Forget About the Burning Bush - How About a Lime Tree?

If I told you that God spoke to me through my lime tree, you would probably think I am a little crazy. But He did...and maybe I am!

Late last Autumn, we transplanted our citrus trees. They had been in a garden bed, but were really too big for it. A short time later, though, we had some unseasonably warm, dry weather with a strong north wind (hot here in the southern hemisphere). The poor lime tree took a battering, almost blown out of the ground. The leaves took on a permanent curl southward and over the months of winter, cold and damp as they were, the leaves began to drop off. 

Now, call me strange and weird ('cos, I reckon it is,too!), but I prayed for my lime. I didn't want to lose it. 

Besides, it had worked before. Previously, my kaffir lime had been in a pot. One summer when we'd been away for a couple of weeks, the one at home to take care of things failed to water it.

When I got home, it had all the appearances of being dead. Dry, brown leaves were curled on the stems or lay on the ground around. I prayed for that tree as well: I watered it, spoke life into it and waited, and did it all again, with a lot of the waiting...And...it came good!  (You might think that it was the watering that helped, and you might be right, but I also believe that God is the Life Force, so I give Him credit anyway.)

So, with that success in mind, I prayed for my Tahitian lime. And watered it. And spoke life into it. And waited. And waited the whole of winter, and then through spring. And it got worse. The leaves started to drop off. There were one or two leaves still green and looking ok, which gave me hope, but not much else...

...Until one day in spring, when nearly all the leaves had fallen off, I went to examine my tree again and I saw some bumps that looked like they could be new growth. But still I wasn't sure. So I waited some more. Then there were some pretty definite looking buds. Over some more time, they became definite beginnings of flowers. Still I wasn't sure, because some things flower just before they die - well I think I read that somewhere anyway.

However, over time, more bumps appeared and this time they turned into teensy tiny leaves, first in the places that had kept one or two leaves, and then gradually all over. Now it is starting to look really promising. It is literally covered with new leaves and many flowers popping out. If it continues this way, we should have a bumper crop of limes this year.

So what does this have to do with God speaking to me from my lime tree?

Well, this morning as I was enjoying the sunshine, I looked at the lime again, feeling the hope of all that burgeoning new life rub off onto the rest of my life. As I did, I felt God talking to me. Not in an audible voice, no. But straight into my heart. In that way that something shifts, something tangible seems to happen.

I felt Him encouraging me that sometimes when we pray, things don't immediately get better. Sometimes when we pray, we feel like things are only getting worse.

The situation looks as dead as my lime did.

This has definitely been my experience over a number of issues this year.

However, I felt that the lime tree was a promise to me, like a precursor. I felt God was saying that even in those places that look dead, or look like they just won’t improve (or may be can't get worse!), He is going to bring new life; that just when we think it is over, time to give up, He is going to suddenly show up and bring life where only death seemed to abound.

Like with Lazarus when all hope was gone: “he's been in the grave four days”; “he'll stink”! “Yep, but this is to show the glory of God”, says Jesus.

The words "unless a seed falls into the ground…" keep resonating in my mind. And how does that end? Well, the seed dies, but something new arises with maybe tenfold, maybe one hundredfold fruit returned.

Anyone for limes?

(And thanks to my lovely daughter for the great photo she took for me!)

"I'm all out of love"

There are times in some relationships and circumstances we can feel so drained it seems we have no more love to give.

I have experienced this a number of times. More recently, though, instead of wanting to give up, I have reflected on my own need of an upgrade in my relationship with God.

Returning to the metaphor of the River of Life, I am reminded that water is freshest if it is flowing. What we receive from God is not meant to be bottled up inside us, but passed on as a blessing to others. If we try to hold it to ourselves, if we dam up the flow, we cease to experience its freshness. It becomes stagnant and stale.

The best way for us to continue to have a fresh touch from God is to continue to pass the blessings on to others. However, we also must remain connected to the Source. This leads to a question:

If we remain connected in our relationship with God, the Source of all love, can we really get to a place where we have run dry?

