The Hidden Rabbits

The Hidden Rabbits

We lived on a beautiful 2,500 acre sheep and cattle property on the southern highlands in the state of New South Wales, Australia. My husband, Michael, was gainfully employed to focus mainly on maintaining and landscaping the twenty five acres of gardens around the main homestead. This was a relatively new project for the property owner. The large. sprawling homestead looked gracefully over a glistening lake. Wide, open lawns of lush green, gently spread towards the shining waters. Landscaping plans were under way; young trees, flowering bushes, and garden beds freshly  planted were in place. A series of ponds that fed into one another had been constructed, with plans to soon grow colourful lilies and other water plants. A roughly built stone wall edged part of the garden, as the long driveway flowed gently by.

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

Coming into the property, before the approach to the landscaped gardens; bumping over the cattle stop, we would drive the rugged, dirt road past paddocks of rough, dry grasses, dotted with purple, flowering heath and scrubby gum trees. Large, creamy white Charolais beef cattle grazed nonchalantly in the paddocks, lifting their heads as we drove past in a flurry of dust. Heavily fleeced cross bred sheep ambled in neighbouring paddocks, enjoying the dry seeds in the grasses, that will in turn produce a high quality wool, that Australia is famous for. Among the cattle and sheep lived Australia’s wildlife, both Australian and those brought in from England. The local area supported the eastern grey kangaroos, the common wombat, echidnas and the forever multiplying rabbits, with foxes on the chase.

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

It was soon discovered that the kangaroos, rabbits and foxes created a problem in the young and beautiful garden. Bounding into the gardens at night and hiding by day, the kangaroos would nibble the tender, young leaves and shoots of the newly planted trees and bushes. However, the greatest threat the kangaroos presented was in the damage they created when the six foot males would box one another, kicking with their powerful ,hind legs as they balanced on their long, solid tails. They would break the freshly planted saplings, crush the seedlings and squash the small bushes. The rabbit situation produced a new set of problems. They too would take tender bites out of the growing plants, but they added their own speciality to their diet, ring barking young trees. The foxes just ran purposefully around the garden snacking on rabbits. It was all a problem, an expensive problem, that had to be solved immediately. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

The solution to the situation of the kangaroos, rabbits and foxes being on a perpetual path of destruction within the gardens, came in the form of an electric fence. The idea was that the fence would keep them all out, allowing everything within to flourish and grow without hindrance. Hence came the construction of the wire fence, complete with an electrical charge surging through it and a campaign to trap and shoot any rabbits, foxes or kangaroos still inside the garden compound. The campaign of eradication appeared successful. There was stillness in the garden at night, the young shoots grew again, the saplings kept their bark and started to grow, the bushes and flowers thrived. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

All appeared very well for several months and then it was discovered. Now, instead of the garden being nibbled at, it was being eaten in large chunks. Whole plants were being devoured. The damage was severe and the threat worse than before. How could this be and by what? After some investigation, the conclusion arrived upon was that hiding away in a quiet, undisturbed corner of the garden, had been at least two uncaught rabbits. Without the presence of the foxes, they had, over time, been able to prolifically reproduce to the point of creating havoc within the electric fence. Here was a fence designed to keep the plague of destruction out, but instead they had hidden successfully inside and created a problem worse than before. 

The Gardens as they are today ( Stonework built by my husband) 

My mind turns to the parable Jesus told. Matt 12:43- 45 "Now when the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and does not find it Then it says, 'I will return to my house from which I came'; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order. Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first.” God is calling to us to not just reform our lives on the outside, cleaning out of it things that keep us from Him, making resolutions and desiring to live a right life. When we do that, like the hidden rabbits we will discover hidden sins in our lives that just seem to multiply and bring us to a place of despair and despondency, where we want to just give up on Christianity. God wants us to open our hearts to Him. He wants our hearts to be empty not just of self but for self to be replaced with the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. 

As the new year comes closer and we start to think of the things we want different in our lives may we not just eradicate the bad but let’s choose the good. Let’s choose to spend time with Jesus every day, building a relationship with Him  and loving Him so that through His Holy Spirit He may abide within. 

Eph 3:16-19 “..that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.”

