Category: Reflections

Gratitude List {One Hundred Bits by Thanksgiving} #8

amyofhearthridge2 Comments

IMG_7014

{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

~

Gratitude List {One Hundred Bits by Thanksgiving} #7

amyofhearthridge3 Comments

IMG_6928

{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

~

Fortitude

amyofhearthridge4 Comments

IMG_7331

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.

~

Emptied

amyofhearthridge7 Comments

IMG_5815

{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

 

~

 

Monday Ponderings {November 6th}

amyofhearthridgeLeave a comment

_MG_5738

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)

~

 

Parenting Meditations

amyofhearthridgeLeave a comment

_mg_4056

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.}

~

Fells {English Memories}

amyofhearthridge5 Comments

_mg_5700blogheadera

{Lake District, Cumbria, England, June 2016}

What is it about the English fells that captured my heart and built my faith so much? Perhaps it’s the barrenness of them, or the romantic sentiments attached to them from so many stories I’ve read by English authors? I’m not sure, but something about these hills meant so much to me and I will never forget them. At the risk of sounding overly sentimental (what, not me!?), they burned an indelible mark into my soul. There is something about lifting up my eyes to such hills, those airy, lonely, wilderness retreats that refreshes me, makes me dream, and lifts my heart out of heaviness. I’m so thankful my newer home area has many hills and valleys, making my heart sing, as I dream they are my very own fells.

“Mountains seem to answer an increasing imaginative need in the West. More and more people are discovering a desire for them, and a powerful solace in them. At bottom, mountains, like all wildernesses, challenge our complacent conviction – so easy to lapse into – that the world has been made for humans by humans. Most of us exist for most of the time in worlds which are humanly arranged, themed and controlled. One forgets that there are environments which do not respond to the flick of a switch or the twist of a dial, and which have their own rhythms and orders of existence. Mountains correct this amnesia. By speaking of greater forces than we can possibly invoke, and by confronting us with greater spans of time than we can possibly envisage, mountains refute our excessive trust in the man-made. They pose profound questions about our durability and the importance of our schemes. They induce, I suppose, a modesty in us.”
― Robert Macfarlane (emphasis mine)

Here, here, and here – If you are interested, more about my 2016 England trip.

~

Daily Diary {Unit of Time}

amyofhearthridge9 Comments

Dou,_Gerard_-_The_Night_School_hi_res_-_c._1660

The Night School, Geritt Dou, 1660 {Google}

Chicken soup with veggies simmering on the stove, walnut chocolate chip brownies baking, and the chatter of voices drawing pictures.  Stirring the soup, I think through the day. The beginning was one of a brilliant, cold blue, sky with a orange-hued golden crust, the bottom resting on the black bottomless shadows of the horizon. Sipping a bit of soup, I gaze at the now. Popcorn scattered around, half dried laundry waiting, my Monday. Evening now upon us, soon children will be wrestled into their beds, the giggles, messes, and moments tucked away for tonight. Listening to Bing Crosby, youtube videos on how to dance “The Charleston” (don’t ask how we got on that!), discussions over Matthew, chapter 6 come to mind. First big snow showers (no accumulation to the chagrin of the children), chickens who are on strike due to the cold, and black, forlorn, frozen skeletons of dear cosmos waving an icy hand at me.  The smell of wood smoke as Noah stokes the furnace in the basement, the needle nose pliers out to fix the knob on the dryer, and knocking at the door, an organic certification lady to talk business with my husband. Leftover baked potatoes, steamy hot, sprinkle of cheese, pat of butter, salt and peppered. A bit of leftover chili with toasted sandwiches. Apple cores everywhere, a big load of seconds from a local orchard spilling, rolling, tumbling out over our porch, apple heaven, apple pie, and soon-to-be applesauce if I can get to it. Two book packages in the post, thumbing through them, hot coffee steaming, warming, caressing my face, words floating up from the pages. New to me writing podcast, delightful kindred moments as I chop veggies for the never-ending feasting, gratefulness for the bountiful life simmering just under the surface. Benjamin-Boy with his deep, chocolaty eyes twinkling at me, his lovely red sweater now out of blue tub, arms outstretched, crying for me, “Hold me, Mom!” Paintings radiating with light, stories on Johnny Appleseed, autumn poetry, and snuggles with Sam, reading his special him-and-me only book. Oh, there were the arguments too. Mini-trials of regular ‘ole life, if you will. The lack of eggs (don’t ask, refer to chicken strike above), doing what we ought when we don’t want to because it’s right (oh, boy, do I understand that one!), the crumbs, the massive laundry load, hurt feelings, tears, the smashed apple I just stepped in with my bare toes, and the general wild exuberance that frays the stoutest of nerves. Gladys Taber writes this and I thank her for it, this perspective, a glorious thing.

“What has my day been worth, this unit of time given to me? Possibly I said a comforting word where it was needed, or offered practical help to someone in trouble. Nothing world-shaking, to be sure. I cannot influence the world. I can only live every day as well as I can, keeping my home, cherishing my neighbors, helping in the community in a small way. But perhaps I have grown a little in understanding, patience, and loving-kindness. And perhaps I shall do better tomorrow, another precious unit of time.”