Further insight into the importance of love came as I helped my mother clean out her old house this past week.  As a rental, there were quite strict instructions on how the property was to be left to retrieve the bond. One of the instructions she particularly struggled with was that each blade of the Venetian blinds was to be cleaned individually. She felt it was overkill. To be blatantly honest though, it was necessary. The even bigger challenge in this was that there were eight floor to ceiling windows of micro-Venetians. Somehow, this job ended up with my name on it!

About two and a half windows in, I was really battling with the task. The weather was not helping at some thirty degrees (C) outside. There was a point where I could feel myself ready to snap, not just figuratively, but the actual blinds! I contemplated going and buying some new ones for a micro-second. And then I mentally "girded up my loins" and decided that I was not going to be beaten by some blinds; I was not going to give in to my weakness. I could finish the job! It was just a matter of discipline and pacing myself. 

Deciding to connect with God in this space, I asked Him how I could use the time positively. I then saw that in performing this task I had the opportunity to bless the new occupants of the house, both in a physical sense as well as spiritually. The energy I was exerting could invest a blessing toward them. 

I also realised that this task was also about character. I saw that my own character had developed. In the past I would have given up, or at least have complained and gotten angry or annoyed with either my mother or the property manager. 

And somewhere in the middle of all this, the connection with the giving of love appeared. The dots joined and I saw a bigger picture:

Love must be the foundation of all we do. 

Not that this is a new thought, but because we can often get into a functional mode with the things we do. We do them because we must; because it is our role; because we are paid to; because we want to use our gifts. In the middle of all this, a rewrite of 1 Corinthians 13 came to mind: "If I [write with eloquence and words of great persuasion], but [write] without love, I am but a clanging gong". You can put your own slant on it.

The important point is that when our actions are founded on love, when we connect with God's heart of love for others in our relationships with them, then we also connect with His power. We land at "Love never fails". Unpacking what that looks like we could say that love never fails meet its objective: to touch; to heal; to empower; to turn up...if we are willing to allow it.   

Some relationships are really tough, though. Some people seem they will never change - they cannot see the need, or just seem to lack the will or capacity. Others don't seem to appreciate what is being given and the personal cost. In these scenarios, it can be very tempting to say, "Enough! I have given enough of my time and energy here, and I have nothing left to give!"

While I will not deny that it is important to set boundaries and give ourselves space in these scenarios, we also need to recognise that

the Source of our love has endless supply.

There is never a drought; provision is never limited. If we find ourselves running out, it is most likely because we have not taken time to be replenished.

There are two aspects to note here . One is about self-care, something those in roles caring for others, or having strong empathy often struggle with. Other people's needs always seem more important. The second is related. 

If we have not learnt to set those boundaries, to put structures around us to ensure our own needs for rest and replenishment are met, we will burn out, we will run out of love, and it is only a very short time before running on empty means we shut down.

When we feel we are all out of love, there are two check points. The first is to make sure of our motivations: do I do this because it fulfils a need in me, or do I genuinely care for the other person? The second check is to ensure our own connection with the Source is secure and flowing well.

Promises, promises

Some brides choose hideous dresses for their bridesmaids to ensure they don't upstage the her on the Big Day.

But most are far more interested in their own dress than much else...

...Well, perhaps apart from their groom!

Weddings are big business and the price women are prepared to pay to look their very best on their wedding day is jaw dropping. The cost and effort put into wedding dresses can be exorbitant. A cynic would suggest that you wear it for a few hours on one day of your life, and then it gets shoved into a box somewhere, maybe only to see the light of day when any daughters you might have are old enough show some interest. 

For my mother, this storage place was her glory box, a beautifully carved wooden chest made for her by my father.