The Crimson Stain

The Crimson Stain

I grew up in a connected community, a large village type setting, where everyone knew everyone  else and all the children played actively on the local streets together. Our neighbourhood was surrounded completely by miles of Australian bushland, creating an even tighter community spirit. I was the youngest of four children. The year I turned four moved slowly by, as with eager anticipation I looked forward to the following year when I would finally join my siblings and neighbouring children at the local primary school just up the road. Each afternoon I would wander up the road, in a time when it was safe for four year olds to do so, waiting for the children to come home from school. Sometimes I had the privilege of walking with my next door neighbour right up to the school, to collect her daughter from Kindergarten. When I was there I noticed a new building being built. It was the new kindergarten building and I would stand on tip toes and gaze longingly inside knowing this was going to be my classroom in the new year. I was excited and eager to start school. 

I started Kindergarten with enthusiasm , and continued my schooling with high hopes as I could see the activities that each class ahead of me participated in and I would always look forward to each new school year with delight. The year I started third grade was such a year. I was moving from the infants rooms of kindergarten through to grade 2 and into the primary school block. Here was a long wooden building with a covered verandah right along the front of it. It housed the Principal’s office, three classrooms, followed by several steps up the veranda to the staff room and the library. I had advanced. I was in grade three. 

My teacher and my year 3 class mates

I knew this was the year I would do leatherwork and sure enough we did. Our parents purchased a variety of items made from raw leather hide, from key rings to belts to coin holders. My mother bought me a key ring and I determined to make this very special and just for her. With long metal stamps and a wooden mallet I imprinted an array of different patterns around the edge of the key ring and then I created another beautiful pattern on the inside. Finally it was complete and I chose a green dye to colour it, glued the edges together enclosing the round metal key holder, rubbed the edges with a wooden tool and the key ring for my mother was finished. I was seven turning eight and very proud of my accomplishment and I gifted it lovingly to my mother. 

Not the key ring I made but the same style

Leatherwork classes continued and I chose  a raw leather bookmark to work on next. I was busy in my grade three classroom. I did the imprinting at my old wooden desk in which initials of previous students had been mischievously engraved on and a round hole spoke of a past generation who had sat there with jars of ink, carefully writing with nibs and ink. I stamped my pattern with much thought and care, dreaming of whom I would gift this next item to. Then it was ready. It was ready for the dye. I chose a pink colour. We stained our leatherwork outside, on the verandah, in front of the library. Students sat on the dusty wooden steps or balanced on the edge of the long wooden bench that ran along the library window. I took my small, brown, glass bottle of dye and perched precariously on the wooden slats that made up the bench . I unscrewed the lid and placed the bottle out of my way beside the wall and continued to set up to dye my beautiful book mark. Alas, with one swift move of my arm I accidentally knocked the jar over. A bright crimson stream poured out and ran down the back of the bench against the cream painted building and dripped onto the floor beneath. I grabbed the bottle in an attempt to save any other contents. I looked at the spilled dye in dismay. Then my teacher noticed the event. With words that etched into my mind he slashed at me for my foolish stupidity. Biting, hurting, angry words. I kept in the tears. My joy was gone and I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was seen by everyone. 

That crimson dye stained the wall of the building. Until I finished grade six it was there as a perpetual reminder of what felt like my shame. Sometimes as i would play, I would stop to gaze at it, feeling that every eye in the school was also peering at it and seeing me for who I really was. It stood out in stark contrast to the softened buff coloured wall on which it had seeped. When I reached my teen years, upon returning to the school to visit, it was with much relief that I found the school newly painted and the crimson stain was gone. No one could see it now. No one would know about me anymore.

A book parade going past the building with the freshly  painted over stain

Have you ever felt like there were things in your life you needed to hide? They seem like crimson stains that you wished were not so visible to others?  The feeling of shame, of past regrets, of failings, of sins confessed over and over but the feeling of never being cleansed continues to pervade. Yet God tells us that we can be cleansed. Our crimson stain can be removed. We can joy in the Lord and move forward from a past of regret. Will I accept His cleansing power? Will I move into a new future? Do I believe Him? Do you? 

Isa 1:18 "Come now, and let us reason together," Says the LORD, "Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They will be like wool.

Ps 51:7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

Isa 43: 25 "I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.

Walk and Run!

Walk and Run!

