Blog

I am so thankful

for trees.

They surround me with

picture after picture

of life in God.

They way they stand

on impossibly narrow trunks,

it shouldn’t work.

What I see

defies the law of gravity –

all around me

miracles.

Except, what I don’t see

explains the miracle:

a root system as deep and wide

as the tree.

So is it a miracle, how the tree stands?

Does it break the law of gravity?

Only when you don’t know

the invisible part.

Like every miracle.

I want my life to be like that.

So deeply, so vastly rooted in God

that what people see

looks miraculous, like it shouldn’t work.

And leaves! Oh!

Winter’s dark, tangled, branches

blush green, as the tiny fresh leaves curl out

from what looks like

dead wood; and grow

flattening and spreading and turning

their faces to the sun.

They actually take light and

transform it

into energy.

They breathe in my waste,

and give me fresh air.

They dance in the breeze, catching and

scattering sunlight, dappling shadows on

the ground.

They grow thick on the trees –

extravagant elegance,

until

the green fades into yellow, orange, red

and they let go

falling, falling.

So wasteful! The marvellous little engines,

millions and millions of them,

all that fabulous abundance

mouldering on the ground

as though

God doesn’t care.

As though he can just

grow new ones.

Easily.

And every year he does.

I’m thankful for trees because they are a

testament

to the cyclical, seasonal nature of life:

times of abundance, times of bare-ness.

But always life.

Always the roots digging in and holding on.

Always the branches stretching into the sky.

Always beauty.

Always hope.

Always a miracle.

A picture

of life in God.

Thank you, Father.

This is from my quiet time today. Thought I’d share. I read through the OT, the Gospels and the NT – all three. So each day I get a little of each, but the mixing can be quite random. It’s often interesting to put them together and see the message of the Big Picture.

Neh 4:13 “From that day on, half of my men did the work, while the other half were equipped with spears, shields, bows, and armour.”

Jerusalem was broken, burned out and shaken apart. Foreign kings ruled over it. Nehemiah and a few others were trying to rebuild its wall, but powerful people didn’t want it to succeed.

Mark 4:3 “A farmer went out to sow his seed.” -and only some fell on good soil and thrived. All the rest died.

The seed is the word of God. It has the power of Life itself in it, but powerful things don’t want it to grow.

I Cor 7:29 “What I mean, brothers and sisters, is that the time is short. From now on those who have wives should live as if they do not; those who mourn, as if they did not; those who are happy, as if they were not; those who buy something, as if it were not theirs to keep; those who use the things of the world, as if not engrossed in them. For this world in its present form is passing away.”

This powerful world has an expiry date.

Whatever the thing – whoever the person – I am distracted by, I need to see past them to the life that is coming. Or maybe I need to see through them. See the coming kingdom light as it shines in and over the distracting thing or person. See them with God’s own perspective.

I need to see this world by the light of the one that is coming.

And then live into that.

It’s not easy.

All the forces of hell and my own fallen self fight it.

All the deceitfulness of wealth, all the cares of this world, all the enemies of the kingdom try to stop the work of God in me.

But what is my help from today’s passages?

• If I have to be less productive in order to be more protective of God’s work, so be it.
• God’s work is to grow his own life in me, and his word is the seed of that life.
• The battle may be fierce but it is timed, and the timer is ticking.

Prayer:

Father, thank you that I do not need to be dismayed by my weakness, or by the strength of the enemy. His days are numbered, and mine are not. Teach me how to see, and how to live, by your light as you grow your life in me. Give me strength – and wisdom – for the battle. Amen.

I’m having a bad day.

1. I slept in and then skipped my quiet time with God; I’ve been off-kelter ever since.
2. I made time for writing, but then sat here staring at my computer, listening to my brain tell me all the reasons why I’m wasting time and being foolish.
3. So I switched over to my mesmerizing financial spreadsheets. Numbers. There’s something I can work with. And I did, for over 2 hours.
4. Now I feel guilty for being so obsessed with money.
5. And the housework that was supposed to be done isn’t.
6. And the food planning and prepping isn’t either.
7. And All The Things.
8. And it’s late afternoon and I’m just angry at myself.

I’m feeling like a lump of waste matter.

And still, I don’t want to do any of The Things.

I’m writing this because I want to gripe.

But also, I’m hoping I can write my way back to a better mental space.

I’m hoping I can write my way back to Jesus.

Because I know for sure a few things:

• He doesn’t care that I skipped my quiet time. That may sound scandalous but I knew it at lunch today. I let go of the guilt and thanked him that he is just as ‘here’ whether I have a designated time of bible study and prayer, or not. Quiet times are helpful for me, for sure, and precious. I don’t want to treat them as optional because I need them to keep myself rooted in truth. But they are not mandatory every single day. That would make them religious duties. It would make them something I do to secure me God’s favor. It doesn’t work that way. I knew this at lunch but I’ve lost it since.

• Jesus also doesn’t care that I’ve wasted time, or that I am interested in monitoring our investments. When I say he doesn’t care, what I mean is he’s not dismayed by it. It hasn’t ruined any plans of his. He IS concerned about my mental health, and inasmuch as these things have upset me, he cares very much. But he cares like a good friend would: not wagging a finger, but with a compassionate sigh.

• In fact, he really doesn’t care about All The Things at all. He can deal with them in a heartbeat. What He cares about is that I’m beating myself up over them.

• He’d like to step in and defend me from me, if only I’d let him.

• So I will. I will take a deep breath and welcome him back into my thoughts.

Deep breath.

He’s here. He always was. Thank you, Jesus.

Another deep breath.

The dark churning thoughts fall softly down, my body relaxes. I hadn’t realized how tense I was. My mind quiets.

Joy? My-oh-my. A little bit.

And here’s what I know for sure now:

The time that’s gone is gone. There’s no getting it back. Yes, it’s a shame, but moaning over it only steals more time yet.

I have this shining present moment, and Jesus is here with me in it. He is kind, so kind; and strong, and marvellously unfazed by all my thrashing.

He’s already calculated it all into his spreadsheet, every wasted – and not wasted – moment.

It still totals the way he wants.

He’s inviting me to get up now, and do some housework, maybe make some dinner – The Things.

Put on some music and dance.

And I find, for the first time today, I want to.