~November 29th is C.S. Lewis’s birthday! My family and I are ever so grateful for his contribution to our family’s life and faith through ink and paper. We can never forget Narnia and are forever poking our heads into wardrobes. Higher up and further in! ~
Dancing with them was the best thing that happened last Tuesday.
Curls flying. Laughter. Little, slippery hands in mine.
“Faster, Mommy!” Ella said, on her tippy-toes. We circle dance, meeting in the middle like a bunch of Celtic monks, flowing in and out. It doesn’t matter if the music doesn’t exactly match our dance moves or rather our lack there of.
Loreena McKinnett sings “The Highway Man”, a haunting poem by Alfred Noyes, remember Anne reciting it in front of an admiring Gilbert in the movie version of Anne of Avonlea? My reverie about poetry ending as three year old Ben stomps on my bare toes.
“Dance, Mommy!” he hollers, daring me to stop thinking, pay attention, and just keep dancing.
Giggling, spinning, chattering, and trying to sing the eclectic ballads swirling from the “Book of Secrets” CD.
Phoebe grins her toothlessness up at me, readjusting her iron-like grip. I keep going, huffing and puffing, trying not to accidentally trip and make an even bigger fool of myself.
Collapsing, we start talking all at once, even the non-dancing, by-standing critics. “Remember the ‘Charleston’, that Jimmy Stewart did over the swimming pool?” I throw out into the fray. “Mom, you mentioned maybe learning contra dance,” Annie adds. “Let’s look up circle dances on You Tube,” one enthusiast says, “And swing like from the Glenn Miller songs from the other day.”
Eyes rapt with amazement, we watch the beauty of dance, movement, swiftness, creative precision.
It begins again, inspired and intrigued, we badly “Charleston” around, hilariously attempt Highlander jigs, float like butterflies and, well, you get the picture. We pump up the music and just let go, following a cadence of joyful footsteps dancing away the ages.
So simple, the world to them.
Shining eyes, quick breath, smiles look up and over at me. Like I hung the moon specially for them. All from a simple dance together.
~
{continuing my gratitude list}
91. Gratitude lists with my friend Marjorie via email every year, she reminds me, so grateful for the slowing down, the paying attention together
92. God’s love, we can’t even begin to fathom the depths of it
93. The fluttering children’s artwork hanging over the heat register
94. My father-in-law and his Amish coworker stopping by for hot chocolate
95. Goofy Messenger texting back and forth between me, my sisters, and my parents
96. Hugs from my 12 year old son
97. Pretty candle holder from the Dollar Store, my Phoebe buying it for me ❤
98. My brilliant green stocking cap, gray wool coat, and floral scarf, so cheerful
99. Thanksgiving feast with family today
100. Words. Blank pages. New day to live.
~
{continuing my gratitude list}
81. bananas and string cheese shared together
82. last few chapters of a good book, bittersweet
83. the ancient (alright, moldy) smell of old hard cover books
84. Lovely songs, poems, and bits of Shakespeare. We all love this CD!
85. Pilot G2 Extra Fine .05 Gel Pens…perfect scritch-y scratch-y noise when you write.
86. cinnamon and sugar toast
87. conifers, so cheerfully ever green, for the most part, anyway.
88. children crafting with recyclables
89. fluffy towels out of the dryer
90. Tacos on Tuesdays
~
…she will point to some lovely flower flower or gracious tree, not only as a beautiful work, but a beautiful thought of God, in which we may believe He finds continual pleasure, and which He is pleased to see his human children rejoice in. Such a seed of sympathy with the Divine thought sown in the heart of the child is worth many of the sermons the man may listen to hereafter, much of the ‘divinity’ he may read.
Charlotte Mason
Home Education, p. 79-80
(this quote is talking about the mother (or father, of course), what may be her role as an interpreter between her child and Nature. Miss Mason cautions that this is an infrequent or occasional thing that the mother might do reverently, probably because we can quickly become moralistic, preachy, and completely get in the way of God’s Creation and the child. I found this to be such a beautiful passage and idea, that I couldn’t not share it!)
{continuing my gratitude list}
71. Outdoor Christmas lights popping up here and there. They are so cheerful driving along on deepest, darkest country roads.
72. My long-suffering Charlotte Mason book study friends, who once-a-month have to listen to me blast them with what I’ve been reading for the last month and all the ideas that come out of that reading. I don’t go out much. Poor friends, you know who you are.
73. My husband who attempts to follow my incoherent ramblings and rantings.
74. Brioche. Need I say more?
75. The beauty and inspiration I learn daily with and from my children as we learn together here at Hearth Ridge. It’s subtle, but astounding if I really pay attention.
76. A week or so without WiFi, showing me that many things I think are important, ahem, aren’t that important. And really, not having WiFi, isn’t even a problem in many areas of the world. Perspective.
77. My mother! It’s her birthday today. We get to go out to lunch together tomorrow.
78. Christmas secrets and surprises being worked on and planned.
79. Pie baking today and tomorrow!
80. Pen pals
~
{continuing my gratitude list}
61. Homemade costumes by Phoebe and Ella, putting on a show for me
62. The beautiful drive to a friend’s house
63. Spending time with new mom friends at local homeschool mothers night
64. Ben being so excited to see after I’m gone
65. Anticipation building for opening day of hunting
66. New book to share over Christmas
67. Jan Brett illustrations
68. Surprise pumpkin pie for Amos
69. Thanksgiving plans at my brothers home
70. The closing down of another blessed year, Lord-willing a new, fresh start next
~
I’m sick of fortitude. She’s been staring at me ever since July. Botticelli’s painting, a small print of it, a bit worn around the edges, stuck to my fridge.