With loving, eager expectation I watched and enjoyed every milestone passed by my precious baby, Elisabeth. I diligently recorded each one, I savoured the moments, I treasured the memories they created and I took photos. From 10:47pm, on the day she was born, when into my arms was placed the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, my first born, I cherished the special times. With a heart full of a love I had never known before, I adored each stage of her development. From her birthweight and her length, to her growth each week and month, to her first sweet smile, her first cute laugh, the eating of solids, her first tooth, her first lisping words, crawling and walking; I kept written in her pretty baby book.

Lying on her tummy, kicking her legs and trying to push forward, at 7 months of age, we soon anticipated Elisabeth’s ability to crawl. Over the next few weeks, my husband and I encouraged her development, placing some toys just outside her reach. She would gaze longingly at them, kick her feet rhythmically and then reach for a closer toy. Excitement mounted, our baby was very close now, she had just turned eight months and Elisabeth reached for her white handled rattle, which was just beyond her grasp and suddenly she was off. With a propelling motion, she took her first crawling slither but alas, she started to cry. This was not at all as she had desired. Instead of moving forward to joyfully grasp her rattle, she had taken her first crawl, backwards, and away from the wanted object. Her frustration increased over the week and she tried again and again and always with the same lack of success and in reverse she would go. Then one day she moved forward, with one crawling motion, then another and another and with new found freedom she was off to explore her world. 

At ten months of age Elisabeth pulled herself up by the lounge and stood. Now she could reach the  cat sleeping soundly, any books placed out of her reach, and if she stepped sideways she could make her way along the lounge to piles of folded clothing. Around furniture she walked, as she clung on tightly, by cupboards and drawers and around my legs. However, standing and holding on to walk was one thing, letting go and taking that first step was something else, so down she would drop again, onto her roughened knees, and continue her fast paced crawl. Ten months passed, eleven months passed and now she was twelve months old with a systematic crawl that could transport her to anywhere she desired and at a speed she desired. 

It was summer in Australia and holiday time. Our family planned a camping trip to explore the southern inland country regions of our state. We arrived at the sleepy town of Yass and set up our family tent under an Australian pine tree. It was a hot and dusty camp site and the tree provided a cool shady spot. Elisabeth had been alternating between sleeping and cheerfully sitting in her car seat on the long drive. Now the tent was up and a small, plastic blue tarpaulin was placed in front of it and she was awake and could enjoy some play time on the tarpaulin. This was wonderful to her, a whole new environment just waiting to be explored. Toys were discarded in favour of crawling across the heavy sheet of plastic and reaching her hand speedily to the dried, brown pine needles that blanketed the ground. She sat and picked them up, gazing at them and  allowing the needles to drop between her fingers back to the ground below. Her eyes searched the area and she discovered there were more, over there. She set off to crawl across the crackling, dry pine needles, but they prickled her bare knees. She stopped. She tried again, but they continue to spike at her. That’s when Elisabeth took her first unaided steps forward. She stood, unassisted and walked one step, two step and down she went. Up again, one step, two step, three steps and down. My husband and I cheered her on, encouraged her, laughed and smiled and told her how clever she was. At twelve months of age she had finally walked and  she continued to do so throughout our entire holiday. There seemed to be no stopping her, until we arrived back home once more. There was her familiar house, there was her soft brown carpet and the majority of her colourful toys. Instead of walking, she dropped to her knees and took off at a rapid crawl. No prickles, spikes or discomfort. Crawling was fun, but was it? She stopped and sat and thought about it. Then up she stood once more, and purposely, she walked. She was never to crawl again. Our beautiful baby was walking. 

This morning, when in my time with God I thought about a few wrongs a person had inflicted upon me. Then God gave great conviction to me, as He brought to my mind a wrong I had done to her.  It seemed so huge to me. I was repentant  as I spent time with God in prayer and with a new perspective of humbleness, I started my day. I contacted my best friend and shared my experience from God that morning, only to discover she too had had the exact same experience.” I don’t like this feeling of discomfort, that God is bringing my way, “ I bemoaned. She agreed whole heartily but we knew it was of the Lord, who was taking us on a journey forward into a deeper place with Him. It made me think of my daughter learning to walk. How often we desire a deeper experience with Him, yet instead of going forward towards Him, we feel like we are going backwards and in helplessness we cry out to Him. Bit by bit we learn how to grow in Him and now we are crawling forward, learning more of Him each day. Then there are moments of unpleasantness as the prickled needles of the Holy Spirit’s work of cleansing our soul goes deep within us. Will I get up from discomfort and walk in Him? Will I let go of anything I am holding onto? Will I run? Will I dance and twirl and live a joyous, victorious Christian life in Him? 

