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When God Says Yes – and why there’s only one thing you can do

August 4, 2025 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

You never forget such a dream–a dream where Jesus lifts you, puts you in His pocket. So warm. Safe. Loved. Light shining through white softness, close there to His heart. It was that dream that I thought of over the weekend, when after one adoption delay and hurdle after another, our entire dossier went missing in the mail. Though in my grief I had been tempted to run, instead, my fingers clenched to the clean, white softness of His robe. I let my tears fall and soak up there, knowing He would count every one. And there at His feet I lay, knowing there was nowhere else to go—nowhere else I would want to go—determined to stay there, until I got some answer.

And I have to tell you, that no matter what is happening in your life, there is no better place to be. What sweet sorrow, feeling our hurt, our confusion, the longing of our bones . . . Yet knowing He knows it all, and sympathizes with us in our weakness, and that even though we cannot see it, He is working it all for our good. Even if the end result is the opposite of what we have prayed for, it is for His glory and for our eternal good.

Imperfectly, I wrestled, pleaded, waited . . . Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday . . . I had waited over forty years for a baby daughter. What was another few months to make up the paperwork we had lost? To me, it felt like a very lot. I couldn’t bear to look at the children’s photos. and though the temptation had been to let my heart grow cold toward Him–when all my prayers for speed, and blessing, and favor seemed for naught–I determined to press in, press closer, wait there.

“Let us hold firmly to what we profess. 

For we do not have a high priest who is unable 

to sympathize with our weaknesses,

 but we have one who was tempted in every way that we are, 

yet was without sin. 

Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence,

so that we may receive mercy and find grace

to help us in our time of need .”

~Hebrews 4:14-16 BSB

Things were sent to me to help me. A book—The Practice of the Presence of God, by Brother Lawrence. I listened to it all. A hymn—”I’d rather have Jesus.” I listened to that, too. I listened, and I re-listened, and I sang aloud. And I felt then, His nearness. His love. The awesomeness of His power. The closeness of eternity.

And Monday came, and I went about the busyness of my day, carrying on with organizing our home in preparation for the children’s arrival. Homeschooling my boys, believing there would yet be an adoption to carry us overseas during the coming school year. In the afternoon, I went to the grocery store for a few items for dinner. Sitting there in the steaming heat of my car, I checked my phone and found an email from the agency—the dossier had been located!

I tried to comprehend how. The Post Office claimed the dossier had been left outside the agency, which is situated in an inner-city area, the previous Wednesday. The agency had searched for, and been unable to find it. Five days had passed. Suddenly, the dossier was discovered outside, right where the post office said it should be. A miracle.

I sat in my car and cried, tears pouring down—this time because that which was lost had been found. And because God had shown His goodness and His mercy and His power.

And so now our adoption is up and running again—we might even get to see the kids this autumn! But I can tell you, with all honesty, that I am glad those papers went missing. I am glad for the pain I was allowed to feel. Without that despair, I would not have turned so desperately, so passionately to my Creator. I would not have experience the sweetness of being so wholly in His presence, or resting there at His feet. I pray I may always feel as close to Him as I do today. That I may always trust Him, even when things aren’t going my way. Because He is trustworthy. He is gracious. He is good. He is wise. He is love. And why, oh, why, would I run away from that?

“The difficulties of life do not have to be unbearable.

It is the way we look at them – through faith or unbelief – that makes them seem so. We must be convinced that our Father is full of love for us and that He only permits trials to come our way for our own good.

Let us occupy ourselves entirely in knowing God. The more we know Him, the more we will desire to know Him. As love increases with knowledge, the more we know God, the more we will truly love Him. We will learn to love Him equally

in times of distress or in times of great joy.”

― Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God

Avonlea xo

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Homemaking Inspiration from Literature  ♥

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When God Seems Silent

July 27, 2025 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

Yet he did not waver through disbelief in the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God. ~Romans 4:20 BSB

Over forty years I have waited. And maybe it’s not as many years as ninety-year-old Sarai waited for her child, but some days it feels as long, and still I wait. On my knees I have pleaded, wept, and wrestled with God over his decision not to give me a baby daughter. After four difficult deliveries with my wonderful sons, we decided to adopt—a baby girl as young as possible! I was in disbelief, and so excited. But something nagged at my soul, and though I knew what a dream I was giving up, we decided instead to add to our family a teenage daughter who was in danger of aging out. We felt called, we obeyed, yet her brokenness brought brokenness to us all, and for years it was a struggle.

