Reflections of God

It's 6 o'clock in the evening. I'm sitting in the conservatory, a bit bemused by this amazing spell of weather. There's a second flowering of our lupins, and a delphinium about to come out. Having bloomed all through the summer, the roses are all in bud again, and the climber which normally has white flowers has almost a peach blush on its single full bloom. Meanwhile the grass is unseasonally green - good news for stock farmers - and our pots, despite their earlier battering in the winds and rain, are still a riot of flowers. And the forecasters are promising us a short spell of Mediterranean sunshine. Bring it on! In fact, already the sky is cloudless turquoise blue and the sun's reflected off the brick gable-end of next door's garage. I'm not able to nip out and take a picture, but Jane has - taking my instructions in good part, bless her! And I'm thankful again to be able to enjoy so much, even if it is through double-glazing vicariously. I'm glad to read of Facebook friends "sunbathing aka gardening" and to think of my grandchildren walking home in the sun.

And actually I am able to go out. This morning Jane and I went to Cornerstone, the local coffee-shop, to have a last cappuccino from the old hand-made method before the new Swiss (and swish, no doubt) machine was installed this afternoon. The manager, Mary, was there taking pictures before the big weekend celebrations marking the award of the top 5* Food Hygiene rating and the introduction of a new menu (plus the new coffee machine). I've written about this unpretentious-looking café in my other blog, but it has an atmosphere all of its own, friendly and cheerful. For us it was our spiritual home in the first year after we moved here, and still retains some of that feeling. Mary and the staff quietly make it happen.


One of my delights since going there was the creation of a little garden on my route through the estate. It suddenly began to appear on a small area of waste ground adjacent to two rows of garages. It's tended by a lady who, I suppose, has one of the garages. There it is, complete with man-hole cover, right beside the pedestrian and cycle route through the houses. She obviously knows her stuff, as her choice of bulbs and flowers is just right for the position and the conditions. As is nature's wont, it's always changing - perhaps most remarkably of all it's never been vandalised. Just a small patch of lovingly tended scrubby ground. I love it.

And, thinking of good deeds in a naughty world, yesterday was very still, and we noticed a gassy smell - which at first we thought came from outside. However it lingered all day and, coming in from the conservatory, we realised it was emerging from our fire. I remembered that I'd tried to light it (via a remote control) when Jane was out one evening a week ago, but it hadn't worked. Perhaps, we concluded, the pilot light was leaking. I was reluctant to let Jane sort it out - I didn't fancy seeing her with a blackened face and singed hair. So we gave Craig a ring, who goes to one of the local churches and who services our boiler. Within ten minutes he was round and calmly sorted it out. The kindness, I thought, reflected God's - like Jane and Mary's. I read this today, "Ever since the creation of the world his (God's) invisible nature, namely, his eternal power and deity, has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made" (Romans 1.20). It's true - in the small actions of care and in the irrepressible force of the natural world, we glimpse hints of our Father's mysterious nature.