seaweed

After some weeks away on the island of Harris, it's something of a culture shock to return to life here in the Athens of the north.

I think it's the all-pervasive awareness of the presence of God which there still so often is on these outer Hebridean islands - it's that, I think, which ensures their life is lived in such a different manner. And I think it's the widespread absence of that which I notice most on returning.

Yesterday was technically my first day back. But today's been the day for starting to pick up the bits. Responding to e-mails. Giving some thought to the upcoming services which the next few days will involve. Catching up with a number of folk.

Ordinary, routine, humdrum things, in the main. But it's out of the ordinary, inconsequential things that the Lord does extraordinary work. Sometimes we forget that.

When the wheat is finally harvested, it's a wonderful feeling. I've worked on farms in my time, so I understand how fulfilling, exciting and altogether satisfying harvest time can be. Seeing all that grain being loaded onto the trailers, taking it up in your hands and running it through your fingers - there's something almost magical about it all. The miracle of growth.

But most of the process which leads to the time of this harvest is very mundane. There's nothing very exciting about the thing at all. A lot of ordinary, routine sort of work, where you don't see much in the way of any immediate results.

God doesn't deal in fireworks half as much as our high-octane, excitement-seeking culture would wish. He's a lot more careful and sparing with the fire that he brings than we'd maybe have thought.

He's far more content with the ordinary, seemingly inconsequential things than most of us are.

I was struck by that on holiday, when I 'walked' along the beach with my 9 month old grand-daughter. She was fascinated by the ordinary. A little strand of seaweed. The feel of the thing. The intricate design of the thing. The way the thing could move and dance around in the wind.

All of it intriguing, fascinating, engrossing for a little infant girl. Her perspective so different from that of an adult. (When did you last take a good long look at a bit of straggly seaweed?)

A girl content with, and delighting in, the ordinary. Very much like the Lord.

A lot of our time is given to tasks which are of the straggly seaweed variety. Ordinary in the extreme.

But ordinary doesn't mean inconsequential.