Personal Blogs

Frothing For Nature

Yesterday I woke at 7 a.m. and had the thought  to go  "frothing" for nature, as our Aussie cousins would say. But I have always believed that some of the finest encounters with nature are found in conversations with our fellow human beings.

Our plan was to stop for breakfast at Loch Lomond, the gateway to the natural beauty of Scotland's west coast. There we struck up a conversation with an Australian couple from Canberra who, by now, will no doubt have awakened to the bustling harbour at Oban, where the great CalMac ferries come and go between the Inner and Outer Hebrides.  A landscape shaped in my head by the wonderful music and lyrics of Runrig.

"Fancy driving up to Glencoe?" I asked my wife.

"Sure," she replied, as always happy to indulge one of my spontaneous ideas.

The road was busy. Tourists from across Europe manoeuvred oversized campervans through the Highlands, often cramping in on the landscape. Others squeezed into every possible viewpoint, even when there was clearly no room, bringing traffic to a standstill. This is Scotland in July.

On arriving at Glencoe, I missed the turning for the car park, so we decided to continue on to Kinlochleven. The village was filled with tired, but undoubtedly uplifted, walkers completing the penultimate stage of the West Highland Way.

I use the word uplifted deliberately because we met an elderly local lady in the village shared something that stayed with me. After chatting for a while, I asked her about one of her happiest memories.

     "When I'm feeling low," she said, "I walk into our local landscape and simply sit for a while, enjoying the moment. When I come home, I feel rejuvenated."

Her words reminded me of Nathanael's encounter with Jesus. Before Nathanael had even met Him, Jesus said, "I saw you while you were still under the fig tree." It was a place of quiet reflection before it became a place of revelation. Sometimes we all need somewhere peaceful to sit, think and simply be.

Later, we stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch, where I found myself talking with a man walkingThe West Highland Way. As the conversation unfolded, I asked him about his happiest childhood memory.

He told me he had grown up near the ski slopes. His mother was the accomplished skier in the family, and as he learned to ski, she would gently remind him, "Don't rush down the mountain. Take in the surroundings."

As a boy he would weave his way slowly between his mother's tracks, savouring both the landscape and the moment. Today he is a highly skilled craftsman and furniture designer, working with wood. Listening to him, I couldn't help wondering whether those childhood journeys down snowy mountains first awakened the creativity that would shape his life's work.

His mother closed her eyes when he was a young man. I left our conversation with a quiet sense of sadness, having lost my parents at a young age. Some people seem to give far more than they ever receive. Mothers often do. I was grateful for having met him and I wish him the best as he journeys through the Highlands and indulging in his own nature walk. 

As we journey through life, it is worth taking time to connect with the people we meet along the way. Everyone carries a story, and every conversation has the potential to leave a lasting impression.

I will never forget the people we met yesterday. And perhaps, in the great renewal that Job longed for—the hope that stretches beyond this present world—we shall meet many of life's fellow travellers again.

Part two

Some months ago, my wife and I were watching a Christian livestream from Amsterdam on Presence Revival. Greetings were appearing from around the world: South Korea, Thailand, the Philippines, the United States and across Europe.

And then there was us, watching from Scotland.

We posted our greeting, and a lady named Brenda from Kinlochleven replied to say hello. We returned the greeting and thought little more about it. It was one of those pleasant encounters made possible by the internet, with no expectation that we would ever meet.

Then, on Thursday, we found ourselves in Kinlochleven.

As we were preparing to leave the village, we suddenly remembered Brenda.

     “Let’s see if we can find her before we go.”

We had no address and very little information. Our first attempts drew blanks, and eventually we decided to give up.

Then we passed a lady outside talking with one of her neighbours. On impulse, I asked whether she knew where Brenda lived.

     “I am Brenda,” she replied.

Then she looked at us and asked, “Are you the couple from Ayrshire?”

Of all the people we might have stopped, we had stopped Brenda herself.

There was an immediate bond between us. We discovered that we shared something else too. The three of us were committed Christians, yet none of us regularly attended a conventional church. We found Christian encouragement and fellowship in other ways, including online preaching, teaching and worship.

References

John 1:48 "How do You know me?" Nathanael asked. Jesus replied, "Before Philip called you, I saw you under the fig tree."

Job 1:3 and he owned 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 yoke of oxen, 500 female donkeys, and a very large number of servants. Job was the greatest man of all the people of the East.

Job 14:14 When a man dies, will he live again? All the days of my hard service I will wait, until my renewal comes.

Frothing in Australian slang means being wildly excited and  hyped up about something — usually in a fun, over‑the‑top way. The term is especially common in Aussie surf culture, where “I’m frothing!” basically means “I’m buzzing with enthusiasm.”

"Many walk around with faces like the Lewis Chessmen—ancient, unmoving, locked in a sort of permanent despair."

I woke this morning with the feeling that the Vikings had just raided. The latest study shows that Britain is at the bottom of the class when it comes to joy—and the world’s press, from the Arab world to India and the West, seem to gloat in our misery.

But did we really need a study to tell us what we already feel? Thick gloom hangs over the land. Many walk around with faces like the Lewis Chessmen—ancient, unmoving, locked in a sort of permanent despair.

So how do we console ourselves?

Here’s my answer: grab your backpack and head for something exciting—like a long walk. Try the West Highland Way or the Pennine Way or follow any trail near you. Meet the world out on the footpaths and rediscover the joy that’s quietly waiting in nature. It’s not about money or status. It’s about connection.

Look at the Philippines and Indonesia—both top of the global joy charts. Having travelled to the Philippines, I can tell you what their secret is: social connection and spirituality. But I tell you, the gloom will only deepen if we stay in that cycle of social media and the cyber hive. It’s time for a radical shift. Go out there and see why many from around the world visit our nature.

Step outside. Breathe. Talk to a stranger. Meet the many tourists who come to our shores to experience our landscapes. We have something special here.

But there’s something even deeper behind the joy factor: spirituality. Many of the happiest countries in the study are places where belief and hope still live at the heart of the culture. There’s a quiet revival happening—especially among the young. More and more are returning to churches, particularly young men. Figures like Jordan Peterson and various online thinkers are sparking something—a light in the gloom.

If you've never opened a Bible, why not give it a try? Start with the Gospel of Matthew. You might be surprised by how much it speaks into our modern fog.

In the end, joy isn’t something the world hands you. It’s something you choose to seek. Sometimes, it begins with lacing up your boots, turning off your phone, and walking out into something bigger than yourself.