The Invisible God

It’s not that you shake your fist at God and yell ‘WHY’? It’s more the silent feeling that God might have left you alone, isolated, and lonely. That’s a dark, silent oppressive place and it takes its toll on heart and mind.

What happened to all those good times? Those fondly remembered happy memories have not gone away, they are still there and always will be. Shared meals. Shared family times. Shared outings as we watched our children grow up into fine young men and women. Shared prayers with thankfulness for good health of body and mind. But not so much anymore because time has passed and a lot of water has gone under the bridge. Happy memories can never be taken away, except when the faculty of memory itself has been removed by illness. Those outside looking in, still have the benefit of these good memories, but the victim (yes that is what they become) has no thoughts of the past to see them through this long, dark tunnel. What’s it like in that tunnel, I oftentimes wonder? Sometimes we lose a loved one to death, and sometimes it can be a living loss. Is there a comparison? They are both horrific and leave their indelible mark on body, soul, and spirit.

Bible verses about God looking after His own, and building a hedge of protection around His people start to have a hollow ring about them. Until now, these verses were taken at face value, and personally. We felt safe and invincible because we had God on our side. Lucky us, right? Bad things only happen to bad people we think, but no. Bad things happen to good people, and I mean really bad things happen to really good people, and it’s not fair. Have you ever had that thought or experience?

There is an old saying, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and I suppose there is an element of truth there, but just an element. A very small element because what doesn’t kill you can also break you, and I believe that happens more than we know, at least for a while. A loved one’s death, or a living loss, which is worse? There is no answer because you would not want either, and that’s the truth. But let’s go back to where it all started when we were making happy memories. There are two husbands and friends who have suffered one each of these heartaches, and somehow as a result that old friendship takes on a new meaning which cannot be covered by any other friend. There is a deep, underlying, unspoken understanding.

So where is God? He is there, just out of sight, as the old chorus says, “Standing somewhere in the shadows you’ll find Jesus” and for a short time, you may not see Him. It will do us good to remember that Hezekiah was in this lonely place for a reason too as it says in 2 Chronicles 32:31: God left him [Hezekiah] to himself, in order to test him and to know all that was in his heart. The personal question that remains is, “Am I up to the same heart test?”

The spray carnation, and the snowdrop. Such simple and unassuming little flowers, either blooming in mass production, or growing for a few short weeks in early spring in out of the way places. Most people have a soft spot for the lowly snowdrop, and check the flower stands at any supermarket where you will see more buckets of budget priced carnations than anything else. Why our love of these humble flowers?

The most likely explanation is that these little blooms trigger memories somewhere in our deepest thoughts. A child's first posy to be given lovingly to their Mum. A stumbling way to say, "I love you". A memory of a long brisk winter's walk in the countryside when you come across a small wooded place laced with these wild little drooping headed flowers. Who can resist the urge to uproot a bunch or two of these snowdrops as a memento, and replant your memory into your own garden, or flowerpot at home. Perhaps desperately wishing to keep the feeling of that day alive for a little longer? Perhaps "snowdrop" could even be a pet name given to, or received from, a very special person.

Maybe the carnation was a buttonhole for you at a special occasion, or graced your Mum's or Gran's home every time you seemed to visit? Perhaps they were there because of a promise made many years before, and if only those soft gentle heads could speak, what a happy, yet sad story they would tell. The colours can be important too. The pure white of the snowdrop, can only speak of purity. The purity of a precious memory. Then there is the soft yellow carnation. Open and inviting, the colour invoking a vivid memory of a loved one, radiant in a dress of the same shade, with just a hint of gentle perfume. Yes, we can be blessed with memories, and especially good memories!

The tall and majestic peak of Ben Lomond, the most southerly munro in Scotland, sits on the east side of "the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond". There are many mountains and lochs in Scotland, but none that surpass, or share the sentiment, or romantic overtones of this beautiful area, just a few short miles to the north of the city of Glasgow. The Ben and Loch have been the subject of numerous songs and poems over many years, and a visit to the shores of Loch Lomond, with an uninterrupted view of the neck and shoulders of this tourist attraction, will show why.

We all have our favourite places to visit, and this is one of mine. It doesn't matter that the view is the same, time after time, or that the weather is rain, hail or shine, it still draws me back, and to the same place at Duck Bay. As a family, we have picnicked there, played games, paddled and swam in the icy cold waters, yes even in summer! We walked the shores, ate in one of the local restaurants, and yes even climbed all the way to the peak of the Ben, over 3,000 feet up a long and winding track. Our children learned to walk there, and felt the first rush of cold water, as they sat in a rock pool of one of the many small tributaries feeding the main body of water. In the days before we had a car of our own, we would borrow one from one of our 'better off' relations and pile in as many as we could, and still close the doors (those were the days before seat belts, and passenger limits which exist today). Those were happy and carefree times, and perhaps made the foundation for happy family experiences, which in hindsight would become the reason for going back, even though my own family are grown with children of their own now. I suppose it's a way to try to relive, or reclaim a part of a bygone time.

"Making memories, out of gardens, from each tiny seed we'd sow" ... taken from a family poem written in warm reflection of a Granda who didn't have much to give, except his time and love. Oh well, when it comes to making memories, some things just don't change!