A meditation for confession and redemption

Father in heaven, gracious maker of my being, of all that is seen and unseen; the giver of all that is good, and the sustainer and light of life.

You are the one who is deserving of every ounce of praise and glory and honour I can eke out of these bones, and it is to you that I come in this hour. 

I come naked in my frailty, in my humanness, in my failure, and in my need of you.

An offering of presence in my neighbourhood

Photo by Nina Strehl on Unsplash

In the parable of the good Samaritan Jesus provided a provocative answer to the question, “Who is my neighbour (that I must love as I love myself)?” What Jesus revealed in his story is that there is not a person in this world to whom we can point and say, “He or she is not my neighbour.” The literal answer, though, is that our neighbours are the people who live next door to us, across the street, and down on the next block. 

When seasons change, things may get ugly

This was last week. Last week fall was my favourite season. The colours were at their best, and everywhere you looked there was another glorious scene to salivate over. But then October faded and cued November's cold rain and powerful gales. Today, in my yard, I am fighting despair as I stand almost knee deep in leaves.

Yesterday I could feel the elation of last week seeping out as I drove past a patch of bare forest, naked and brown. I felt sorry for the trees, all stripped of their radiance. Then the thought struck me that the woods were simply in transition. This is temporary, and how lovely is it going to be in our next season, when all that brown will be blanketed in dazzling white and be made beautiful once again?!

Transition in life is often a time when things don't look very pretty. It's an in-between stage where, like the trees, your old wardrobe is being taken away before you get your new clothes.