A few years ago I bought and planted a passion fruit vine in our back yard. It approved of its new home and soon its glossy, deep green foliage covered almost every metre of our side fence. For several years it thrived, giving us one bountiful crop after another. We enjoyed the abundance of fruit and so did family as well as friends. 

Then one day it changed its mind.

It stopped sending out new shoots, there was no more fruit, the leaves began to yellow… and then they fell off. Soon it was almost naked and I decided it was time for the axe. Before the axe however, everything above ground had to be removed. Starting from its peripheral growth, I cut and cut for hours, dead wood and green wood alike. As I came closer to the butt of the vine a strange thing happened. I began to feel compassion. The vine had served us well. It had adorned our fence with a beautiful green canopy, it had cooled our back yard during the hot summers and it had been outrageously generous with its large golden fruit! About a metre from its stump I decided it deserved another chance, so I ceased my cutting. I fed it, gave it some extra TLC and then I waited…and waited…and waited. For the longest time it just sat there, doing absolutely nothing. I checked often for new growth but as time went on I gave up checking and wondered if I’d made the wrong decision. Winter came and went. Still nothing.

Then it happened…a new shoot. 

Aah, the thought of lush green growth and sweet golden fruit again. I couldn’t wait. But I had to wait. The growth was so slow! There were no flowers, just leaves and more leaves. I was disappointed. Summer came and went without a single bud and then winter stripped some of its precious life-giving leaves. Once more disappointment set in, and again I wondered if I had made the wrong decision.

When the warmer days returned, it seemed the vine remembered that Spring was a time for veracious growth. Before long it had recaptured huge stretches of the fence which was once more covered with its large glossy leaves. As summer progressed I once again had to train soft new shoots to join the rest of the flourishing growth. It seemed to be growing before my very eyes.

Halfway through summer I had almost given up on fruit for another season when one day, as I hung washing on the line, I noticed a splash of white amongst the green. A flower at last, and then more flowers and it wasn’t long before fruit began appearing on the vine once more. Oh the joy of patient waiting! 

This experience spoke to me on several levels. Firstly it spoke of God’s compassion and His patience towards me. During the seasons of my life when I’ve wandered and didn’t operate within His purposes for my life, He didn’t give up on me or cut me off, He just waited. And then when I drew close to Him again, He was there - ready to forgive, ready to give me another chance. He’s sometimes referred to as ‘God of the second chance’ but I love the title ‘God of another chance’.

Then there’s John 15:1 ‘He is the vine, we are the branches’. He’s the wise gardener who cuts off branches that don’t bear fruit and prunes those that do, so they will bear even more fruit. ‘Bearing fruit’ begins with my heart and I know God’s desire is to transform me into the image of Christ so that I will represent Him well and bear fruit in this broken world. I often need pruning.

Thinking about the pruning times in my life, it’s sometimes easier to see God’s hand in retrospect rather than in events as they happen. This is especially true in the difficult times. Leaning heavily on God, I have asked for His reassurance, His guidance, His comfort. His compassionate and often very specific response has born fruit in my faith walk. Hearing an unmistakable response from the God of the universe moved my heart and that moved me in my faith. It built a little more history with my Heavenly Father. Changes in my heart and growth in my faith will lead to fruit. Unfortunately, like my passion fruit, both are slow. 

Although my faith journey is a slow one, my Master Gardener is patient, He showers me with grace and compassion, undeserved and outrageously generous grace and compassion. I know I often disappoint Him but He nurtures and He waits. He’s the wise Gardener who knows just what I need. He knows that I need Him!

It’s been a long time since I posted!

Sometimes an idea for a new entry pops into my head but in recent days I haven’t had the time to do anything with it. Today is different. It’s a quiet Saturday morning and I have the house to myself. My little piece of heaven – a quiet house and the chance to write.

Sitting at our dining table a few minutes ago one of these ideas popped into my head while I was talking to God. Actually it wasn't so much an idea as a picture, and it’s one I want to share. The one you see isn't exactly what I saw but it’s the best I could find.

Sometimes I am almost overwhelmed by my likeness to this cracked clay pot. To anyone listening to my silent prayer this morning, it would have seemed grounded on a pure motive but deep down I knew it wasn't. The realisation once again threatened to overwhelm me. As I sat pondering my less-than-pure motive, a wonderful truth began to take shape in my mind. I've long know this truth but it has just now became a treasured reality for me.

