deeply disturbing

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One of my daughters recently posted this picture while visiting the US. I was in total shock. Halloween has stealthily crept upon the scene here in the UK (No it is not a British tradition quite the opposite!) but I had no idea of the scale it had been perpetrated in the USA. Don’t get me wrong I’m a great advocate of dress up parties even working for a while as a face painter, but this I found disturbing.

I questionioned astonished, “why would any mentally sound person want to put on such a macarbe display?” It was beyond my conprehension. The usual defence of halloween is “It’s just for fun!” I find that even more disturbing that such things can be thought of as “fun”. So what is the real reason for the fascination people have for evil? Why do people choose to watch horror movies etc? I couldn’t understand it at all.

Then a still, small voice whispered in my ear. “Are you really so innocent of such things?” I thought back to the time before I came to know Jesus, recalled a kind of morbid curiosty I had in my teens to read weird or even macarbe comic books etc. In every case there was no second reading only repulsion, but never the less a fasination was there. Can I say now I am cleansed from such things? Searching my heart I find still the seeds. When reading a news report of some major tragedy, earthquake, shooting etc. while appaulled and full of compassion for the victims, there is a certain part that tallies and compares the score, is this the biggest, badest yet?

It seems an inborn part of man this morbid curiousity, a facination for evil, a part of original sin perhaps, build into our DNA? No, I cannot throw stones at the family that made this display and thought it fun, for the seed lies in my own heart in some deep dark corner resisting still the light of Christ. Yet it disturbs me that at this time of year it is given leeway to walk abroad so blatently. Perhaps it is more apparent to a stranger who lacks familiarity.

 

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Greater than riches.

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Joy fills my heart this morning in being able to lift a loved one cast down. The power is not me of course, I’m just like an electrician. I know where the power lies and how to connect it through prayer. I’m just a simple gal, in dirty overalls, carrying a tool kit (my Bible). Yet through God’s instruction I can help bring light and warmth to some destitute place, coat emotional wires in a balm of heavenly love so they can connect safely once more, and connect others to the power source (Jesus) so His power can flow in and they too can plug into it for all kinds of needs.
When I pass on there will be very little in the way of material goods to leave behind. Instead my legacy to my children is their childhood “electrical training”, each knowing how to plug into that power and receive miracles in time of need (even the non-believers lol!)

My own personal sunrise.

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I opened my curtains early this morning to my own personal sunrise. Not through the window, as one would expect, but on the wall opposite. My grandfather’s old handmade matchstick church and the bonsai tree were surrounded by a brilliant, flaming glow of red and orange light, just as if the sun were rising behind them.

A large tree obstructs my view of the sunrise (at least till autumn comes) but the sun shining through a tiny gap had created the glorious vision above my book shelf.

How like life, while we cannot yet see the full beauty of the eternal realities they are sometimes reflected in mundane objects (like my wall) and for a moment we embrace their beauty, but are unable to effectively pass it on to others. My photographic skills couldn’t capture the colour, due to the dim light (with flash no colour/ without flash just black). I can only offer a meager description which cannot catch its glory. Even so some things in life can only be shared by those who have also glimpsed them.

My garden in the sky.

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Back to my personal place, the place that’s me, where I can watch unnoticed all that passes below, partake in the vibes of distant conversations without being burdened by understanding or reply. A place where the sky fills two thirds of my vision, and surprises me in sudden glimpses of breathtaking splendor, where I can see the far off hills, be aware of the old church, rooted through the centuries, without the need to visit. Here were God seems closer than my last week away.

Yes that house is far bigger, it has not just a balcony by a beautiful ornate garden, not just  bathrooms, but outdoor hot tub. It’s far more beautifully furnished than mine, has spare bedrooms, a library and study, even a working fireplace and chimney. All these things I love, yet it seems empty even when all the  family are there. The dog is my comfort, we sit, each missing in our different ways. I rub his ears and watch too many movies in an effort to pass the time till my duties are over and I can pass it all back to its rightful owners.

They like it here, anyone would, it has everything ones heart could desire, all but one, my little garden in the sky is the place God and I chat, a place of renewing, somehow his humility doesn’t sit well with opulence – neither does my heart.

It reminds me of a favourite song:

“Make me the king of a vast domain,

With cups of pleasure to ease the pain.

I’d hate it all without Him…”

Life is like that, things can never fill the empty place within. It’s so good to be home where everything reflects our life together, small, cosy, warm spirited – here I can write again.