Author: amyofhearthridge

Reading through Anne…

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{Google}

Does anyone want to join me in a little project of delight? I want to read through the entire 8 book Anne of Green Gables Series by L.M. Montgomery again. These are some of the most cherished books of my life, and I thought it would be fun to read and write through them…I’m putting no time limit on this, so it could take me a year or ten 🙂 , but I know it will be a joy. Join me on your own blog space OR just comment in the comment section about sections that stood out to you, quotes, life lessons, and just Anne love. I enjoy reading challenges, but I don’t like pressure added to my life. This is a lovely journey to me with NO pressure. You are welcome to join. I will list these under Anne Shirley in my Ramblings category cloud, so if you miss one, just check there and read along! 🙂 Avonlea, here I come! 🙂

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Monday Ponderings {December 5th}

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Mother had that peculiar God-given gift of imagination so keen that the printed word became to her a vivid, living reality. It was as though, while her body stayed at home and cared for the children, her spirit had climbed far mountain peaks and sailed into strange harbors…Yes, the warp of Mother’s life had been restricted to keeping the home for Henry and the children. But the woof of the texture had been fashioned from the wind clouds and star drifts of the heavens.

Mother Mason by Bess Streeter Aldrich

pg 84-85

Diamonds come forth…

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Did you know that diamonds are birthed after 725,000 pounds of pressure? I’ve been thinking of all the squeezing, pressure, struggles, and frustrations that can make up moments of my life. The reality is that most of my “trouble” in this life is just exactly that…REAL life. It isn’t extraordinary or special, it is the daily plodding through life that we all do this side of Heaven. I also acknowledge that the troubles here in America can’t compare to the struggle for daily living in many places.

Yet, the relationships, remodeling, the home educating, the dishes, the meals, the laundry for my family are pressing daily. The beautiful, yet busy holiday pressures of celebrations, traditions, and  gatherings hover over me. The colder weather, the different ages of my children and their needs, my marriage relationship, friends, and don’t forget all the other fringe people in our lives that need love, care, and concern.

The pressure is intense. Yet, just maybe, if I can choose patience, choose joy, choose to look at it differently…these moments are some of our best remembered memories. “Oh, Mom! Remember that time you spun the van around in the driveway? Dad was awesome and dug you out!” “Remember that time we used candles and had an oatmeal picnic in your room when the electricity was out?” “Remember that time we made homemade gifts to stretch the budget?” “Remember the countless hours we snuggled up in the winter, reading together, instead of going out?”  “Remember how you lugged wood seven months pregnant? (I do indeed remember that.)” “Remember dad saving the day?” “Remember that man who helped us?” I could go on and on. The truth is that a mixture of pressures, patience, and hope in Jesus can do more for us then living a comfortable, stress-free life. We can come forth as diamonds.

In these hard moments, it is almost impossible to see the sparkle and gleam of what God is working into our hearts, character, and very being. Believe me, I’ve felt like screaming if one more thing broke at home, or we might not have what I want immediately, but *gasp* have.to.wait. God-forbid, you have to wait for something you want, Amy.

Time and time again, the truth comes forth with patience and perseverance. The whole beauty of life doesn’t lie in the few lovely seemingly perfect moments. It lies in what it took to get there. The working hard, loving hard, falling down, getting up, and pressing on patiently.

~

Amy Carmichael

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O Thou in whose right hand were seven stars,

And whose right hand was on Thy servant laid,

How tender was Thy touch, Thy word, Be not afraid.

Thou who didst say, O man greatly beloved,

Fear not, and, Peace be unto thee, be strong,

What wealth of grace and mercy doth to Thee belong.

 

Thy touch, Thy word, and lo, like to a cloud

That was but is not in the fields of air,

So is the fear we feared; we look, it is not there,

Dissolved, departed, banished by Thy touch.

Oh, as we pray, purge us from every fear,

Thou who dost hold the stars, our Lord, art Thou not here?