As she is now in the process of moving to a smaller home, I have been helping my mother clean out. She particularly asked if we could go through her glory box together. In amongst old school books, baby clothes, cards and other memorabilia was her wedding dress. As we pulled it out and looked at it, with all its lace and tulle, (and there is an vast amount of both!), she wondered what to do with it. 

On one hand, I feel that it has some importance as it is nearly 60 years old - my parents married in 1959. As it is now a vintage item it has some historical significance.

However, as I brought it home and looked at it, I was struck by another aspect to this significance.

 

I realised that her dress is actually a tangible reminder of far more than one day, of far more than a ceremony and a party.

The thoughts and feelings my mother had when she and her mother chose the dress and when she wore it; all her hopes and dreams for her life ahead seem encapsulated in this dress. And then, it is also symbolic of the commitment two individuals made at the beginning of the road to becoming one.

This dress is not just an interesting relic of something that happened long ago, but has come to represent all that occurred in the ensuing years; not just about a wedding but about a marriage, about children, about grandchildren and about all the bits between. Sure, not all of it was perfect, not all of it was happy. But much of it was, and much was the fulfilment of the promises made on that day. 

In an era where marriages lasting the distance of life are not so common and perhaps not even cherished as much, I wonder do we really understand the importance of promises or vows that are made?

What does true commitment actually mean? Even when vows are made with heartfelt passion, how many people are prepared to stick to their promises after the passion fades? And is it even important?

Do we really comprehend the vast impact and possibilities of promises?

Having been through divorce and experienced the ongoing disruption of broken vows on family, on friends, on children, revisited at each new life event, I see promises as powerful. While we might make them lightly, or even without much thought of the consequences of our failure to keep them, there is no lessening of the capacity they possess to influence the lives of many.

So often our promises and commitments are contingent, though: I will as long as you do; I will as long as I feel like it; I will as long as you make me happy, or it is convenient. I will forever, but if I am not happy, I will make sure you aren't happy either.

And there can be a tendency to carry these attitudes and beliefs over into our relationship with God. We are committed to Him when we feel like it, as long as it is convenient or comfortable, or while we need Him. And when it is not, we cast Him aside or ignore Him, with no concern over the wider impact.

Fortunately, God is not like us.

Although some of God's promises in the Old Testament were conditional, many of His promises actually require nothing of us. They demonstrate that He is faithful to us and to His word no matter what we do or don't do. His faithfulness and His passion for us never ends. We may not want to connect with these or with Him, but it doesn't change the way He feels about us. We can't do anything to deserve more from Him, or to deserve less.

And like all promises and commitments, our interactions with God's promises may have greater consequences than we ever know.

"The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does."

Psalm 145:13

In Too Deep?

One of my favourite images is the River of Life flowing from the Temple described in Ezekiel 47.

In a vision, the seer is shown the River getting progressively deeper: from ankle deep, to knee deep, to waist deep, to a River so deep no one could cross it.

There would seem to be a range of ways we can respond when we are offered the River of Life.

For some, we just want to paddle our toes in, get them a little wet, but come and go as we please.

Others might start to go in a little deeper, to explore and experience the River in a way that impacts a little more, but where we can still get out again if and when we want to.

However, there is also a place where we can jump right in, where the water is completely over our heads, where we "sink or swim", and maybe even allow the current to take us where it will.

Ever since I first "saw" it, this place of being in over my head has held a real attraction. The idea of giving myself over to God to the point of allowing Him to direct me and just "go with the flow" carried both excitement and caution in varying quantities. It presented a question:

Do I trust God enough to just jump in, no return?

While we might get used to the idea of being in deep, and even enjoy it, another question arises. It's all very well to enjoy floating down a slow moving, gentle river, but what happens when we hit the rapids, when there are submerged rocks or even looks to be a waterfall up ahead? Are we still happy to be in so deep, or do we start looking for a toe hold, or even try to get out?

Looking back at a period of my life where I felt as though I was in a whirlpool, rapidly being sucked under, I asked God where He was at that time. Although I had felt that I had been holding on to God through it, I had struggled to feel His presence or guidance in that place.

