Monday Ponderings {May 27th}

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)

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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

March Reads

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{a nature journal entry from January- the children and I enjoy doing these together!}

Hello Book Friends! What did you end up reading in March? This is what I finished in March, busy month, I’m slowing down physically, as I’m due with another child soon. I started many fantastic books and hopefully, I’ll be able to finish some of those.

Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver by Mary Oliver (****) – This was a 450+ page anthology of Oliver’s poetry. I checked it out from the library following her death earlier this year. Oliver is one of my favorite modern poets, A Thousand Mornings, being my favorite collection of hers. Overall, I loved this and really enjoyed revisiting poems I’ve read before over the years as this is a collection from most of her poetry books. Poetry seems to really be feeding my soul during the last bits of winter and into early spring.

The Invisible Child: On Reading and Writing Books for Children by Katherine Paterson (****) – I love digging into the minds of authors and this book was wonderful for that. This is a collection of essays on life, reading, and writing by the author of the delightful Bridge to Terabithia, among many other things. I had to read it slowly, but it was fantastic and I jotted down many quotes in my commonplace.

The Holy Bible (*****) – Matthew, Mark, a little bit of the Psalms. So lovely to just keep rereading over Jesus’ life. I’m really blessed by this practice!

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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 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

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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

 

 

Greetings, March…

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{old photo of summer travels – following the light. I’m working hard to enjoy these last moments of the white, brilliant, winter-y beauty, but highly anticipating spring. We’ve had an intense winter season here in Wisconsin, but spring is just around the corner!}

“Before they knew it, spring had arrived. Aunt Green took them into the wood to pick pussy willow and flowers.” – Elsa Beskow, Peter and Lotta’s Christmas

“After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind—rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfold on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring.”
― Willa Cather, My Ántonia

I must have flowers, always, always. – Monet

The earth has music for those who listen. – Unknown

“Listen to the trees talking in their sleep,’ she whispered, as he lifted her to the ground. ‘What nice dreams they must have!” 
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment.

-JANE AUSTEN, Mansfield Park

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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 28th}

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“All this building and talking and flying made me homesick. It wasn’t logical, since I was home, but that’s what I came to perceive – a fulminant ache high in the rib cage, a sense of time’s shortening fuse. After the first accident, it had felt as though my apartment belonged to someone else; after the second, I began to feel as though there was a home I belonged to, and this one, though pleasant and likable, wasn’t it. The previous tenant would’ve rejected such nonsense, but then the previous tenant never had an eccentric foreign houseguest, sewing up artworks to hang in the sky, talking to ravens, spinning twilit Arctic stories. My weary old ground was broken and watered, and what sprang up was a generalized longing. I began to feel like a character myself, well-meaning but secondary, a man introduced late in the picture. I wished to spool back and watch earlier scenes, to scout for hints and shadows, clues as to what might be required of a secondary actor when the closing real began.”

~Leif Enger, Virgil Wander

{emphasis mine}

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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

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