 

Thou Givest…They Gather

Amy Carmichael

pg 31

Story

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Stories are beautiful. The Bible is the ultimate Story of God’s Love and redemption for mankind. The glorious Psalms full of pain, realness, and praise. The thread of promise woven throughout the Old Testament. The joy, love, and light stirred underneath the persecution and suffering in the New Testament. Have you ever thought about how important story is to our lives? Jesus used story often when sharing truths with the disciples and the crowds that surrounded Him. Nature often tells a story if we quiet ourselves,.pay attention, and listen. The beauty and depth to poetry often astounds me.

I am so blessed and encouraged by the beautiful truths and goodness in countless books, essays, and in this modern day, some blogs, social media. I can’t imagine the days when many couldn’t even learn to read, much less touch a real book.

We’ve been busy here with the beginning of our big extended family holiday celebrations. My mind is overrun with ideas, thoughts, themes, and yes, stories. I yearn to put them down in my journal, or here, or anywhere, but alas sometimes we must set aside what we want to do for the urgency of the immediate. Seasons.

The truth is that relationships are what truly matter this side of heaven. I must continually remind myself of this…it is a weary, thankless job at times.  All the investing, patience, selflessness, and giving that relationships demand. Our relationship with God needs our purposeful attention, space to listen, learn, and converse. It is truly the most important thing we can do with our time. Next comes the people in our life. These relationships are so beautiful and so draining, but every hug, every meal, every listening ear, matters. It does. Don’t let culture or lies tell you it doesn’t. You are part of God’s amazing story and you are writing a beautiful line of it with your life.

Just think of it. Your life is a story. How will that story turn out, what will the next page contain? You hold the ink and quill in your hand. Choose wisely. May I choose wisely.

~

Fun way to make Story apart of everyday life:

We enjoy what I like to call “literary feasting”. One of our most favorite book series is The Chronicles of Narnia. The cookbook is so fun and after we checked it out from the local library, we started making a Narnia Meal.

Narnia Meal

425 degrees

Chopped veggies you have on hand. This is wonderful for using up bits & pieces you have in frig. Chop up summer sausage or kielbasa. Toss it all in your favorite oil, salt & pepper, and spices of your choice (I usually just use garlic salt). Place on large baking sheet and cover lightly with foil. Roast for 1 hour. Serve with fresh bread, rolls, or whatever side you wish! Sometimes we get cider to go with!  Light some candles and imagine yourself in Narnia with Aslan…

 

 

The Awakening of Miss Prim by Natalia Sanmartin Fenollera

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What a weird book! That’s possibly why I enjoyed it?!  The Awakening of Miss Prim follows an independent and well-educated woman accepting a librarian position in a rural corner of France. Little does Miss Prim know what a strange place she is making her home. The strangeness began with her employer, The Man in the Armchair. She can’t understand his strange ways, study of dead languages, and how he teaches all the village children from ancient texts and dusty classics. She identifies with him, yet rejects his beliefs and outlook on life. She thinks she may love him, but can’t risk anything. She doesn’t understand the women of the village who enjoy their businesses AND keeping their homes. She doesn’t understand the shutting out of outside society and that it’s ok to live and just be close to home. She doesn’t understand the importance placed on enjoying the mundane in life. A good meal, tea by the fireside, hospitality, and reading quietly.  She lacks understanding because she is so perfectly educated. You might say the life has been educated out of her…faith…goodness…beauty…everything has sort of drowned in all the accomplishments of her life. I had this vague irritation throughout and it came to me that Miss Prim was so self-focused and always frustrated that real life didn’t line up with what she believed was truth. I could empathise with her struggles, and yet my faith also compels a constant turning of my thoughts to my Lord and others. Miss Prim was too smart for religion or faith, and in fact, she is proud and disgusted by any semblance of faith. She sees it as a weakness. And yet…she is empty, searching, and lonely. I did feel for her in many ways and know I’ve battled her thoughts, questions. Even though her new little village is portrayed as some sort of utopia, she always is grasping at happiness.  Lulu Thiberville, an older woman of the village, isn’t well received by Miss Prim, with her opinion of young women striving instead of living, wearing them down and destroying them…