When I felt at last a healing in my heart, and when the memory of the labor pains I’d endured had become fuzzy in my mind, I thought perhaps God might yet bless us with a child, naturally. But after years of stress and not understanding what my body had been shouting at me, I needed physical healing, too. And so there were years of going to extreme lengths to bring down the inflammation and grow strong. So many doctors. So many needles. So many pills. So much changing of the way I did life. Still, month after month, no baby came. And slowly, slowly, I thought of adoption again. Because God still called to me, and I did not yet feel done being a mama to wee ones–and had not stopped yearning for that baby daughter. Two children, I felt in my heart this time, if God wanted it so. But on a list I saw three siblings, with the youngest but 6 months old (a rarity in international adoption). John felt the same about them, and once more we started on the long journey of paperwork required for such a thing. Again, I was so excited, so in disbelief that these children might be mine! Those little faces! I poured over them 1,000 times a day.

And it seems from the beginning that nothing has gone right. Unexplained delays from our agency. Online scammers that took our money and our time as we tried to collect different documents.  And then, then—right when our dossier was across the world, ready to be submitted to the foreign government at last—we discovered our agency lost accreditation. This meant finding a new agency and beginning much of the process again. We wrestled with our agency for the return of our dossier, and once it had been flown back across the ocean and returned to us at last, I was able to mail it to our new agency . . . only for it to be lost this past week in the mail. Fifty-two dollars I paid to have it guaranteed overnight, and the Post Office said it was delivered, left outside, yet the agency searched and searched, and it was no where to be found.

I cried. I felt numb. And if I’m honest, I wanted to numb myself to God, as well. Cross my arms, and avert my gaze, and keep silent in my prayers. After all, a year of calling out to Him day after day for speed, and favor, and blessing on our adoption hadn’t done much good. Wasn’t He best kept far away? Far away, like David kept the Ark of the Covenant away. He hadn’t been best pleased with the way God handled Uzzah after he’d reached out to stop the Ark from falling. And I wasn’t best pleased with the way God was handling our adoption. But I saw, and was reminded what happened after that–the homes where David sent the Ark became richly blessed (2 Samuel 6:1-12). Those homes that held the symbol of God’s holy presence. David finally realized that even when we don’t understand what God is doing, even when we hurt, even when it seems He’s made a mistake, even when we’re angry at Him, closeness to God is always best. In his presence, is where we will always be most blessed.

I remembered, too, Sarai, who’s name became Sarah as representative of God’s covenant, and her place as the mother of nations. God had made Abraham a promise—his children would outnumber the stars! And Sarai had laughed, had doubted. Even then, God held to His promise and gave a son. “Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed . . . and was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God” (Romans 4:18, 20). God has not promised me another child. I don’t know His plans for the next year of my life. But I do know He has promised to never leave me (Hebrews13:5). The Amplified Bible puts it,

“I will never [under any circumstances] desert you [nor give you up nor leave you without support, nor will I in any degree leave you helpless], nor will I forsake or let you down or relax My hold on you [assuredly not]!

I can’t tell you how it has hurt to watch those babies grow a year older, so far from the circle of my arms. Still, like Abraham, I hope against all hope. But no matter the end result, I am choosing to stay right here in the circle of my Father’s arms, knowing He will see me through, knowing there is no better place to be. 

Avonlea xo

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Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature  ♥

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More Than a Fairytale

October 19, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

I have stories yet untold. I suppose I wasn’t sure if they were mine to tell. But some stories deserve to be told, and some people deserve to have their story told, though they cannot tell it themselves . . .

In the far north of Scotland is a castle. A small, elegant, brownish-pink castle–a stone’s throw from the sea, yet bordered by attractive gardens, with sheep-grazed pastures and woodlands beyond. It is called the Castle of Mey, and belonged to the late Queen Mother. Not the Queen who passed away one year agone, but her mother, HM Elizabeth The Queen Mother. She purchased the ramshackle castle in 1952, and set about restoring both castle and grounds. It became her summer home (with another visit every October). Here, she enjoyed the natural beauties of Scotland, and here she entertained guests. I couldn’t tell you much about those guests–apart from one. About one couple’s visits to The Castle of Mey, I know quite a lot. I know, because they told me themselves.

The minister of The Church of Scotland Parish of Canisbay and Keiss, the region of Scotland called Caithness where the castle is situated, was for a time one Reverend Alex Muir, MA BD. To you, just a name, to me a thousand memories–most of which occurred at a modest house in the small Scottish city of Inverness. Again, just a house, just number 14, to me so much more. Alex (retired from the ministry by this time) and his wife, Catriona, were members of our church. They were acquaintances who became, in a matter of no time at all, close friends. Me, a young American, still smitten with Scotland, still lonely from time-to-time, still prone to say the outlandish things that Americans tend to say while on foreign soil. John, a Scot, but not known in the “highlands and islands,” and with much to occupy him in his new position at work. We two just a young couple, trying to find our way in the world.