Those ugly cracks and breaks can allow something wonderful to happen. It will never be, but if I resembled something like the whole, undamaged pot you see below, its contents would never be visible.

So this morning I saw clearly the special benefits of being a not-so-perfect clay pot.  ^“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”
This gives me reason to rejoice in my 'clay potness'.

Recently my husband and I celebrated thirty six years of marriage - by today’s standards a pretty impressive milestone. We met almost forty years ago. Suddenly I feel very old! I guess it’s not all bad though, it's a reasonable explanation for the aches and pains that have crept into my days and my nights. ‘Badges of honour’ perhaps?!

When Jeff and I met all those years ago, we were fresh-faced eighteen year old students. Some would say a most unlikely combination. One of us from less than affluent country origins - the other growing up in a well-off city home, one prone to excitement and chatter - the other thoughtful and often a reluctant speaker, very different chosen vocations and academic standing. Similarity was, and still is, a rare ingredient in our partnership.

In those early, very exciting days, time together was rationed. We survived on occasional phone calls during the week, counting the hours till the weekend. Friday night was the best night of the week and Sunday night was the worst! Hellos and goodbyes were frequent. On weekends we spent long hours in each other’s company. They were special days, excitement and anticipation our constant companions.

Holidays at home in the country with my family, were now more difficult. They meant separation. The days dragged between letters, phone calls and the occasional visit. Oh how we looked forward to those visits, literally counting down the hours!

A handful of years later we encountered an even more difficult period of separation: my first teaching post in the country. Weeks were spent apart: weeks planning a wedding and separated by a nine hour drive. Again letters and phone calls kept us going. I spent many long evening hours in a breezy telephone box outside the deserted Post Office in the main street of a mining town. Interspersed amongst the everyday and the mundane, we dreamed and planned our future together.

***

These days we have much more choice when and how we spend time in each other’s company. When we’re both at home we snatch moments together, here and there - a quick cuddle between jobs or a cup of tea together. Walking down to our local Dome and sharing coffee, gives us the opportunity for more in-depth catch-up time. Sometimes we find ourselves together on a chore or kicking back and just relaxing in each other’s company.

Together-time in our relationship is a mix of brief encounters, special moments, toiling alongside each other, shared struggles, occasions of celebration and sometimes just sitting beside each other in silence.

In a roundabout sort of way, all this reminiscing was sparked by our pastor’s message yesterday, about our shared times with God. Then this morning during some of those shared moments with God I read this…

“I will not show you what is on the road ahead, but I will thoroughly equip you for the journey. My living Presence is your Companion each step of the way. Stay in continual communication with Me, whispering My Name whenever you need to redirect your thoughts. Thus, you can walk through this day with your focus on Me. My abiding Presence is the best road map available.”

I've spent some time comparing the way I do both my relationships with my husband and with God, and I've noticed similarities. Both consist of brief encounters, intimate moments, unexpected and spontaneous connections, deep and meaningful times and quiet hours in each other’s presence. It takes a rich mix of different kinds of encounters, small and large, to build a strong and authentic relationship.

I found myself also pondering the times when these two important relationships don’t feel so strong and vibrant. Often, these are times when I'm distracted by others things and other voices, and the relationships most important to me suffer.

Yesterday’s reminder helped me see again, the importance of even the smallest, most incidental encounter with my husband and with my God. These sometimes fleeting moments, though they sometimes seem inconsequential, have the power to enrich, bless and even transform us. The more of these we have, the better we know each other! Surely a winning ingredient for any relationship

Thank you, Stephen.

When I was fifteen I had to go away to school. From Monday to Friday I stayed with a family in a nearby town, coming home for the weekends. Arriving home each Friday afternoon, I would stand at the end of the kitchen bench while my mother worked on dinner preparation, rattling on and on about anything and everything that popped into my head. She never asked me to stop. We’d missed each other and it was catch-up time. Separation is sometimes difficult.

On the completion of my study, I was posted to a small country town where I knew no one. This time I had even more to miss. In addition to my family and friends, I missed my soon-to-be-husband. I missed everything about him. Oh how I missed him! It was a painful separation!

