Monday Ponderings {May 20th}

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{No filter here, folks. This is a farm near our home! Gorgeous.}

~praying this as a mother today (hopefully, you can apply it to your situation, this is beautiful food for thought!)~

“Such as I have I sow, it is not much”

Said one who loved the Master of the field;

“Only a quiet word, a gentle touch,

Upon the hidden harp strings, which may yield

No quick response; I tremble yet I speak

For Him who knows the heart,

So loving, yet so weak.”

And so the words were spoken, soft and low,

Or traced with timid pen;

Yet oft they fell

On soil prepared, which she would never know,

Until the tender blade sprang up, to tell

That not in vain her labor had been spent;

Then with new faith and hope more bravely on

She went.

 

~Francis Ridley Havergal

Opened Treasures

May 15th entry

Why write?

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“Let your white page be ground, my print be seed, 

Growing to golden ears, that faith and hope shall feed.”

~ George MacDonald

 

Why write? Or pursue any other creative endeavor? I’ve been thinking about this as I’ve been reading a lovely book called Writing Motherhood: Tapping into Your Creativity as a Mother and a Writer by Lisa Garrigues. The author really is making my brain whirl with ways we can write from our everyday lives. While she specifically is focusing on mothers, I have found so many tidbits, quotes, and little ideas for general writing, especially as I get deeper into the book. As I thought of this question above, at first, I panicked. I felt a huge need to write beautifully about this and automatically felt this need to justify creativity. However, once I calmed down a bit, I realized, in my heart of hearts I knew why I write. So, here’s a small list that I’m thinking on and refining in my heart:

  1. I’m an Image Bearer of my Creator God, who loves me – my creativity is a small glimmer of His beauty and character. Of course, it’s not perfect like Him, but if it can reflect even a minuscule piece of Him, it’s worth it. I offer it back to Him as an act of worship, as something I love-to, have-to, and want-to do.
  2. I write to force myself to slow down and humbly notice the small beauty of life. Ultimately, this helps me cultivate gratitude. I mainly write with paper and ink, initially when working on a project. You have to go slow at that inky speed. It’s been a wonderful practice for me.
  3. I write to prayerfully encourage and inspire others in the same upward, outward direction. I want to bring our physical realities a little higher up till they touch the spiritual realm. Yes, we live here in this fallen world, but we are sojourners on a land not our own. I want to be deeply aware of this, but also realizing if we look closely enough we can find glimpses of our real life beyond piercing through here…

Have you thought through why you write or pursue your creative bent? I’m sure my reasons will shift a bit in different seasons, but this is a start.

~

 

 

Monday Ponderings {April 1st}

 

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{Brambly Hedge ~ Jill Barklem}

A TIME TO GATHER

A time to gather, a time to reap

the fruits we’ve planted, hoping to bear peace.

The seeds have fallen so many months ago:

the harvest of our life will come.

 

In tenderness is life’s beauty known;

and as we listen the morning star will shine.

The days go by; why not let them be filled

with new and surprising joys?

 

A time for kneading love’s leaven well,

to open up and go beyond ourselves;

And as we reach for this moment, we know

that love is a gift born in care.

 

A time for hoping and being still,

to go on turning away from brittle fear.

A time to come back with all of one’s heart

and bending to another’s call.

 

This is our journey through forests tall;

our paths may differ and yet among them all

life’s dreams and visions sustain us on our way

as loving gives birth to joy, gives birth to joy.

 

Gregory Norbert, Weston Priory

Celtic Daily Prayer, p. 644-645

~

 

Monday Ponderings {March 25th}

IMG_20190110_202722_814A Christian is one who points at Christ and says, ‘I can’t prove a thing,  but there’s something about His eyes and His voice. There’s something about the way He carries His head, His hands, the way He carries His cross – the way He carries me.’

