Graham Chastney's Blessings

I sit atop a cliff, my t-shirt still wet from the sweat that proves the effort that has bought me to this tranquil rock bathed in the sun and wind overlooking a scene of lake and mountain.

Upon the lake the wind dances a waltz with the water in patterns of rolling splendour joined occasionally by swirling white maidens.

As I sit the wind stiffens and the sky darkens, the blue hue gives way to grey.

Across the lake a lace curtain of a rain shower forms and draws nearer. The waltzing splendour on the lake gives way to patterns of fractal like intricacy, patterns within patterns, swirls within swirls, faster and faster. It’s like a street dance crew has invaded a tea-dance. This way and that way they dart across the waters.

I stand and ponder my need for shelter or a coat, but stand and marvel at the beautiful complexity of the scene as the lace curtain draws nearer.

Then, just as the curtain is about to become a veil the wind shifts to the north and street dancers move away from me and towards the town in the distance.

The rolling waltzing patterns of peak and trough return as if they had never been disturbed. Continuing in the dance until the next time the lace curtain and the street dancers return.

Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
      Your workmanship is marvellous—how well I know it.

Psalm 139

This evening I got in from a busy day at work. It’s hot, so I was bit sticky in my long trousers and shirt. I rarely wear a tie, but if I did, it wouldn’t have survived around my neck for the drive home.

Home, I went in search of the rest of the family. Jonathan was outside having his tea with Anna, Sue and Emily were in the kitchen preparing mine.

“We’ve picked some more strawberries, and we’ve got some red raspberries”

“Have you picked them”

“No not yet”

Still in my work clothes I headed outside to the net tent at the back of the garden where the raspberry bushes live. It didn’t take me long to find a handful of wonderful sweet red raspberries.

If you’ve ever tasted a ripe raspberry straight off a bush you know what I mean I say that they were GOOD.

If you’ve never had the pleasure then I’m sorry but you’ve really missed out on one of life’s treats.

They call them fresh in the supermarket – but it’s just not the same.

Perhaps it’s got something to do with the anticipation at watching them grow week by week. Perhaps they taste so much better because I’ve had a hand in their growth. Perhaps they just taste better because they are fresher. I don’t know?

Almost by definition, things that are called fruits taste good. Whether they are sweet or tangy or succulent or even bitter, they taste good.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control

Galatians 5

The cold winter this year managed to kill of a number of plants in our garden, amongst them were two Bay Trees. They weren’t the pretties Bay Tree but their leaves were very useful for the Sunday roast and in a stew.

For some reason, best known to someone in the trade, Bay Trees are very expensive to buy, but I had a cunning plan. I knew my Dad had grown some Bay Trees from seed in pots in his garden. So, when we visited recently, I acquired a couple.

Both of these trees had lovely straight trunks but had been left far too long in rather small pots making the branches all spindly with a rather lonely looking and sparse set of leaves.

As I was looking at these leaves and wondering what to do my Dad walked up behind me and said “put them in a new pot, prune them right back and they’ll grow a storm”.

And that is precisely what I did; with a couple of nice big pots, a bag of compost and my trusty secateurs I got to work.

By the time I had finished there were two pots, two straight trunks, and not too much else. If these two had stayed like that it would have been a tragedy and a waste of time, but I was confident that it wouldn’t be.

A good pruning was precisely what these two immature trees needed.

It’s been a few weeks since I gave the trees their crew-cut and, as expected, they’ve grown a storm with leaves and buds all over the place. The toughest bark has become some of the most fertile areas. They are starting to look like trees again. There are still scars from the pruning, but the growth is already worth the disfigurement. There’s even growth right next to the point where the branches have been dissected.

Jesus said:

"I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn’t bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken.

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me.

"I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples.”

John 15