Just back from two glorious weeks in the Hebrides on the sacred Isle of Iona. My monthly Christian writing group meets tomorrow and our theme this time is 'God's beautiful world'. I couldn't resist using some of what used to be called 'my holiday snaps'! Lord how majestic is your name in all the earth. When I consider your heavens, the work of your hands, the moon and the stars which you have set in place . . . Friday night in Oban. Tomorrow, we board the ferry for the Hebrides, to the islands of Mull and Iona. A still evening, the weather quiet and dreamy, the sky full but not heavy with great rolling, silvery clouds. Moonlight slips through a gap to lay a shining path that beckons beyond the horizon where a far distant glow promises enlightenment. It lures us, unresisting and trustful. Lead us on, Lord. We would walk that shining path; we would reach the light. The next two weeks bless us with days of dazzling sunshine, lightly tempered by myrtle-scented breezes, and nights cooled by soft mists. God’s palette is always well used in a Hebridean summer as he paints turquoise seas, shading through green to blue to navy topped with creaming waves, backlit to perfection by dappling sunlight, fringed by jewel- bright beaches and peppered with red and white sailboats. This year, he invents new colours, new combinations. The Colourists did their best to emulate the Creator, straining to come close even to his outer fringe. But so glorious are these Hebridean treasures that even the poorest attempt to depict can look wonderful and fetch a price at auction. Lead us on, Lord, we would draw closer, ever closer, to your fathomless well of beauty and creativity; we would touch the hem of your garment, even its outer fringe. We worship with singing heart, not only in Iona's ancient abbey but at the altar of his immensity. He overwhelms us with the defiant majesty of sunset and the ethereal delicacy of sunrise. He called the light ‘day’ and the darkness ‘night.’ And there was evening. And there was
morning Lead us on Lord. We would tiptoe, marvelling, along the shore of your dawn; we would bow down, dazzled, in the splendour of your setting sun.
 your sweet winds tantalise; your birdsong wakens your lapping waves lull to sleep; you rock us in heaven’s cradle Lead us on, Lord. We are listening; we long to hear your voice . . .
‘ . . . see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it . . .’ Malachi 3
How majestic is your name in all the earth.
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