“The yearning you all display to prove your worth, to show that you know this and that, to ensure that you can have it all. The yearning to succeed and, even more, the yearning not to fail; the yearning not to be seen as inferior, but instead even as superior, simply for being exactly what you believe you are or rather what you’ve been made to believe you are. The inexplicable yearning for the world to give you credit simply for being woman.”

page 230

As the story draws to a close, we see Miss Prim starting thaw just a bit. Looking at this book through the lens of my faith, I feel that Miss Prim is missing so much by rejecting faith and really, love. As she leaves this village for a trip to Italy (which I see as another way of just searching for something to fill her void), she does the thing she resisted doing the whole time of her stay in the village. She visits the local monastery and speaks with the old monk…he wishes her a good trip and says,

“So seek beauty, Miss Prim. Seek it in the silence, in tranquility; seek it in the middle of the night and at dawn. Pause to close doors while you seek it, and don’t be surprised if it doesn’t reside in museums or palaces. Don’t be surprised if, in the end, you find beauty to be not Something, but Someone.”

pg 244

What is the picture the author was trying to paint here? I don’t know. A feminist, utopian, atheistic society is best? Or that faith is a weakness? Or that we can never be happy until we find ourselves, whatever that means?! Again, I’m not sure…remember this was a weird book. However, I walked away with a lot to chew on and different perspectives to consider. It made me care in a small way about Miss Prim and all the Miss Prim’s out there and even consider if I’ve been this way or am this way. Just flinging around, grasping, and floundering, instead of resting in my faith in the Lord Jesus. Life is a GIFT to be shared, given and savored, and I hope I never forget that truth.

~

 

 

 

Monday Ponderings…{November 21st}

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It’s strange how that is: everybody wants to change the world, but nobody wants to do the small thing that makes just one person feel loved.

 

The Broken Way: A Daring Path into the Abundant Life

Ann Voskamp

page 74

(Thinking on this quote today, the ouch factor and the thanksgiving of living a life ripe with opportunities to do just this very thing. May I not miss those opportunities!)

Tea, Cake, and Susan Branch

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Dear Susan Branch , I just turned the last page of your Martha’s Vineyard: Isle of Dreams. I was so inspired and enchanted. As a wife, mother and home cook, I found it just the perfect shot of encouragement.  I often loose sight of the little bits of joy in creating a home for my loved ones. I  found so much to be inspired by your tenacity in keeping at your dreams.  Your books, especially, Isle of Dreams, and then, A Fine Romance have brought so many smiles to my face, tears (I felt bad for you!), chuckles, and beautiful quotes to think on. Your thoughts on books, movies, cooking,  gardening, and gushes about little lovely bits of life make my feelings of kindred spirit well up. Isle of Dreams was my favorite, but  A Fine Romance was a very close second and I thought of you and just about swooned with delight as I had the chance to visit England this year.

One of the biggest things I loved about Isle of Dreams, was how much you praised and thought on all that you mother had done for you. It is so encouraging to know that little touches, the hot meals, and the traditions reached you and are remembered in a small way. I found that such a blessing to see a child of a big family praising the hard work her mother did for her family. Motherhood isn’t really a prized profession these days and the endless mundane dance we do each day while being told we have to be something MORE can really beat a woman down.

The little cocoa cups, the tea pots, your kitties, the ivy, and the endless magical little paintings you include teach me more than just love of beauty. I want to learn to pay attention deeply, and I pray my children will follow. Just to really listen to people, to savor  meals, to delight in lingering over tea, to mull over and discuss great books, and to never forget their faith. I desire to grow deeper relationships through hospitality and sharing life. You delight and excel in those gifts. Thank you, Susan, for your sweet books and a bit of brightness and warmth to wrap myself in, with a bit of tea and cake, of course.

