Category: Become As A Little Child

Dragon Poison

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grateful for…

  • coolness with sunshine
  • Lorna Doone shortbread biscuits
  • morning talk with my husband before he’s off to work
  • orange-y shampoo from my sister
  • podcast on tea, learning the herbal tea isn’t really tea, it’s a herbal infusion
  • pen & ink drawings,  how-to videos on youtube
  • Nancy Willard’s Anatole series
  • watermarked paper
  • finished book about journaling as a way of life
  • pumpernickel bread (and the word, pumpernickel, so lovely)
  • little boy’s imagination about “dragon poison”, a old bottle with some sort of concoction in it
  • little daughter who kissed a package of butter, I understand, dear, I do!
  • baby who holds his feet together in a praying pose
  • poem by Robert Siegel, “A Pentecost of Finches”
  • commonplacing some thoughtful lines from a new favorite magazine, Common Place Quarterly
  • boiling corn on the cob with a daughter
  • gingerbread cake
  • trying new recipe of fish tacos and the family loving them
  • Loreena McKennitt
  • a pool of ideas for our learning year coming together
  • my trusty apron, so faithful, new bit of fabric for another
  • starry skies during early morn nursing moments

 

What are you grateful for today?

~

 

 

Questions

amyofhearthridge16 Comments

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May I put life on pause and catch up on sleep? Can I find some space from the children to plan for the children, an upcoming school term, with thoughtfulness, grace, and purpose? Is there anything more beautiful than barn swallows swooping through the light pink and pale blue early morn? Is there a reason I feel like crying even though I have a supremely blessed life? How do I conquer all the piles in my home, piles of books, piles of clothing, piles of fabric for curtains, piles of hopes, dreams, piles of dishes needing tender loving care? How can I not miss the moments that are flying by, the teeny toes, the little eyes looking at me with their own questions pooling deep behind, and the butterfly fluttering on by? How can I enjoy the warmth and sunshine of summer from my deep, dark nursing chair cave, a sticky, squirming, DARLING, boy suckling from my breast? Where do I find mental room for on-going, never-stopping conversation swirling, rising and falling around me? How does my marriage grow and become beautiful without attention? Where do I find the well of energy, creativity, and get-up-and-go to cook for these lovely eaters here? Where do daring dreams go when they are crowded out by equal and lovely daily dreams? How does the weight melt off when one finds themselves in a sitting season? How do you know what is the next right thing to do? Where does one go after the last sip of delicious morning coffee or afternoon tea is gone, the empty bottom of cup reminding you of something? How do you find a prayer to pray when the reservoir is dry? How do you answer all these exhausted questions that float up and out and settle on down around your bowed shoulders? How do we take up our cross and follow when our ground lies fallow?

Just a few of the questions I’m asking myself today.

~

The Gift of This Moment

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Haunting flute music drifts through the air mixed with my lemon essential oil mist. Feasts for nose and ears. I’ve been slowly floating up and out of post-partum exhaustion and haze, resurfacing, so to speak. Not quite back in the land of the living yet, but one moment at a time, finding my way, taking deep breaths at the surface. Our summer has been a mixture of scrambling, snuggling, and sliding around in the big, red van. We’ve been bumping our way over country roads to family parties and a week at the cabin, surrounded by the memory of pine-drenched air there still fresh in my nose mind. The year has flown, new baby’s have a way of slowing time down and speeding it up at the same time. We’ve enjoyed reading poetry together, trying to finish stories and songs that fell to the wayside during my last months of pregnancy. Summer is time for long book series, my oldest especially embracing the extra reading time, but also she has been found out in the hay meadow on her horse, our new family dog trotting alongside. Ahh. Summer. A welcome friend, I’m soaking her in, recalling the Polar Vortex that swept the northern midwest just a few months ago. I saw somewhere online that there was like a 100 degree difference in some parts of the midwest when compared to the deep “winter that never seemed to be Christmas” that we went through. In hindsight, that was a lot harder for me than I thought. So, I’m determined not to complain of the slow, sultry, still days we are having now. I closed my eyes and let the sweat drip down my back, trying to soak in warmth, bone-deep. Yes, I don’t love nursing a hot, wiggling, darling in this weather, but I’m grateful for it and it’s erasing effects of that cold that is written deep in my skin. Technology has been a boon to me the past few days, as a dear heart, Elisabeth, has been voxering me about my history study plan for the autumn. Summer is off from the scheduled books, but mothering and teaching really never rest. We plan, we dream, we hope, and pray. My black hollyhocks stir slightly in the breeze, a hopeful bit for me, as I fight feelings of being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of needs. Needs for myself, of health, feeling good again in my stretched skin, sleep, and peace. Needs for my husband, encouragement and restful place to come home to, and the needs of a whole bouquet of beautiful children I’ve been given to water. We walk by faith, not by sight, and sigh, isn’t that a good thing? If I looked outwardly only, I’d faint, but I fix my gaze by faith on the One who walks along with me, in fact, carries me. Flute, water trickles, and a gentle murmur of sweet voices are surrounding me now. A gift in the moment. And I’m thankful for it.

~

Monday Ponderings {May 27th}

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Jessie Wilcox Smith - Sweet and Low

“Purposeful giving is not as apt to deplete one’s resources: it belongs to that natural order of giving that seems to renew itself even in the act of depletion. The more one gives, the more one has to give – like milk in the breast.”

~Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Celtic Daily Prayer, p. 410

taken from Gift from the Sea

(painting by Jessie Wilcox Smith)

~

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}

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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