I was given a picture of a parent taking their child swimming. As the child is encouraged to "lie back, relax and float", some children go into panic and clutch their parent as though they are about to be drowned. Parents know they would never let go of their child, or leave them ,but the child doesn't understand this. They allow fear to overwhelm them.

God showed me that I had been like that child. At that time, I was clutching on to my Father, but I didn't really trust Him. I didn't have faith that He would not let me drown, even though I had experienced His goodness many times before. Rather than accepting that I was in the water, (that this was my life), I wanted Him to take me out of the River. I wanted Him to fix the problems and make the pain go away, rather than trusting Him to carry me through.

Although that experience is now far in the past, I have come to realise that at every new set of circumstances the question is asked again at a new and deeper level:

Do you trust Me?

When it seems as though nothing you do (praying, speaking, loving) is bringing about change, can you let go and trust Me, come what may?

I am coming to see that every time I feel as though I am in that deep River, and that it is far from friendly, that it is trying to drown me, my Father says, "Do you trust Me"? 

And I have to answer yes and let go. Again.

Are You a Squanderer?

Have you ever got one of those emails telling you there is a huge inheritance waiting for you?

You know, the one that tells you that some person with the same surname as you has died, and because there are no living relatives to claim the estate, you can claim it yourself. 

All you need to do is send me few thousand dollars, and I will start the legal process to make a claim on your behalf.

Yep, sure thing!

I guess this sort of thing must work at least sometimes. Perhaps it taps into the hope many of us have: maybe someone, (not too close to me so I don't have to grieve too much) will fall off the perch and will leave me a fortune that will answer all my money woes and let me live in the lap of luxury.

There have been a number of times I have actually been on the receiving end of a financial inheritance, though.

The most interesting one would have to be from my great-aunt, who died when I was still a baby. She left a small amount of money to all her female relatives - she had no children of her own. This was held in trust until I was twenty-one, or could be used at my parent's discretion. The stipulation was that it was to be used to enable me, as a woman, to do or achieve something I otherwise could not. 

For my great-aunt, the inheritance was not just about the money. Growing up in the early 1900's she was fortunate to have a father who believed that girls should be educated just as much as boys. All his daughters went to university, and my great-aunt followed her father's footsteps, becoming a doctor. In fact, she was one of the first women doctors in Adelaide.

It wasn't until recently that I realised another aspect of this legacy. I had always taken it for granted that I was given the same opportunity in education as my brothers. The fact that my father expected me to study sciences and maths (as he did my brothers - the only subjects worth learning!), was harder to appreciate, though!

My father died well over ten years ago now, but I well remember his funeral. It was a very difficult day as our relationship with him had been strained. However, I felt that I wanted to honour my father anyway. Looking back, there were so many aspects of our family life that were part of our inheritance from him.

These ranged from a sense of adventure to the way we were expected to treat others and behave, and even to our Christian faith. Among many others, they were all values he planted in his family.

There is a story Jesus told about inheritance that many are aware of.  We call it the parable of the Prodigal Son. The various aspects of this parable have been explored unendingly, but here are a few pertinent thoughts.

The most obvious is about the young son.

In asking for his inheritance, he was basically wishing his dad was dead. He saw no value in his relationship with his father past the money. When he got it, the Storyteller says, he went off and squandered his inheritance on wild living. 

In the end, he really didn't even value the money.

When he returns to his father, we are given a glimpse of his older brother.

This older brother was pretty upset with the father's lavish acceptance of the squanderer. However, I don't think he really understood what his inheritance was either. He accuses his father of not giving him anything, while spoiling his brother. However, his father reminds him that he was able to enjoy everything the father had as his own, at any time.

This topic of inheritance is addressed many other times throughout the Bible. One of my favourites is the promise of our inheritance through Jesus. It includes being able to see clearly, healing of our bodies and souls, and probably my favourite: our freedom. In other places, we are told we inherit the Kingdom of God, which is all these things and more.