Some years later, just a few short months after our first daughter arrived, our little family found itself in a new city, once again far away from loved ones. It was a very difficult time. There was so much we wanted to share with people back home. We wanted them to see our little girl’s progress, to hold her and tell us how wonderful she was, to share in our joy. I wanted to hear my Mum say that the sleepless nights and our baby’s teething rattiness wouldn't last forever! I yearned to sit with her and swap baby stories, to find out what kind of baby I had been. I needed advice in the new, sometimes scary role that engulfed every minute of my day and my night. 

My husband left early each work day and often arrived home after dinner when our little girl was already tucked up in bed. They were lonely days. Before the internet and mobile phones, we survived on a flood of letters from home and the occasional phone call. In my lonesome, quiet hours I wrote literally hundreds of letters to family and friends. Penning the letters gave me an artificial sense of closeness but it evaporated when I signed off, much like it did at the close of phone calls from home. Sometimes separation is really hard!

Fast forward to 2014. This afternoon, just three days to Christmas ...

I joined the threads of people leaving the shopping centre. As the big doors closed behind me and I headed in the direction of my car, I sensed a small voice whispering, “Don’t forget what this is all about.” Walking across the parking area, ingredients for more Christmas cooking hanging from each hand, I had something akin to a little watershed.

I started to think what it must have been like for the God of the universe, to willingly let the only Son He had, leave home and go to live in a foreign place among foreign people. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like. They’d never experienced that kind of separation.

Years ago I experienced first-hand the ache that comes when you are separated from those you love. The cute little image of a baby in a manger belies the reality of what was really involved in that humble stable. A Father and Son were no longer living together as they had, since before the beginning of time. As He looked down at the babe in the manger, I wondered if God ached for His Son.

It was a separation born out of love, love for those this baby came to live among. In a sense Father and Son were separated for a time because of a love that is far too great to get my head around.

The baby in the manger didn't just mark the beginning of a separation though, it was also the demonstration of a promised reunion, the greatest reunion of all time, a reunion that happens when we choose to take up the gift that was offered on that very first Christmas!

At the end of 2012, our oldest daughter found out she was pregnant. After many years of waiting, a grandchild at last – our very first! We were all ecstatic beyond words! However, as is common these days, the news wasn't to be made public until after the 3 month scan. I thought I would pop! I couldn't wait to tell my friends… and anyone else who’d care to listen!

We eagerly awaited the scan day, which happened to coincide with me having coffee with an old friend, (she’s actually not that old) just days before school went back for the new year. I had waited 8 weeks for this day, so I asked Kristen to call me as soon as the scan was complete. My friend would be the first to know!

Sitting looking out over the ocean, enjoying coffee and a catch-up, I remember it vividly, as if it happened only yesterday, like a moment frozen in time. I recall my phone ringing and the almost explosive excitement as I answered the call. I remember too, the flat tone in my daughter’s voice, the heart-stopping feeling of rising apprehension and panic as she spoke. “I've had the scan Mum, and it seems there may be a problem with the baby.” She went on to explain the spinal cavity measurements were very abnormal and cause for significant concern, so they were sending her off for blood tests.

The next afternoon my husband and I took another call from her, they had the results of the blood tests and they confirmed the very real possibility the bub would be born with a chromosomal syndrome called Trisomy 13, a condition associated with severe intellectual disability and physical abnormalities in many parts of the body. Due to the severity of the abnormalities, few babies live more than a days or weeks after birth and only 5-10% live past one year.

As you can imagine we were devastated: devastated for our daughter and son-in-law, for ourselves, for our family and for the little bub! I can’t adequately describe the hours after the call. Our daughter and son-in-law needed time alone together, to process the news, and this meant we couldn't even hug our girl and cry with her. That was hard and it was lonely too.

I talk to God often but especially in difficult and trying times. I ask Him for help and I ask for wisdom, and I often experience these in a tangible way. However this time I felt like I couldn't pray, besides I didn't know what to pray.

On the second day after receiving the news, I had a remarkable experience – another moment that seems frozen in time. It was a hot Sunday afternoon and I was lying on the bed, tired but unable to sleep. I remember talking with God, telling Him how I felt and telling Him I didn't know what to pray.