Stillmeadow Sampler

~

Brace, Compel, and Do Right

amyofhearthridge4 Comments

img_7013.jpg

Do not let the children pass a day without distinct efforts, intellectual, moral, volitional; let them brace themselves to understand; let them compel themselves to do and to bear; and let them do right at the sacrifice of ease and pleasure: and this for many higher reasons, but, in the first and lowest place, that the mere physical organ of mind and will may grow vigorous with work.

Charlotte Mason, Volume 1, p. 22

{Emphasis is mine. This quote is highly convicting and pointed. I need to take Miss Mason’s advice in my own life and also consider it in my children’s lives. I’m rereading Volume 1 with friends and it is so good!}

~

“Life isn’t all fricasseed frogs and eel pie.” – Puddleglum

amyofhearthridge7 Comments

puddleglum2

{Google}

Puddleglum is one of my many favorite characters from C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia. He is just such a funny, creepy mixture of doom and gloom, Eeyore-like qualities, yet with a steadiness that helps the other characters in a myriad of ways. He appears in The Silver Chair, joining Jill and Eustace on their quest to free Prince Rilian of Narnia from the witch.

I think he cracks me up so much in that I’m sort of the polar opposite of him. I like to see the positives in any situation, in fact, I have to see the positives, or I’ll go crazy. I’m not sure if this is part of my personality or if it’s just a product of my life, or just the season I’m living in. I think in some respects, it’s a habit to be cultivated. I don’t think it’s always necessarily a conscious habit, but at times I do focus on looking at a situation, no matter how bad, and picking out the beauty or the good to be found in it. And really, that is the essence of a habit, you first must choose to do something, and eventually you are doing it without even thinking, because it is so ingrained into you. This is something I must do in order to keep perspective, to stay healthy mentally and emotionally. It does not make me better than anyone, it’s a life-giving practice that I know I must prioritize. Focusing on my problems, worrying, and striving rarely fixes them and makes for so much angst in my life and those around me. Ignoring problems doesn’t help either. However, if I can just sift through the dirt and find just one gleaming pebble, it makes walking through hard things bearable.

Is there such a thing as being too idealistic? Or too optimistic? Possibly. Probably. I mean, one has to get the ‘ole head out of the clouds and get some things done in order to just live normal life. However, I’m not sure being idealistic and optimistic isn’t a good thing. Just look all around you…things are dark, scary, depressing. Are we lying to ourselves when we focus on things that are good, true, and lovely? No, I believe we are battling the darkness. When I write here or talk with my friends about light, beauty, tea, gorgeous trees, and clouds, I’m not saying my life is perfect. I usually have my share right at that very moment of relational heartache, dirt, laundry, bills, and craziness. I am just choosing to look at the crack of light seeping in under my door. I have to hold onto that Light and follow it with all my might.

How ’bout you? What do you think?

~

 

Daily Diary {Autumnal Thoughts}

amyofhearthridge5 Comments

IMG_6902

There is a rich depth to autumn. A culmination of the years work, a closure, a going out with style. I’ve been wading through our full learning days to the core of beauty that this time of the year brings. It takes a conscious effort and choice to slow down and choose to take time to really see. To really soak my soul deep in the little things that are happening. Noticing the old-fashioned Amish corn-shocks, the swirl of fallen leaves behind you on the road, the birds flying southward overhead, wood smoke lingering in the air, the brilliance of the blue sky, and of course, the amazing, deep jewel colors of the tree splendor engulfing us.

The mood is mostly one of delight, a coming in, last of the zinnias and cosmos being picked for bouquets, the last moments of soaking up warm sun rays, the bringing out of fluffy quilts, the sipping of hot drinks. There is a somber tinge to this time too, a realization that death, and cold icy grip are at hand. The coming November especially starts to leech out the color, the green, the life landscape slowly becoming gray, brown, and stark, sharp black. Locally here, two friends have died from cancer, and that has me thinking of this whole seasonal shift, life outlook, and cycle of seasons.

All of this together becomes a kaleidoscope of color, moments, bleakness, thoughts, and most of all gratitude. This swirling mass, twirling, spinning, diving, a tapestry of life. Of which I can never be thankful enough for. It is a gift. A gift that becomes a question. A question that becomes a purposefulness. A purposefulness that brings one to setting aside the iPhone, the to-do list, getting down on a knee and squeezing those little ones, dropping a card in the mail, having people over. Painting a butterfly with your 5 year old instead of writing, reading a bit of The Magic Pudding with your 10 year old even when you are exhausted, laughing with him over the antics of Sam, Bill, and Bunyip Bluegum, not to mention the Pudding. It’s learning to listen, oh how I need to listen, both ears open wide, heart grasping at deep meanings that matter to my loved ones. Listen to my dear Amos, to my young-adults-in-the-making even when it’s 10:37 pm and tooth-picks are holding up my eyelids.  The endless cooking, dishes, laundry, even questions become a golden thread in this autumnal stitching, a beauty unsurpassed as it all is given out of a heart of thankfulness.

Rich, deep Autumn. Thank you for reminding me again of so much beauty, even in the midst of a dying away. A dying away of nature, a continual dying away of self, a laying aside of what easily besets. Till we meet again, I bid you adieu.

~