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Posts Tagged ‘the Lord our Rock’

‘What was it like when you were at school, Nanna?’ our youngest granddaughter asked me recently. Apparently, her Year Two school work that day involved talking to ‘someone older’ about such things and she had chosen me.

‘Well, we had to be very quiet in class, otherwise we would get into trouble,’ I told her. ‘Sometimes, children would be hit a wooden ruler if they were naughty—or they might even get the cane! We had long, wooden desks, with holes for inkwells—we dipped our pens in ink to write in our copybooks.’

Maxine became quite animated then.

‘Nanna, did you write with a feather?’

I tried not to laugh, as I responded. No doubt she must have seen someone writing with a quill in a TV show or book.

‘Hmm, I’m not that old, but a pen and nib were a bit like a feather!’

So much was strange to her. How come we didn’t get driven to school and picked up afterwards? What did we wear? What did we have for lunch? The more she asked, the more those memories surfaced. ‘Canteen’ was called ‘tuckshop’ back then. No compulsory uniforms in primary school, but I wore a hat, gloves and black stockings at high school, in Brisbane’s stifling, summer weather. On it went—so different from now.

Later, I began to reflect on the positives as well as the negatives of those school years. In primary school, we learnt how to write that lovely Queensland cursive our grandchildren cannot read today. We recited our times tables. We were drilled in mental arithmetic. In English, we did analysis and parsing, so useful to me as a writer today. We marked towns and rivers on maps. All up, I am so grateful for that firm foundation laid in my education back then.

In my early years too, I went to piano lessons twice a week before school, where, as well as mastering pieces and practising sightreading for those scary exams, I learnt music theory. Again, all this laid such a good foundation for those many times in later years when I was suddenly given unfamiliar music to play at church or elsewhere.

As children, we were also sent to Sunday school, but I was fifteen before I came to experience the wonderful, close relationship God offers us. Over the years, my faith grew firmer, as I read Scripture and connected with other Christians. And by God’s grace, I came to experience more of God and more of the Spirit’s leading in my life, sometimes slowly and sometimes in big jumps. Yet in it all, for me, the bottom line was—and still is—that the Lord who called me into his family is himself my firm foundation, my rock, the cornerstone of my life. Without him, I am on shaky ground, like that man Jesus talked about who built his house on sand (Matthew 7:24-27).

Right now, in the midst of these strange, uncertain times, let’s remember who forms that firm foundation of our lives. Let’s remember that, whatever is happening around us, the Lord is always there and will never let us down. Let’s remember—and be so thankful.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. Psalm 18:2

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Jo 23

In the recent Christmas heat, I watched some of the shrubs and plants near our unit struggle to stay alive. Even some of the hardiest ones in pots on our balcony suffered, as the hot sun scorched the leaves and shrivelled the flowers. The native trees nearby survived the best—those gum trees and grevilleas and callistemon have had to learn to be tough in our dry terrain. And it was in the midst of observing all this that I read the following:

The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God.

They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.” Psalm 92:13-15

Have you ever noticed how some folk in their sixties look and act old before their time, while others in their nineties still seem quite young and are happily engaged in life in all sorts of ways? Of course, ill health and other difficulties can make life hard for some. Yet even apart from that, some seem to shrivel up before their time, like my pot plants, and resort to sitting on the sidelines rather than fully participating, while others much older continue to lay hold of life with both hands.

Recently, I discovered that one gentleman who is a member of our Village choir is actually ninety-nine years old! I would never have guessed it. He is interesting to speak to, alert and observant, obviously highly intelligent and also a gifted artist. Someone else told me that when he didn’t turn up to choir last year for a while, they discovered he had gone to Poland for his great-grandson’s wedding!

Now while some might consider me so old already—including our youngest grandchildren—I am actually thirty years younger than this lovely gentleman! So I have been asking myself what God might have in store for me, should I too have another thirty years ahead of me. After all, I did not waste the first thirty years of my life or the second thirty—so why waste the third thirty or beyond? In my old age, which I’m sure I haven’t quite reached yet, I feel there is still so much for me to do. I have ideas for books I would still like to write. I have many more ideas for my blogs. I would love to continue speaking for a while yet. I enjoy mentoring several wonderful women leaders. Everywhere I look, I see other opportunities for ministry. And of course, beyond all that, I want to see our grandchildren grow and flourish and still be invested in their lives for many years to come.

So in 2018, and for as long as God enables, I hope and pray I can be more like the native trees and shrubs I can see from my balcony and not those sad, wilted pot plants. As I keep my feet firmly on that Rock who is the Lord, I hope I can continue to flourish, bearing good fruit and staying fresh and green, for a long time to come yet.

How about you?

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