out of my misery

I was sitting in a car-park on the corner of two busy roads, waiting for my family (they'd been to the footy) so I could pick them up on the way to church. I was absorbed in my tiredness and discouragement, staring unseeing through the windscreen at the dull late-afternoon sky.

At the same moment, two things happened: the western sky glowed gold as the sun broke through the clouds, and these words sang out from the car stereo -

The heavens shake, the mountains quake
And crumble to the sea
The oceans roar because the Lord
Is reigning sovereignly
And those who trust in You
Will never be afraid
Those who trust in You will not be moved.

Just like that, my self-absorption was punctured and I was reminded (again!) how much greater God is than me.

I get so caught up in my miseries and small concerns.

He goes on, dwelling in unapproachable light, ruling and sustaining all creation, and every passing thought in every human heart is laid bare before his eyes.

My life is for his glory.

My story is part of his bigger story.

I wouldn't have it any other way.


The song I was listening to was God is our refuge from Sovereign Grace's Psalms.

image is by Uncle Jerry in Golden Valley, AZ from flickr

from my back verandah: the joy of cockatoos

On summer evenings, when my husband and I watch a DVD, we have to shut the windows or turn up the volume. Outside, the sulphur-crested cockatoos are coming home to roost in the lemon-scented gums behind our house.

They wheel and circle, screeching, as they descend from the sky. They fly in flocks, screeching, from one tree to another. They cling to the branches and raise their yellow crests, screeching, as they argue over the best roosts.

In the morning, as the sky lightens, they stretch their wings, utter an experimental squawk or two, then wake the dawn, screeching. They rise into the air, lemon-tinted wings catching the sun, screeching. They race one another to the day's food source, somewhere north-east of here, still screeching.

I love the cockatoos. I love their squat white bodies and ridiculous yellow crests and knobbly grey feet and beady intelligent eyes. I love their abandoned playfulness and complete lack of self-consciousness and swaggering confidence. I love their joy.

They remind me that God was playful when he made the world. He didn't just make serious, imposing, beautiful animals like tigers and whales. He made ridiculous animals: elephants with their sagging skin, chameleons with their rotating eyes, cockatoos with their throaty screams.

The cockatoos remind me that God made the world, in part, for the sheer joy of it - his joy, the joy of his Son, our joy, the joy of every creature. We don't see it that way now, with the world shattered and broken (Rom 8:18-22). But one day that perfect playfulness will be restored. One day every creature will romp together in his new creation (Isa 65:25).

The happy screeches of the cockatoos, shattering the evening serenity, scattering the morning stillness, remind me to lift my eyes from my all-too-serious preoccupations and remember, if only for a moment, that we were all made for joy.

images are by SouthernAnt and Valley Guy from flickr

bellbird

The other day, as I was shepherding my straying 2 year old across the tanbark on the way into school to pick up the kids, I heard a familiar "tink!" in the gum tree above. I looked up, and there it was: a small green bird, flitting from branch to branch. A bellbird!

I grew up with bellbirds in our backyard. There's no more beautiful or evocative Australian bird song that I know of, apart from the carolling of the magpies in the early morning. Like the single metallic chime of a high-pitched bell, but far more piercing and beautiful, the bellbirds' "tink!" rings through the bush. You don't often see them, but you can't help but hear them.

I heard another bellbird as I woke up the other morning, chiming from the lemon-scented gums behind our bedroom. And another "tink!" just interrupted my thoughts as I wrote this post. Yes! There's another! And another, and another! Somewhere in the trees near our house there's a bellbird, dancing from tree to tree, piping his little song.

The bellbirds no longer come to the backyard of the house I grew up in. You don't often hear them inside the city limits. But here they are, in the homely surroundings of our suburb. I think they might be fugitives from the burned bushland only 30 minutes to the north of us.

Welcome, little refugees! I hope you've come to stay.

If you've never heard a bellbird (or, more properly, a bell miner) you can listen to it here or here.

image is by Fir0002/Flagstaffotos from Wikimedia Commons.

aeroplane tracks

Went out on the back verandah, and this is what I saw.

A sunlit sky criss-crossed by aeroplane tracks.

Well, that's what Thomas calls them, anyway.

the bigger the raindrops, the brighter the rainbow

The rain was plopping down in huge, fat drops the other day, and the sky glowed lilac in the late afternoon sun. I stepped out on the back verandah, and this is what I saw.

Those aren't water droplets on the lens: they're raindrops in freeze frame.

The bigger the raindrops, the brighter the rainbow.

We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5:3-4

Please pray for our family. Steve's Dad is very ill, so there are a few extra large raindrops in our family right now. Praise God that the rainbow of hope shines brightly in his life.

The rainbow fact is from Ben's Freaky Facts book.

galaxies without number

This glorious photograph was taken by the Hubble Space Telescope in 1995. It's from the Hubble Deep Field, an image of a small region of space about a thirteeth of a Full Moon wide. Almost 3,000 galaxies were found in this tiny patch of sky, including those dots and spirals of light in the photograph above!

Which brought new meaning for me to this post by John Piper, where he talks about why God's universe is so enormous, and humankind, the crown of his creation, so very small:

The heavens are not designed to declare the glory of man. “The heavens declare the glory of God” (Psalms 19:1). ... Man must reside on tiny planet earth in a seemingly infinite universe. ... Only God is infinite. The universe is declaring that. Pretty well.

Pinnacle of creation? Maybe. Point of creation? No. The point of creation is God's glory, and the glory of his Son.

The universe is not really about us at all. It's about God, and the glory of his Son. God made all things through and for his Son, who will one day wrap it all up and give it back to his Father for his glory (John 17:1-5, 1 Cor. 15:20-28, Col. 1:15-20). Which is why we were made too.

Glory be to the God who shaped astoundingly beautiful galaxies without number, including this galaxy where our tiny planet spins at one edge. Who made this universe so much huger and more wonderful than we can ever imagine.

A fitting witness to the glory of its Creator, who is ever beyond our ability to comprehend, but who overwhelms our minds and moves our hearts with His glory.

Amen!

Image reproduced with thanks to NASA and STScI.

wild beauty

I woke up this morning to the creaks and groans of lemon-scented gums bending in the violent gusts. I stepped out on the back verandah, and this is what I saw.

Wild wind like a giant's paintbrush trailing brilliant orange over a purple canvas.

God splashes his colours across a squally sky.

Lest we forget his glory.