~Frederick Buechner

Celtic Daily Prayer, p. 640

Monday Ponderings {March 11th}

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{Summer beauty found in weeds}

Happy work is best done by the man who takes his long-term plans somewhat lightly and works from moment to moment “as to the Lord”. It is only our daily bread that we are encouraged to ask for. The present is the only time in which any duty can be done or any grace received.

~C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

p. 61

~

Monday Ponderings {March 4th}

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Divots

the road divots, the bowed concrete

the remnants and ruin of the blood-freezing

season – the cracks, crevices, craters

my tires and heart hit hard

teeth-rattling, rims crunch,

heart shards.

 

oh God, when will the gray-blue white

blankness break – when will the

ice crack away, the grating

chunks of it in my wheel wells

finger-nails on chalkboard,

scraping along my spine.

 

underneath all these sharp icy teeth

is a sleepy promise, a waiting song

green and gold to eventually come along

for now, the icy blanket holds me frozen

my soul drains, slurping down, down,

black and white.

 

yet nothing is stagnant, it’s secretly swirling,

something underneath it all is whirling, twirling

I faintly remember the buzz, the hum

of a fleshly heart starting to rumble-pump,

a breaking out, up, free, wheels all a spin.

 

my chapped cheeks, cold face begin to thaw

again the scraping, chopping, heating, shoveling

reveal layers – deep, driftings that must eventually

melt aside, virgin-muck, green-speckled

sprouts scrubbed afresh.

 

the darkness births the light – green newness

from deep-dark white – when deep under it, I struggle

to the top – but You, oh Love, melt it right down

drop by drop – drip, drip, drop, liquid love

flows in my veins~ softening divoted-heart

stone cold, now new-red,  and squishy-soft.

~A.M. Pine

 

 

Monday Ponderings {February 4th}

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Trials assume a very different aspect when looked down upon from above, than when viewed from their own level. What seems like an impassable wall on its own level becomes an insignificant line to the eyes that see it from the top of a mountain; and the snares and sorrows that assume such immense proportion while we look at them on the earthly plane become insignificant little motes in the sunshine when the soul has mounted on wings to the heavenly places above them.

~Hannah Whitall Smith

The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life

p. 169

~

Treasure Trove

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The little bell clangs against the dirty door as we enter in. The smell is strong, old, memories, and mildew, all tinged with coffee. A cheery modern tune contrasts with the feeling of years that hits me as I enter this thrift shop. I step up to the shelves, pulling off a piece of someone’s life, digging through their forgotten favorite flannels, tea cups that lips touched, and fingering old castoff letters from loved ones. Light filters through the dust as I move a box to take a closer look at an old, wooden highchair, the same light reaches through the multi-colored beads, shining broaches, and giant pendants swaying from their hook, perhaps lightly with the music. There is a bit of magic in these places.

The friendly chatter of other seekers and the workers reaches my ears through the little cramped, jam packed isles of boots, porcelain figurines, and utensils. The light is hauntingly dark in some corners full of obsolete appliances and old cutting boards and glaringly fluorescent in others, illuminating garish orange pans and faded paintings with broken frames. To the eyes willing to see this place is full of buried treasure. I carefully sift through the piles of lacy, hand-embroidered linens and marvel at the loving care of their creators. The kaleidoscope of color and dusty beauty, the air of sharing of lives through time cocoons me.

This is reminiscent of what I am privileged to do each day, entering one of these treasure troves with my children. We spread out the past by shaking out our English geography book, map, and digging into Shakepeare’s Henry V,  peering at stone castles online. Bright eyes search, dig down through the piles of stories, and beauty, no one knowing what treasure each person is mining, thrifting forever. The lives of others turned and pages savored that tie us to others long ago. Not unlike that old pitcher with a little crack that I admire on a crooked shelf. The music, meals, and art share permeate, send a shard into our hearts, flow in and out of our conversation, touching a cord. It reminds me of the knitted or crocheted items piled in second hand shops. Why are they called second-hand anyway? Truly these well-loved objects are often of higher quality and their beauty is in the knowledge of the love and care that went into creating them. Yes, we do have the grime and filth to scrub away in life and on our treasures, but that’s half the excitement of the hunt, being able to see through grit to the shine and heart of something.

