Keeping Clear

Naomi Remmen’s book, My Grandfather’s Blessings, mentioned a story where she got a silver bracelet from a dear and wise friend, a counselor. It had one word engraved on it, “clear.” She wore it for a long time before asking what it meant. The friend said, look it up in a big dictionary, not a small one. Many definitions emerged, among them, “free from obstruction, entanglement, impurity, debt…”. The most meaningful definition, however, was “a perfect transmitter of light.” I can be that transmitter of God’s light in Jesus now and again—particularly as we move toward that shortest day of the year on December 22nd, but day in and out, can I keep clear? In my role of shepherding the unruly sheep within me, or around me--those in the fold, in the cold, in the mist, and in the dark, can I keep clear?

I am to be a clear reflection of His beauty, a mirror of his mercy, and grace, and generosity. Lord, let me mirror your character in my own.

When blown by winds of circumstance, frozen sideways by icy coldness from those around us, can I stand as a silent testimony to how deep my roots have gone?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Line Up

Friday was exceptional in the memory making department. Quite a trip back from Stratford-upon-Avon after seeing “Matilda!” yesterday afternoon and a Christmas carol concert yesterday evening in Holy Trinity Church.


We practiced snow-skidding around on the motorways, being stuck at a dead stop for hours, and then limping home thru a huge snow dump. Once close to home we enlisted two passing angels to push us up the last icy bit. We unpacked the car in the dark at the hill bottom and climbed our half-mile steep and icy hill, dragging our overnight bag behind us in the deep, new snow. We fell often, laughing at ourselves, on the 25 degree Foul Step Lane. A hot bath felt good once we collapsed in the front door of our flat.

Later in the night I was meditating on how Christmas makes shepherds of us all to the lost sheep lined up around us. I become aware also of how God’s last Lamb came, ironically, to shepherd us. He, in my busyness, becomes a forgotten Carol that the Father wants to sing to me. As I played “The Forgotten Christmas Carols” by Michael McLean (a 1991 classic), my eyes and heart fill with thanksgiving for His huge descent from his warm home to a far off speck on the edge of a minor galaxy to enact the drama of the Ages once again with a fresh batch of created rebels. My mind opens also to consider the current consensus of astronomers that technologically advanced civilizations probably exist on between a thousand and a million planets just in our little galaxy (Time, Dec 6, 2010, p. 6). I see Him peering down, wondering if and who and when each of his sheep will make a straight path toward Him even as He did toward us.