Can we be guilty of squandering our inheritance?

Do we, like the younger son, fail to truly value the healing and freedom that has been given to us? Do we waste God's provision for us on self-indulgence and self-gratification?

Or like the older son, are we failing to even realise or connect with the fact that healing, freedom and provision are already ours? Have we failed to access our birthright? 

What is it you value most in your inheritance?

It's about to explode!

Spring is on its way!

Yes, dull, dreary, drizzly days may suggest otherwise, but the inevitable pull of life force tells another story. 

You can virtually feel the buzz of the energy of burgeoning life pulsating the air. Like a racehorse waiting at the gate, itching to burst forth, Spring is coming! 

Blossoms bursting forth on magnolias, rhododendrons, camellias and daffodils call out the news. Spring is coming!

Oh yes, the trees still hold their bare, dead limbs towards the heavens, pleading for sunshine, pleading for warmth, but their fingertips are showing signs of life as the first tips of green appear.

Spring is coming!

Approaching the end of a season of winter, it is easy to feel that this season will never end, that change and renewal are not possible, that it is all too hard. The idea that it is always darkest before the dawn doesn't seem to hold hope, but despair. Will this never end?

But I feel promise in the air. A change is coming, a big change.  A promise of fruitfulness, of newness, and not just a little bit, not just a regular amount. I hear the clarion call - get ready! Are you ready for all that this Spring will bring? For the inevitable harvest that comes from an abundance of nourishment and refreshing rain from heaven? 

The One who loves us is calling to us: come join Me, come join the fun! An abundance of new life is about to burst forth. Come revel in it with Me!

See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland. (Isa 43:19)

A Thousand Little Griefs

Until recently, we had two cats.

Both were in their late teens.

One was always a wanderer. However, having not seen her for a few months now, we are pretty sure this time its for good.

The other was a homebody, and we watched her become more and more frail in the last weeks. Sometimes we had to check twice to see if she was still breathing. Her bodily functions were becoming unreliable and to pick her up felt like she would break. And then one day she went out and didn't come back.

It took me a couple weeks to be ready to clean up their food bowls. Well, I have moved them to the laundry, anyway.

Last week, I had a further loss. We finally made the hard decision to end our English classes for refugees and asylum seekers. I had been involved there for the past two years, but due to dwindling numbers of students and teachers, it was time to bite the bullet.

Travelling home, as I reflected on my feelings about this change, I realised that there had actually been many little griefs along that journey.

Working with people who are somewhat itinerant, we would sometimes have them in class for months and then they would simply not turn up. Sometimes they would come back for a while, and then other times, nothing. Sometimes other students would say, oh, yes, they have gone to Adelaide, or Sydney and so on. Other times we just didn't know. They may even have been sent back to their country of origin to face further persecution, or even death.

When previous students did drop by, our joy was great. As much as we hoped to have added into their lives, they certainly enriched our lives, with their care and acceptance of us, despite their own pains. For people who had been through so much, they always asked after us and our families, even though they were often separated from their own. They are mostly generous, caring people, the sort you would love to share your life with.

Reflecting on these little changes, I wonder how we should deal with the small griefs that drop in from time to time.

There was a point where the cat was really struggling with her continence, and as I perceived her imminent demise, I was really upset. However, since both have disappeared, I have not felt that same level of grief or loss. There is perhaps a belief that they might still come back, a denial that they are gone. So it is easier not to think about it, to just keep going.

How many of these little griefs do we all experience day in day out? Our ability to minimise and deny them means that we can continue to function. However,

is there a point we hit a critical mass, where all those little griefs add up to equal one big one that comes back to bite us?

There is a level at which the pressing needs of day to day living do not allow time to grieve these losses. And part of me is still far too rational - what is the point? Will crying and being upset change the outcome? So I move on, carrying a little more baggage than I probably need to, hoping the weight won't overwhelm me.

Yet.