Col 2:6 “Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him.”

Eph 4:1,2 “Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love.”

Heb 12:1 “…. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”

Truth or Lies

Truth or Lies

His dark eyes squinted in the hot, tropical sun. He was steely, poised and purposeful. It was December, 1944  and Hiroo Onoda had landed on Lubang Island, in the Philippines. Onoda was a loyal Intelligence officer in the Imperial Japanese Army, trained specifically in methods of gathering information from behind the enemy lines and to conduct guerrilla warfare. He quickly hid himself secretly in the thick, mountain jungle; linking up with other small groups of Japanese soldiers to win the war. Two months later, the Allied forces overran the island, conquering as they went and ending the lives of many Japanese soldiers  who valiantly fought on. Onoda moved deeper into the jungle, survival taking over. Fending for themselves, his small cell of three other soldiers, Akatsu, Shimada and Kozuka, strictly rationed their ammunition supplies and rice. Raiding local farms found on the ragged edges of the jungle, they supplemented their diet with coconuts and bananas. 

In October 1945, another cell discovered a leaflet in a local Filipino village, while out hunting for food. The leaflet read, “The war ended August 15th.  Come down from the mountains!”. Onoda and his fellow soldiers discussed the leaflet extensively and came to the conclusion it was Allied propaganda. They refused to believe it and resolutely continued to shoot at, raid and glean information on the islanders. They were still at war. Several months later, other leaflets were found with orders to surrender, printed on them from General Yamashita. They examined them closely for authenticity but decided they were once more a ploy of the enemy, after all, Japan could not have lost the war. More lies they concluded. Deeply loyal to his orders and highly suspicious of any brochure, Onoda rallied the guerrilla soldiers to continue on. More leaflets and newspapers came fluttering into the mountain jungle as planes flew overhead, seeking to reach the intelligence officers holed up in seclusion. Delegates from Japan using megaphones echoed the call to surrender through the lush, tangled undergrowth and from village to village. Onoda’s sharp mind and careful training enabled him to outwit all the deceptions that came his way. 

Ensconced deep in the heavy growth on the Island of Lubang, Onoda and his men continued to evade captivity and surrender. Five years later Akatsu slipped quietly away from Onoda and the others, deciding to give himself up. Now Onoda was more cautious, going deeper into hiding and taking fewer risks. Ten years on, Shimada was killed on a beach in a small skirmish with local villagers. Only Onoda and Kozuka remained to battle the enemy, stealthily and by themselves. Twenty seven years in total had now passed when a filipino  patrol shot and killed Kozuka. Onoda continued his mission in solitude for another two years as search parties, dispatched from Japan sought unsuccessfully to locate him. His evasive tactics and keenly sharpened senses kept him concealed from all.

The Cave where Onoda lived for 29 years

In 1974, Suzuki, a young, adventurous Japanese college student set out on a journey to discover the whereabouts of Onoda. With amazement, he happened upon the hideout and tried to unsuccessfully persuade Onoda to return with him. Again Onoda refused to believe. How could he surrender when his commanding officer had not issued such orders? It was lies, all lies. In 1975 Major Taniguchi was brought to Lubang to inform him that Japan had lost the war and to hand over his weapons and surrender to the Filipinos.  He wasted twenty nine years of his life believing that truth were lies and lies were truth. He raged with a seething storm inside of him. Although treated like a hero, he felt like a fool. He had unnecessarily lived a life of adversity and hardship. 

Am I like Onoda? Do I believe truth as lies and lies as truth? Do I live my life based on not believing the truth?  Stop and listen? Who do I say I am? Who do you say you are? What is my value, my worth, my purpose? Do I believe I am insignificant, of little value? Do I feel I am unloveable? God tells us we are of extreme value to Him, worth the blood and life of His son and that He created each one of us with a purpose that He planned before the foundation of the world. God loves each one of us with a love not based on our worthiness, or our ability to deserve it but simply because He is love and His love is poured out onto each one of us. Will I choose to believe God, who tells me the truth? Will I choose to live my life based on that truth? Or will I stay with the lies?

Eph 1:4,5 He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will

Jer 31:3 The LORD appeared to him from afar, saying, "I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore I have drawn you with lovingkindness.

Jer 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Decisive or Not?

Decisive or Not?