Having such an eclectic selection, such a surprising, joyful array to pick from – why would anyone choose the cookie-cutter and sterile? If they are able, why wouldn’t anyone choose the richness and thick, juicy bits of dreams to choose from? All of our senses engaged, our minds swirling with color, traditions, handmade, and slow made. These are mellowed through time. The rainbow afghan, vintage books inscribed by a loving grandmother to grandchild, the in-depth biography, interesting math pattern, and sweet, soft poem. All of this digging, dropping the wooden bucket into the well of robust life, looms large – we are gifted many interests, thoughts, ideas, and bits that spill up and over. They carry us through life and become a gift we can give.

We feel inspired with this special something tucked under our arm and carried out into the world. Our thrifting and learning together collide in an awareness of others past, present, and gives us hope and light in the dark future. It births in us a humility and greatness of soul touching the past, being here and now, and our fragrance flowing into the future to come. We identify with those who used the kerosene lantern with it’s brilliant light lit, we create music to be shared because we know how much the music lifted us, we curl up in a blanket and commiserate with those pioneers who built this life one back-breaking freezing moment at a time. These dusty places and this piled shelves are really museums of life and beauty for the taking. Taste and see. Eat and be filled. Treasure awaiting, dormant and expectant. All we have to do is reach out and partake. A gift to fill and to be spilled.

~

Monday Ponderings {January 7th}

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…A story is told of a king who went into his garden one morning, and found everything withered and dying. He asked the oak that stood near the gate what the trouble was. He found it was sick of life and determined to die because it was not tall and beautiful like the pine. The pine was all out of heart because it could not bear grapes, like the vine. The vine was going to throw its life away because it could not stand erect and have as fine fruit as the peach tree. The geranium was fretting because it was not tall and fragrant like the lilac; and so on all through the garden. Coming to a heart’s-ease, he found its bright face lifted as cheery as ever. “Well, heart’s-ease, I’m glad, amidst all this discouragement, to find one brave little flower. You do not seem to be the least disheartened.” “No, I am not of much account, but I thought that if you wanted an oak, or a pine, or a peach tree, or a lilac, you would have planted one; but as I knew you wanted a heart’s-ease, I am determined to be the best little heart’s-ease that I can.”

Streams in the Desert

complied by Mrs. Cowman

p. 8

~

Reflecting

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I have so much to do today but little energy with which to do it. I’ve been struggling with a bit of insomnia and it hangs heavy on my back like buckets of water swinging from a yoke. Our last holiday gathering of the year is tomorrow, so you know that fudge I’m to bring and the other dessert, as well as gifts to wrap and odds and ends of traveling? They are all sort of heaped in a mental pile by the door, beckoning. My husband is off to work early, with promises of getting a new cellphone for me. I’m leaving Apple behind, one lonely bite in its forlorn side. I’m the only lone Apple customer in my family and for ease, I’m switching. I’m hoping I just get a simple layout with a good camera.

We’ve already visited with an uncle who happened by, swiped clean the breakfast table of its bagel remnants and granola bits, and I enjoyed a strange, but entertaining story, wearily sinking into the quilts and comfort of my bed. Our school holiday ends on Monday, and I think all of us had a wonderful, for-the-most-part, restful time this year, for which I’m truly thankful. I think fondly of the stories, Advent readings, and poem we enjoyed. We had a little advent calendar from the grocery store, the children taking turns, finding darling chocolate shapes within. We also shared Tasha Tudor’s Advent calendar in her A Book of Christmas and were thoroughly charmed by the darling pictures she painted. The children enjoyed frosting and decorating cookies for various parties and it worked well to do it slowly and in a couple of days. I loved keeping the rush as low as possible, so we could hear the seasonal hush. We enjoyed feasting together as a family, red candles lit, and just more games, movies, and laughter. Oh and the Christmas music. James Galloway and Bing Crosby being favorites. Even chores weren’t the same, with a pine scent lingering in the air, and cinnamon rolls after coming in after feeding animals.