My single-eyed focus is wavering. Miss Navel-Gaze and Mrs. Self-Absorption are friendly companions. Over a mug of steaming coffee, they commiserate with me.
They help me try to figure myself out, no rigid battle mode here. At their kind insistence, I’m giving myself a little more-than-usual grace. We’re going to figure this out, create some some steps for fixing things. Just why can’t I get myself together anyway?
I’m nervous I’m going to mess up, fail. But my companions are helping me take care of me, to keep my focus on my needs.
Who’s that peeking in at the window? That headdress is hideous. She’s pointing, dress billowing in the wind, towards my daughter, who needs help. I stand, push out through the door, and reaching Ella, I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving. She has only a small cut. My companions beckon at the door of the house, fresh coffee and ease in their hands. I look hesitatingly to the side of me. She stands there. Still, resolute, obedient, faithful. Weariness and slothfulness tug me toward the house, forgiveness, understanding, and strength ooze from this warrior.
I slowly turn, bare feet on cold earth, seeing my husband getting out of his car, eyes weary, arms full. I see gardens needing clearing after the frost, I know of four pounds of beef thawing on counter for this evening’s meal.
Fortitude calmly takes my hand, her sword held purposely in the other. She gives me a tiny smile.
I want that inner strength I see in her battle-worn face. I want this posture of restful readiness and watchfulness. A waiting purposefully for the next right thing.
Ignoring the clanging coming from those voices, I squeeze her hand back and take a step towards living death. Death to self as primary. One of love, not of anxiousness, which I sense from her is really selfishness, after all, it is a preoccupation with self. I take a step towards my husband, kissing his cheek, her sword slashes at the hovering navel gazing, never loosing her grip on me. I do menial tasks, her by my side, I listen to endless conversations from children, cooking meals to feed a crowd, she is stomping self-absorption into dirt. Together, the hard, becomes beautiful.
I look over at that wretched-lovely art print and I thank God for it. It’s trumpet call to humble myself under the mighty hand of God, and He will lift me up. I’m armed and restfully waiting with Fortitude.
May I be bold enough to dive into the tumult with her each and every blessed day I’m given. Fortitude, stand on and continue to shine forth.
~
{Prince Edward Island, Canada – August 2017}
Empty Vessel
Poured out, drained, decantation
Bone-dry, cracked, fearful
Dusty, grainy, gritty, grim
Lonely, solitary, shelved, siren-sucked,
Useless, stagnant, stuck
Yearning, thirsting, doubting
Portal, shaft, brilliance, unbroken
Chink-patched, warmed, lightened
Outside, upward, forward
Burgeoning, blooming, full to top
Fruitful, tangy, rich, overflowing
Emptied to be filled
Potter, Vintner, Maker
Earth, sun, sky, sweat
Blood, tears, laughter
Slipping, spilling, sloshing
Filled to pour out
Best wine saved for lasting
~
{continuing my gratitude list}
51. giving, giving, and giving more…coming to the end of myself, seeing the need of my Savior more than ever to carry me
52. library trips
53. listening to my 8 year old daughter talk, talk, talk
54. fluffy, hot, clean laundry from the dryer
55. poetry
56. Minestrone soup with thick-cut sausage, home made bread slathered with butter
57. early morning light reflecting off glass-glazed ice puddles
58. warm, woolen coats
59. new tights, cardigans, rich colors
60. Amish gentleman rollerblading by with his bow hunting gear slung over his shoulder, welcome to the “deep country”, I’m so thankful I live here
~
IN ANY HOUSE
SAID one whose yoke
Was that of common folk,
Would that I were like Saint Caecilia,
And could invent some goodly instrument
Passing all yet contrived to worship Thee,
And send a love-song singing over land and sea.
But when I seem
Almost to touch my dream,
I hear a call, persistent though so small,
The which if I ignore, clamours about my door
And bids me run to meet some human need.
Meanwhile my dream drifts off like down of thistle seed.
A sound of gentle stillness stirred and said,
My child, be comforted,
Dear is the offering of melody,
But dearer far, love’s lowliest ministry.
Amy Carmichael, Towards Jerusalem, p. 26 (emphasis mine)
~
Effort has its place in life and it has its limitations, too. Effort can get you to a concert on time, but it will not suffice to enjoy the music. Strain to listen, stretch to get every note and you will be miserable. But sit back with open mind and heart, as a field in springtime is open to the sky, and let the music fall upon you. Soak it in. Let it seep down into the roots of your being, and a good response will have a chance of flowering.
Harold E. Kohn, Thoughts Afield, p. 50
{In context, this quote has nothing to do with parenting. It struck me with such a force, however, in the context of being a mother. All that we do day in and day out, all that effort, yet learning to “sit back with open mind and heart”, letting the music of life with our children fall upon us is what this is all about. “Soak it in. Let it seep down into the roots of your being, and a good response will have a chance of flowering.” Yes.}
~
A.M. Pine - Hearth Ridge Reflections 