He was tiny, adorable, very loveable and I just had to buy him. I was working at the time near a busy pet shop that perpetually drew my avid attention. I was a newly wed and my very patient husband was starting to find a growing menagerie in our home. I added to our collection, a very cute and very sweet and very black puppy, whom we named Jeremiah. He fast became my husband’s dog, going every where with Michael. When Jeremiah was about two years old we moved onto a large sheep and cattle property in a rural Australia. Here Jeremiah’s loyalty and devotion to Michael grew stronger, as each day he went to work with my husband; sitting enthusiastically in an old milk crate attached to the back of a motor bike. My husband was a landscape gardener caring for  25 acres of picturesque gardens and rolling green lawns around the main homestead on the farm. Jeremiah enjoyed the great outdoors, faithfully following Michael around the gardens, chasing the birds with a quick dash, and a sharp bark, and killing snakes. Yes, Jeremiah was a snake dog.

Australia is known for it’s dangerous snakes. We have snakes here equipped with venom more toxic than snakes anywhere else in the world. On that sheep property we had our fair share of poisonous snakes that we regularly saw. I grew up in the bush and I had a healthy fear of them. Michael grew up in New Zealand, islands that blissfully contain not a single slithering creature, and they made Michael nervous. Jeremiah took on the role of protector, but it was a game. A snake dog, however, is known to be a dog that will one day get bitten. It’s a serious game of life and death, a Russian roulette between dog and snake. Jeremiah had his many battles, leaping aggressively forward at just the right moment, teeth clenched firmly behind the back of the scaly snake’s head and with the serpent writhing in desperation, Jeremiah would violently shake the snake until the game was won. Week after week, game after game, the play went on. 

One afternoon Michael and Jeremiah came roaring up the dirt road on the motor bike, dust swirling high, they were home for the evening. Michael placed a bowl of  dry dog food before Jeremiah, patted him lovingly on the head and came inside to wash up. However, Jeremiah wasn’t feeling so well. The food didn’t interest him, he lay quiet and still, huddled in a small ball by his kennel. We suddenly realised something was dreadfully wrong with Jeremiah. We went outside to anxiously attend to him, only to discover he was stiff and labouring in his breathing. He sadly passed away not long after that. He was a snake dog. He had given his final shake and lost.

That year the drought was bad, the dams on the property were drying up, the sheep were being sold off as the paddocks turned to dust, and the snakes were thirsty. They headed for water, and the greatest water source was the lake in front of our house. The snake population increased. We kept the family well protected through prayer and keeping the area around our house snake free. Thankfully, most of the snakes were not too aggressive and would wriggle away from the sight and sound of humans. Michael and I were walking on our dusty drive when my snake instincts kicked in and I leaped automatically away from where I had been walking. That one leap disturbed the venomous snake and it quickly slid through a small crack in a low stone wall and hid inside an unknown cavity within. That stone wall was within metres of our house and definitely not a suitable place for a deadly snake. Michael grabbed a shovel and I grabbed the hose. Pushing the hose into  another small dark hole nearby; with the water pump on, we forced lake water into that secret place. Michael stood courageously on the low stone wall, shovel poised in mid air and waited and waited and waited. Eventually an inky black head poked out, a forked tongue flickered in and out tasting the dirt, picking up a scent for safety and Michael struck with an immediate and resounding deadly strike. The snake was no more.

My girls sitting on that low stone wall with their pet chooks.

I wonder at times, do we play with the devil like Jeremiah did with the snake, just giving him a shake and not really being decisive, dancing around the fringes of the boundaries? Jesus crushed the serpent’s head at his death. It was decisive, conclusive and sure. Do we claim that promise and in earnestness allow Jesus to have the victory in our own lives? The great controversy is a biblical theme not just in the realm of the cosmos but in each of our own lives, personally and daily. What is God calling to me to say no to in my life today that I have been playing around with? Will I choose to say no?

1 Cor 15:57 ..but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Gen 3:15 And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.

Rom 16:20 The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you.

No Ticket

No Ticket

We had been through a rough couple of months to add to our rough couple of years, leaving my husband, Michael and I fatigued and fragile. However,the past week had found us especially strengthened in Christ and filled with joy, energy returning, whilst in the midst of it all. I woke with enthusiasm and a bounce and started planning an extra special day out. The gorgeous spring weather had morphed into the heat of summer and I aimed for the coast. I discovered an event being held by the seashore that looked appealing and delightful. “ Sculpture by the Sea” was an exhibition of sculptures on display on the beautiful, scenic coastal walk between the famous Bondi Beach of Sydney and Tamara, two kilometres away. Over one hundred sculptures would be featured by Australian and world wide artists. I was keen and ready to go. I kept our destination as a special surprise from my husband and away we went.