The beauty of the season is definitely still hanging about and it’s really only the 11th day of Christmas. I held out for as long as I could on getting a Christmas tree and I’m so glad I did! We found an off-the-beaten track Christmas tree farm and they had some left just for us to choose from. It was a lovely time, excitement high because it was so close to Christmas and the sparkle of it all hadn’t worn off yet. We were given fresh-popped popcorn and hot chocolate, and my husband and oldest son ratchet-strapped the tree tightly to the top of the mini-van. We may have seemed behind or late, but truly getting the tree later in December has made it all the more special now. It’s standing tall and beautiful right now…most of it’s needles soft and scent fresh.

I think the most special thing has been the few meaningful conversations I have had with a few children or over an Advent reading. We didn’t do all that I wanted, but what we did read and talk about really was special. The children really stepped into their own spirit of gift-giving this year, making or using their own money to buy others things. I didn’t do or make them do that at all, but it was its own special gift to me. The sun is glaring against the piles of snow, and I’m so grateful for its blinding brightness. Carries one through the immense, long gray days of this time of year, does it not? Even our New Year’s Eve ended in a special way, all of us home, singing and sipping sparkling Apple Cider at midnight! We’ve never done that before and it was special. Sigh and back to the present, I hope to make some turkey and veggie soup later, Thanksgiving Tom still giving a month later, and some of the children may go to a homeschool gym night with my father-in-law. Oh, but wait, it’s actually lunch time and I haven’t yet put anything on the table! Time to stop typing and heat up some leftovers for lunch, maybe with a side of piping hot grilled cheese.

I’m so thankful for another year of celebrating the Savior’s birth and for the small moments that make His love truly tangible. Off to fix lunch!

~

Welcome, January.

Janus

A two-faced start to the year

January reflects, like a glance

in the rear view mirror

Impressions, colors, dark and light

that past year fades

Into a ugly, beautiful hindsight

A white-knuckled grip as we race

Into a barren, bleak,  brilliant white

fresh snow-slate sort of landscape

Our stone jaw set towards

all the unknowns and unplanned

The trunk closes behind, bits

of string, regret, and laughter

getting caught in the hinge

yet possibilities, yawn wide and

broad ahead, what will

the year hold? We just have to

take that first road to the right

And smooth sailing till morning light

And we never

know where paths will lead us

Rain that will fall or flowers that

will bloom before us

But we’ve got a lot of stuff

in our car’s boot of yesteryear

and we’ll ride forth

facing a new-gift given

way, fresh and clear

A way stretching out

before, possible dark

rain-filled horizon ahead, but

for this moment, wind

tickles our cheeks,

sunshine on our heads

January, I’m not worried, darkness,

my old friend

You are the alpha of our year,

with little found joys sprinkled ahead,

all the way to the bittersweet end

Buckle up, turn up your tunes,

crack those stony necks,

face to the sun, enjoying every

quick-turn of the

wheels over pavement

new beginnings are just around

the bend.

~

A.M. Pine

 

Monday Ponderings {December 17th}

Elsa Beskow -sled, children, tree

A child’s wisdom include incredible curiosity, which denotes his essential humility. While adults sometimes hesitate to say “I don’t know” for fear they will be thought ignorant or stupid, a little child has no such silly inhibitions. Without a false sense of shame he pours forth his questions -“Why?” “What for?” “When?” “Where?” “Why?” Before their minds become biased by adults, children are open-minded, welcoming all truth concerning the world around them…Children know how to derive happiness from little things. They delight in little sparks of gladness and do not demand that every hour be flooded with unremitting pleasantness. This is wisdom of a high order, and the lesson is one of the best gifts children offer the world.

~Harold Kohn, Small Wonders, p.76-77

*Painting by Elsa Beskow and all rights reserved to artist.

~