This bit is hard to describe, but I felt as though God’s instant reply was, “Pray for a whole and healthy baby.” Those exact words….so I did.

I'm going to share a little of my journey over the weeks that followed, and although it’s hard to put it into words, I’ll do my best.

A few days later, on the Monday, I was feeling pretty low, perhaps still a little numb. I was sitting at the table reading, when, for want of a better way of describing it, words came charging over those written on the page and indeed over my thinking. There’s no other way to describe it. I wasn't thinking music, lyrics or anything other than what I was reading. The words that came charging in, were, “Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” I knew the words well because they are from a very old hymn that I love, called ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’, written in the first part of last century.

This is the part I really have difficulty describing. At that moment, sitting at our table with my cup of tea in front of me, it felt as though the God of the universe had reached down and lifted me out of a dark, sad place. I felt no sadness, only hope, the most incredible experience … and just the beginning too!

For the rest of that day, without invitation, I found myself singing or whistling the hymn. It was stuck in my head, like a cracked record. It was an amazing day and I couldn't believe the way I felt. It was as though yesterday I had been in the depths of Winter and now I was basking in the warmth and beauty of Spring, with all its hope; hope of new beginnings and of new life. I’d never experienced anything quite like it before and I had trouble getting my head around it!

I find God often ‘talks’ to me through words I read in the Bible. The very next day I was reading a verse in the middle the Bible. It finished like this, 'Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.’ I was more than a wee bit taken aback by the exact same words at the end of the verse, exactly the same as those from the previous morning.

I like to write about important events in my life so that day I began journaling.

The very next day, while reading my Bible, these words fairly jumped out at me…“Write this down for the next generation so that people not yet born will praise God.” I was blown away! An unlikely event, but it seemed I was one step ahead on that one. J

I was beginning to feel as though God was walking every step of every day with me, telling me what I needed to hear, daily reassuring me He was with me and He understood how I felt. Walking with Him was making a powerful difference to my journey! I felt like something inside of me had shifted, I'd been given wings and I was flying above the uncertainty. I’d been given the precious gift of hope.

Over the coming days, again and again, I read verses that indicated God knew exactly how I felt and what I was thinking. He answered my questions and He reassured me often that He was doing the journey with me. It was huge and it was life changing!

Time and time again the words I read seemed written just for me, and they fed a growing hope. Words like, “God is gracious – it is He who makes things right, our most compassionate God. God takes the side of the helpless.” 

Some days later our youngest daughter rang. She told me she believed the baby was going to be fine and she shared this verse with me,‘…all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe – people and things, animals and atoms – get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies…’  

As you can imagine, I was talking to God often in those uncertain days. I began to feel a growing sense that He telling me the baby would be born whole and healthy. However there was a shadow across my thinking. I was concerned that I might be putting my own spin on the words I was reading, that I wanted so badly for this baby to be born well and whole, that I was reading something into the words. So one morning as I talked to God I told Him that too. Within minutes I read this in Psalms, ‘Remember what you said to me, your servant – I hang on those words for dear life! These words hold me up in bad times; yes your promises rejuvenate me…I don’t budge from your revelation.’

To cut a very long story short, almost four long weeks after the very first scan, and after a sample of the placenta had been taken, our daughter rang to say the results revealed no evidence of abnormality.

No words can convey my emotions when I read these words a few hours later, so I'm not even going to try to craft some clever description! Suffice to say that when I read them, I cried!

‘ All you who fear God, how blessed you are. Enjoy the blessing, revel in the goodness!

...The children around your table as fresh and promising as young olive shoots.

Stand in awe of God’s “Yes”.  Oh how He blesses the one who fears God. Enjoy the good life…enjoy your grandchildren.’ 

…and we have done just that!

Five months later Jackson Charlie was born, and he was perfection!

We now have two adorable little grandsons, and they bring us such joy!

Jackson Charlie, just a few days old

Now more than a year old...
and almost always wearing a smile!

                                                     

                                                       ...and

our newest little grandson, Harper.

I'm surprised how often I learn or am reminded of something important when I spend time in my garden. My thoughts often wander when I'm doing things like weeding, and that’s what happened the other day. As I pulled one weed after another, I realised just how many there were … so, so many! What’s worse, even though I pulled them all, new ones will take their place within days. No garden stays weed-free. We have to keep at it.