The trip to Bondi was a long way from our home, requiring a series of various transportations over a period of 3 hours. The first leg of our journey found us taking the freeway south bound to Sydney. We planned to park at a railway station and proceed from there. We arrived at the station only to discover the stunning spring weather had encouraged local event organisers to fill up the park by the station with food stalls, entertainment, and attractions, which called forth a horde of people, filling the park to over flowing and making parking impossible. We drove onto find a car park at the next train station. It seemed quiet and lonely and I wondered why. We easily obtained a park and making our way in solitude, went to purchase train tickets. It was here we struck our first ticketing dilemma. The station was unmanned and a ticket machine stood stoically in place of a human being. Our train was due and I stood there accurately pushing money into the machine, pressing the right buttons, and out popped a pile of change and an inclusive train and bus ticket to Bondi Beach. Success and progress. We had one ticket. Now for the other. I pulled out another note and pushed it into the machine and started quickly repeating the pressing of all the buttons. Rejection. The machine returned our money. Not a problem. I simply prodded the money back into the machine and pressed the buttons again. Out spewed our money from the machine. In and out and in and out the note went. Now I was feeling frantic and helpless and desperately praying. I emptied my peach coloured purse out and discovered a handful of change to put into the machine. Hope. I slotted coin after coin into the machine. Suddenly, I was no longer able to place the last and eleventh coin inside. It closed down ten cents short. I rapidly read the fine print by the coin slot. The machine will accept only ten coins per ticket. My husband and I in panic started counting our coins out and sorting out how to turn eleven coins into ten but to no avail. It could not be done. Not a problem, we could still use a credit card. Then we heard a low rumbling and the ringing of metal on metal. Our train was coming and we couldn’t work fast enough. The train pulled in, the doors opened, people alighted, people stepped in, the doors shut, and the train moved on, without us. A wave of despair, sadness and “poor me” swept across my soul. Why couldn’t we just buy a simple ticket without some trial slashing out at us once more. Self rose up in me and I felt a resistance to the trial. I don’t want this. Couldn’t we simply have one day free from hassles? I said nothing  but in abject despair I started trying to purchase a ticket with my credit card. Time and again it was rejected. I stood there at a loss. How could we travel without a ticket?We had no choice but to take the journey without the second ticket.

When we reached Bondi Junction the thoughtful railway worker, who listened with understanding to our troubled story, waved me through and allowed me to travel for free. However, a new dilemma presented itself as we went to queue up for a bus to Bondi Beach. Michael had a bus ticket as part of his train ticket and I was yet to have any ticket. However, there were bus ticket machines, two of them side by side. I couldn’t go wrong this time, or could I? I went from one machine to the next, back and forth trying to purchase a bus ticket. Each time I was rejected. Finally to my amazement the machine accepted my coins, the hope of the ticket being in my hand was joyously expected but the machine only swallowed my money and sent forth no ticket. Again a wash of misery flooded over me. Again my soul felt pulled into a deep chasm of darkness and again the urge to resist the trial came upon me. I turned and saw a ticket salesman. I real live person. I was directed to how to obtain my ticket and upon finally receiving it in my hand, we excitedly boarded the bus and continued our journey to Bondi Beach.

We had a relaxed, carefree and happy time together as we walked the pathway by the seashore, enjoying the sculptures and revelling in the beauty of the ocean, the wide expanse of sky and the rugged rocky coastal line. However, God called to my heart. Twice I had been placed in a frustrating situation and twice I had emotionally responded with a swing from despair to resistance, from sadness to combativeness. Words from Bible verses flowed into my mind. James 1:2-4 “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” Joy? God wants me to feel joy? 1 Peter 4:12, 13 “Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you; but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ, keep on rejoicing, so that also at the revelation of His glory you may rejoice with exultation.”