With love,

Amy

Inspired by this writer, we enjoyed this lovely coffee cake with tea and some new MUSICA for a fall treat. Enjoy!

~

November Days

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The morning suns greets my eyes. I slip on my glasses and glory in the view. The old house creaks a bit and I walk pass the piles flooring we have yet to put in upstairs. I stumble down the ancient farmhouse stairs, dreaming of a steaming cup of coffee. Perhaps I should set up a coffee maker in my room? Maybe that is a bit extreme. 🙂 The chatter of voices greet me. “Hey, Mom. Guess what my dream was?” and “What’s for breakfast?” and “I’m cold, Mom! Where’s my sweatshirt?” all sing out as I grab my package of coffee from the freezer and start my Nectar of Life a brewing. My son begins making oatmeal for everyone, which usually ends up somewhere between water-y porridge or rock hard cement, but we all love it with brown sugar, walnuts, and a dash of milk. Some add a twist with a bit of peanut butter.

I am a huge fan of the author Gladys Taber. Have you read anything by her? She wrote extensively on her farm, Stillmeadow. As I pour my coffee, I take in the scene around me and begin to compose it, in my head, attempting to grasp the charm that Gladys always seems to find as she pens her normal days around the farm. Of course, Gladys lived a different life than me. She worked outside of the home for a time and also ends up having more dogs than children. Yet, I feel a kinship to her, leaning back against the cupboard, sipping, and taking in the beauty of the daily mundane doings and yes, chaos.

“Good news, Mom! Gandalf’s pink eye is clearing up!” is the glad shout I hear next from a precious child. Yes, go ahead and chuckle. Gandalf is our barn cat, so I guess creatures do have a part in my life, Gladys.

We move on through our day, alternating between discussions, chores, and books, with a few fights over stuffed animals and whose scissors the purple ones REALLY are. (They’re actually mine.) Ahh… glorious books. We have chosen to live life with our children here at home, learning together. Gerald Johnson takes us through early American history, we laugh at Ogden Nash’s poetry, and giggle as Louis the Trumpeter Swan learns how to play TAPS on his new trumpet. We write some, do a little math, make some caramel corn, and breathe the fresh, albeit tinged with burning leaves, country air. Someone is always asking me when’s the next meal. My crock pot definitely earns its keep.

I gaze at the steam rising from my coffee cup. Sigh. “Mom, the sewer guy is here.” My romantic ruminations are ruined. Reality stinks a bit, doesn’t it? 😉 I watch the fellow from my window, what a job, huh? He is stooped and haggard looking, I’m thankful for him, he makes my job a bit easier.

A few loads of laundry swirling around, blankets on the line. The scratching noise of pen on paper, drawings and journal entries being created. An old, petrified apple core peeks out from under the couch at me. Ahh. These November days. I get “questioned out” at about 4:00 pm, is there really still 4 or 5 hours till bedtime? Yet, I love this life I’ve been given. So, like Gladys and everyone before and those to come after, I rustle up some ingredients and go about thinking supper thoughts. I sneak in a few minutes of reading in my “garrett” as my daughter calls my bedroom, where I like to hide as frequently as possible. “You can’t just stay up here in your garrett all day, Mom, like Jo March!”

I cave in and put on the electronic babysitter. They have chosen the 1935 version of A Midsummer’s Night Dream with James Cagney and Mickey Rooney. It’s a bit creepy and weird, but I hear a laugh. A Puck-ish laugh, come to think of it.   Later the candles are lit, we began our supper with prayers and because it’s the season of thanksgiving, we purposefully go around sharing what we are thankful for today.

I’m thankful for all the November days days I’ve been given, for little blonde girls who shared their drawing with me, “Here’s what I drawed, Mom.”. I’m thankful for grins after a resolved fight over Nutella, and the piles of books to dig into soon. I’m thankful for the beauty of life. And maybe I DO need that coffee maker in my garrett.

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A favorite recipe for you!