It’s crazy, I nurture and care for my special plants - the ones I paid for, was given or perhaps grew from seed. I water them regularly, feed them, sometimes I even train them or stake them. However unlike my special plants, weeds in my garden receive no special treatment…but they thrive! They are often the finest specimens in a garden bed; the greenest, the healthiest and sometimes even the tallest! I won’t lie, that really annoys me! It seems so unfair!

Even as I removed those unwelcome tenants from my front garden the other day, I realised we can learn something from them, something I need to keep reminding myself of…over and over.

Have you ever noticed the negative aspects of our personality take root, grow and ever thrive without any care or cultivation? On the other hand, our positive habits and attributes often need attention and nurture in order to thrive and grow. It’s strange isn't it?

When our girls were little ones, we spent a good deal of time encouraging the positive and discouraging the negative aspects of their behaviour, sometimes having to employ quite drastic measures! I remember once when our two oldest girls had done something very wrong, their father sent them to bed with crusts of bread instead of the healthy meal I’d prepared for them! I cried….but it proved to be wisdom. That drastic measure served as helpful discouragement and they never did it again.

Our oldest grandson, like many other little boys his age, doesn't seem to need any encouragement to occasionally try his hand at wrong-doing or disobedience. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very good little man, but I've noticed we don’t need to explain or show him how to do wrong. It seems to come quite naturally.

It’s true to say every child is different in his or her inclination towards wrong-doing, but it’s also interesting to note that one of the first words most children speak, is the word, “No”. Our bent towards wrong seems hard-wired into us.

I wonder if you can see where I'm going with this.

Like the weeds in my garden, the negative, undesirable aspects of my thinking and actions will thrive unless I invest time and energy on their removal, and it seems when I ‘pull’ one, another often appears. It’s a constant task that I mustn't neglect or things can get ugly.

I often quote from a book that has stood the test of time, because it offers wisdom for people of all ages and circumstances. I found some really good advice and it reads like this… 

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.”

Actions follow thinking, so it stands to reason our thinking is pretty important, and we should be nurturing the kind of thinking that leads to the actions we know are right and good. I need to remind myself often, to be watering and feeding the kind of thinking that is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy, and if I do, all those around me benefit and so do I.

After a recent storm, I was sad to discover the wind had brought down a lemon-laden branch.  It had very literally been torn from the tree and lay limp among a carpet of storm debris on the ground. The trunk bore the scar: a long white strip peeled from its living layer, evidence of the missing limb, and a hole in the foliage left the tree looking a little lopsided. I was sad!

Cutting the ripe lemons from the branch, I brought them inside, and having no immediate need for them, they went in the pantry. There they stayed for several weeks, in fact long after the vandalous act of nature was forgotten.

This evening we’re having guests and I decided a lemon soufflé would be a nice addition to the dinner menu. Out came the flour, the sugar, the eggs, some milk, a little butter and then... the main ingredient…a very large lemon from my pantry, large enough to take the place of the two needed in the recipe.

Cooking a well-known recipe gives me time to think, and this morning as I mixed and folded, my thoughts drifted to the enormous lemon, the fruit of the storm.  How wonderful that the storm's carnage need not be wasted, instead the main ingredient in something wonderful!

We all encounter ‘storms’ from time to time, and I remembered a storm that came my way a year or two ago. Actually it felt a little more like a hurricane at the time! Looking back, I recalled talking to God very often during those difficult days. I also remembered asking Him to help me not to waste the experience, to help me learn something valuable from it. At the time it seemed a strange ask but I didn't want the pain to be fruitless.

Looking back, I can see I learned many things from those difficult days, and I am grateful!

That day after the storm there didn't seem any immediate use for the lemons. It seemed a waste. However in time, one large lemon became an essential ingredient in something wonderful.

I wonder if it’s easier to bear difficulties and pain if we feel the trials have some ultimate purpose. That’s not to say they are caused for a purpose. However, if they bear fruit, they are not wasted, and something good comes from the pain.

I'm very much looking forward to the good that has come from the storm we encountered a few weeks ago, and tonight I know I'm going to especially enjoy the delicious lemon flavour of the soufflé!