It seemed like such a small insignificant trial but on top of all we had been going through it had felt like the straw that broke the camels back. Jesus says, “Don’t be surprised by hard times, rejoice, have joy. It is a time to press closer to me, a time to hear my heart beat and know me on a deeper level. I too experienced trials and hardships. Come and experience the faith I had in those times.” I smile at how God took me from questioning gloom and contention to seeing the call to experience the faith of Jesus. This is the life He wants me to have. I smile. Not only did God reveal himself to me and show me His way, I ended up being five dollars ahead after I purchased my one way ticket, from a ticket salesman back to the car park.

James 1:12 Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him.

Mother Magpie and Pressured Plovers

Mother Magpie and Pressured Plovers

It was loud and persistent and noisy. I glanced curiously outside through the large window into our sunny backyard. There was a mother Australian Magpie with her young one running frantically behind her. The young one was hunched over, beak wide open and continuously demanding to be fed. Seemingly non flustered, the mother was resolutely picking up insect and worm, after insect and worm, and dashing systematically back and forth to the gaping, squawking beak of her baby. 

Australian Magpies are a medium sized robust bird, approximately sixteen inches in height. They  have very distinctive black and white markings. They are a common bird that lives across Australia and feeds quit happily in suburban back yards. Their beady, golden coloured eyes miss nothing; bright and alert they spend many hours on the ground in search of food. They have a strong functional beak that is white, tinged in blue with a whisper of black. Our mother magpie was busy watching for predators, feeding her young one and in the midst of it all, trying to gain some food for herself. Her baby was out of the nest now but barely old enough to fly. She would flutter haphazardly and eat a lot. 

This mother magpie and her baby came to our yard to feed regularly over several weeks. I could see them perched up in a rugged gum tree, gazing down at our yard, the baby always crying for food and the mother surveying the safety of the situation. She would wait for her moment and swoop  swiftly into our yard , coming to land near some invertebrate that had dared to move in our lawn, only to be joined by her noisy fledgling once food was obtained. Our dog perused the situation with nonchalance, allowing them to feed for while. Then with a sudden spurt of enthusiasm our dog would dash wildly towards the mother and her baby. The mother magpie would take off quickly to a safe distance and continue to watch. She was training her baby to defend herself. Almost an adult in height, with fluffy paler feathers, the baby would peck viciously towards my dog, who would back off. Then in crazy flight she would flutter towards the tree in the centre of our yard. Once at the tree, the young one would start scrambling up it’s rough trunk, clinging with it’s strong claws to the course bark, finally reaching the first branch. There she would rest until she was joined by her mother and the cheeping loudly for food would start all over again. Often throughout the day the mother magpie would pause in a distant tree to sing a series of pretty vocalisations of cheerfulness and joy before hastily attending to her baby once more.

While I have been enjoying the noisy magpies, my parents have had some nesting plovers at their house. In Australia our common plover is called a Masked Lapwing. They are a long-legged wading bird with a sooty head, grey body, snowy belly and bright yellow facial wattles. The breeding plover pair, after much deliberation, chose to lay their clutch of eggs in a small indentation on my parent’s grassy front lawn, only one foot away from the cement curb. There out in the open beside the road, the parent birds took patient turns in sitting on the four specked eggs and in vigilantly keeping all predators away from their nest. Cars drove close by, the garbage truck rumbled inches away, stopping to pick up and empty the garbage bins strategically placed by my parents away from the nest, children ran down the road, cars parked next to the nest and all the while the plovers sat and sat and sat. Recently a very damaging storm hit the Sydney area, travelling up the coastline to where my parents live. There in the middle of the night, torrential rains fell, jagged lightning lit up the sky and thunder rolled and crashed. Strong winds drove the rain sharply at angles, leaves swirled, branches broke, trees tumbled down, water gushed and all the time the little plovers sat and sat and sat. Wet and bedraggled, they endured through the storm. Yet when daylight came the plovers let out their trill cries of joy and gladness. 

The plovers and the mother magpie continued their songs of bright cheerfulness regardless of the pressure, dangers, stress, turmoil, and hunger they were enduring. They never faltered to lift their little heads and warble out their song. Am I like the birds when faced with times of discouragement, depression, pressure and stress, lifting my voice in praise to my God? Do I sing in bright joy, bringing gladness to my own heart, as my mind is lifted to heavenly places? God calls me to sing, to hum, to lift my voice in the light of His love, to dispel the clouds of gloom that try to settle on me.

Ps 100:1, 2 Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth! Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into his presence with singing!

Ps 147:1 Praise the Lord! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.

Ps 13:6 I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.