Lines are Fallen in Pleasant Places

After our morning service on Sunday, I locked the chapel and went to my car. This is the first time I have driven to church since February, for I usually cycle, but that day I had another journey to make. I called at Holden Chapel for their afternoon service at 1.30pm, and then set off to Nether Kellet at whose Congregational chapel I was appointed to preach that evening. I drove along Bowland's narrow backroads between Slaidburn and Bentham, seeing the expanse of Gisburn Forest to my right and the fells of Tatham to my left.

Although I know our uplands well enough, I still marvelled at the beauty of the hills and splendour of the valleys. I found a couple of ancient churches to look around and then called at Over Kellet, the village next to my destination, in whose churchyard, below, I sat myself down and read further entries in Francis Kilvert’s diaries.

I sometimes long for the pulsing energy of the big city. In recent years, I have fallen in love with both Liverpool and London, to whose metropolises I regularly find myself attracted. Yet deep down, it is the rugged uplands and fertile valleys I consider my home, not the concrete jungles or vast crowds. A visiting pastor beheld the view and location of Martin Top and quoted to me Psalm 16:6:

The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.

There is much of our current situations and circumstances about which we may not be content, but this is where the Lord has positioned us. Ours might be a remote and quiet place, but it is the right one, if God be with us.