I landed unscathed, exhilarated by the thrilling ride. Oblivious to many of the dangers I passed along the way.

Today, global news bulletins, environmental degradations, local events and relationship strife can make life feel out of control, like a crazy toboggan run. I still don’t know how to steer the toboggan. I don’t know what to do in many cases, or how to make a positive difference. But I do know who can make a difference. I do know who rides with me, who is in control, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

I’m not sure if I was actively praying on that crazy toboggan run, but I sure am now. Sometimes my eyes are open; sometimes they are firmly shut. I am putting all my trust in the only one who can keep me safe, who can calm the storms and make all things new. To Jesus be all the praise and worship, all the glory and thanks. He’s still got the whole world in his hands, even if I have to just close my eyes and go with it.

 

Light

 

Let there be light took on a more personal meaning last night. As Storm Amy raged outside, buffeting the trees, breaking branches and scattering dying leaves, the lights flashed and then clicked off last night around 10.

The word from the power company was that they were working flat out, and estimated power would be restored by Monday night at 8 pm. But it’s Saturday morning, I thought. Wow.

So glad to be going down to the prayer breakfast. I always appreciate the prayer times, and today I really appreciated the hot coffee and the plug to charge my phone. Nearly bought a new, big torch, except it was rechargeable and not battery-powered – useless in the circumstances. Glad I left it in the shop, as when I opened the back door, I was greeted by voices from the television, which had been on for the news last night.

Yes! Back in business, but with winds again gusting I am trying to do all my electricity-dependent stuff now. You never know.

I count myself pretty resilient. Daughter of Marines, graduate of Camp Fire Girls. I know how to minimise my needs and get by.

But oh, how lovely to the eye is the steady beam of a kitchen light, and the sound of the electric kettle steaming up for a coffee.

My inconvenience is the way of life for most of the world. I am reminded again of the privilege in my life, grateful for the choices I have, and prayerful that I use what I have to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly and obediently with my God today.

And in the darkness and despair of those for whom such deprivation is the norm, let there be light. Let the light shine in the darkness.