It was a humble dwelling, built upon a foundation of stones, and roofed with turf and straw, nearly impervious to the searching airs of the mountainside. One little window of a foot and a half square looked out on the universe. At one end stood a stack of peat, half as big as the cottage itself. All around it were huge rocks. A few of the commonest flowers grew by the door but there was no garden. The doorstep was natural stone and a huge projecting rock formed the back and a portion of one of the end walls.
The latter rock had been the attraction to the sight because of a hollow in it, which now served as a dairy. For up there with them lived the last cow of the valley, the cow that breathed the loftiest air on all Daurside, a good cow, gifted in feeding well upon little.
Gibbie knocked on the old, weather-beaten, well-patched door.
“Come in, whoever you may be.”
Gibbie pulled on the string that came through a hole in the door, so lifting the latch he entered.
A woman sat on a stool, her face turned over her shoulder to see who came in. It was a pale face, with good, simple features and clear eyes. The plentiful hair that grew low on her forehead was half gray, mostly covered by a white cap with frills. A clean apron of blue print over a petticoat completed her dress.
A book lay on her lap. Always, when she had finished her morning’s work and made her home tidy, she sat down to have her “comfort” as she called it. The moment she saw Gibbie, she rose. She was a rather small woman but carried herself straight and light.
“Eh, you poor outcast!” she said in the pitying voice of a mother. “How did you get up here? And what is it you want? I have little.”
Receiving no answer but one of the child’s bewitching smiles, she stood for a minute regarding him, not in mere silence but with a quizzical look. She was a mother, and more, she was one of God’s mothers.
Now at the very moment before Gibbie entered, she had been reading the words of the Lord, “Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it unto Me.” And with her heart full of God’s words, she had lifted her eyes and seen Gibbie.
For one moment, with the quick flashing response of the childlike imagination of the Celt, she fancied she saw the Lord Himself.
–A selection from the writings of the Scottish author George MacDonald
Christ as The Word: Here we have a poor older woman inviting an even poorer lad into her cozy, mountainside cottage. She’s been reading from Matthew’s gospel (25:31-46) where Jesus identifies Himself with the hungry, the poor and strangers. She sees the young outcast and immediately sees Christ as The Word of God become suddenly real.
We too need to see Christ in each other. God loves the destitute, the beggar, the outcast, those who don’t fit in, the unlovely, and the down and out. God loves and identifies Himself with them. So should we.
A vintage Scottish postcard from Gibbie’s day, over a hundred years ago.
Prayer Focus This Week…
- Comfort for the families of Lynda Peters, Stephen Berry, Jo Shapiro, and Anne England who all passed recently
- May God be a present help (Psalm 46) for all those who have suffered from the horrific fires in California
- Denise K. – battling pancreatic cancer (needs a miracle)
- Jobs for those in need
- God would be highly honored and glorified in our church.
From Graham Cooke: “When circumstances are relentlessly difficult, it is these times we discover how much God relentlessly loves us.”
May you all be greatly encouraged this week.
Jay