Skillet Sausage and Mushroom Penne

*adapted from original recipe from December/January 2014 Cook’s Country magazine – I use things I have on hand and I’ve doubled the original recipe here for my crowd.

1 pkg sausage of your choice (I use breakfast sausage )

fresh mushrooms, chopped – (I use half to a whole package)

4 cups chicken broth

1 can diced tomatoes (sometimes 2, depending if I feel tomato-y or not)

about 1 1/2 packages penne, this is like 18 oz?? I think

1 1/2 cups heavy cream (I actually use half n half, because I rarely have cream on hand)

Parmesan cheese (being the gourmet that I am, I use the green can shake cheese, I know. The horror. You are welcome to use freshly grated.)

  1. Cook sausage, breaking it up, until no longer pink, add in mushrooms. Cook together till brown. Transfer mixture to bowl, set aside.
  2. Return skillet to heat, add broth, tomatoes and juice, pasta, and cream. Bring to boil. Reduce heat, simmer, stirring often, until pasta is al dente. (I actually use a pot, because of the doubling of the recipe!)
  3. Stir sausage-mushroom mixture and 1/2 cup Parmesan into pasta. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Top with other 1/2 cup of Parmesan, cover, and remove from heat until cheese is melted.

Enjoy! I serve it alone for quick lunch or add a salad as a side for a bigger dinner.

~

Nightmare

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I just awoke from a nightmare. I’m running through an airport, frantically looking at signs, and glancing at the sweaty boarding pass in my hand. “It says 3309, Mom.” Yes, my mother is with me, faithfully following my lead. My sister is ahead, checking us in at the gate. We blindly forge ahead, dragging our carry-on luggage. I run through one door and another, heart-pounding, blood pressure rising, confused  and finding myself at a security gate. What? Didn’t we just go through security? My heads in whirl, I run up to a Dublin airport guard, telling him that we have to go through and we just went through a long line at Passport Control and that I was just trying to find my connecting flight. A torrent of words pouring out at him, poor guy. He is firm and tries calming down this out of control American woman. He says, “Sorry, but you still need to put all of your belongs on the belt and go through this security check point.” I argue my point a bit and then shakily start dumping my stuff into a bin, shoes in, belt off, sweat pouring down my face, my mom doing the same nervously behind me. We get through the check point and I ask another airport employee for help. He takes my boarding pass, calmly and nicely leads me to the screen, checks my flight number, and finds the gate for me. “I’m sorry but this is a ways down. This flight has now departed.” Despite the lovely Irish brogue, I’m staring with frustration, anger, and fear at him. He kindly hands me back my boarding pass. “I’m really sorry.” I glance at my long-suffering mother and bite back tears. We find my sister, who of course did not leave without us, and hash out how it happened. We calm down, settle into the Dublin Airport, waiting for our next flight.

I pull the blanket off my head and gulp. Yes, this is a nightmare, but it’s also true. I traveled this past summer to England and Paris with my sister and mother.  A dream trip that I am in awe of still and…yet this above incident still haunts me a bit as evidenced by my dream. I wonder how often in my inexperience I rush around in a panic. As a novice traveler, I read my ticket wrong, I trusted feelings over facts, and I allowed panic to make my decisions. I led my poor mom on a wild goose-chase.  Go ahead and laugh at my crazy antics. I know I do. Sorta. Life is a bit like this, you know. A tough circumstance presents itself, money might be tight, a relationship is hard, and I find myself wildly thrashing about, shooting off my mouth, digging a hole bigger than the original one. Sigh. Why? As a follower of Jesus  Christ, I know that He didn’t promise me an easy life. He gives His peace and love in the midst of all of this earthiness this side Heaven. I have a daily choice to make. Do I blindly run through the halls of life, dragging my baggage or do I pour all of my doubt, frustration, and despair into the arms of my faithful, loving Shepherd? It is not a magic potion. I do not automatically find my gate. It is an act of faith and trust. Can I stop for one second trying to control and figure out my life? Life is a nightmare when I trust in myself more than my Savior. Thoughts to ponder on…

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