An afternoon at “number 14” – Alex & Catriona are far right

We were invited for lunch one Sunday–a Sunday that became the first of many–and what a delight to be in the home of new friends. I remember the sunny dining room with a view of Catriona’s colorful garden. I remember the blue, yellow, and green budgies, chirping and flitting about their large cage. I remember the black and white photo of Alex and The Queen Mother, hung on the wall. The story behind that photo came to me in stages over the next few years, on visits to number 14. Oh, I loved to be there, amid the old books, and photographs, and cassette tapes–all the ideas, and stories, and melodies, wrapped up inside. Oh, I loved the smell of Catriona’s fluffy scones just out of the oven. Oh, I loved to chat with their boys (all round about my and John’s age) and to hear the stories Alex would tell. Oh, I loved the love in that place.

Alex, a teacher before his years as minister, was a true Encyclopedia of Scottish history and literature. I remember lending him my CD of Lorena McKennit’s musical rendition of The Lady of Shallot. I rather think that could Alex have been transported to The Eagle and Child Pub in Oxford during the 1940s, he would have joined in with the discussions of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the other Inklings without any effort at all. One day, he presented to me his copy of Mrs. Browning’s Poetical Works, saying that the poet’s hair rather reminded him of mine. But I digress . . .

Literature was not, however, the foremost thing on Alex’s mind. The Scottish Christian revivals of the 19th century–which had transformed so many lives and communities–and church music were the things he spoke about with the most passion. He was a great admirer of American hymnwriter Ira Sankey, composer of Just as I Am, Have Thine Own Way Lord, I Surrender all, and many others. Alex was also an amateur composer and lyricist himself–one who had attracted the notice of The Queen Mother, and in time, The Queen herself . . .

During his years as minister in Caithness, Alex and Catriona (as the parish minister and his wife) were invited to dine at The Castle of Mey on multiple occasions. They came to know and hold great respect for The Queen Mother, and Alex felt quite convinced of her sincere faith in the Lord. One time, she requested a tour of their home, the Manse. Catriona dutifully and I am sure graciously consented. She later told me that when The Queen Mother glimpsed her oldest son’s room, plastered with posters of footballers and movie stars, that she remarked, “All these precious things.” Catriona declared that The Queen Mother always knew just what to say.

The photo from the dining room wall – Alex accompanying The Queen Mother outside Canisbay Kirk

On learning that Alex was musical, The Queen Mother asked him to bring along his guitar on his visits to the castle. He played Scottish ballads, folk music, and his own compositions. There’s a story about her making a request for “The Jeely Piece Song.” It would have been at the castle that The Queen, on one of her visits to her mother, would have first met Alex and Catriona and heard him play. It’s all rather like a Scottish fairytale, castle and all, but the story doesn’t end there . . . The Queen apparently so loved Alex’s beautiful, haunting melody, “Bays of Harris,” that she selected it to be played at her funeral, should she pass from this life while in Scotland–which she did. My heart swelled as I watched the talented Karen Matheson sing the words of Psalm 118 in Gaelic to Alex’s melody. How I wished Alex had been there to see his melody performed for The Queen one last time! Bays of Harris was also used at the funeral of former parliament member Winnie Ewing, in Inverness Cathedral. It was sung there by another famous Gaelic singer, Julie Fowlis.

Alex went to his own Heavenly Castle in 2010, and Catriona followed ten years later. I think of them often. A piece of my heart went to Heaven when they left. But oh, so glorious to know their lives–and Alex’s music–are yet reaching hearts and inspiring lives. I wondered what had inspired The Queen to choose Psalm 118. She was very particular in all she said and did. Every Christmas, The Queen gave a Christmas speech, and without fail, every year she spoke about the Savior. Wise and thoughtful woman that she was, she would have known that her funeral was her last chance to “give a speech,” her last chance to address the world. Years before she passed, she carefully chose every word–from hymns to Bible texts–that would be part of her final day. Could it have been verses eight and nine that she wanted to impress upon the hearts of all who were listening that day?

It is better to take refuge in the LORD

than to trust in man.

It is better to take refuge in the LORD

than to trust in princes

-Psalm 118:8-9

It’s been twenty years now since The Queen Mother passed, a year since The Queen herself–I have confidence that she, Alex, and Catriona are now reunited in their glorious bodies–but their legacies live on. And so will the legacies of Alex & Catriona, for all who knew them, and for all who are touched by Alex’s music–today, and for generations to come.

Bays of Harris, Psalm 118, sung by Karen Matheson, former singer with the group Capercaillie, at St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh for the Queen’s funeral (sadly, credit was given to the man who arranged the melody instead of to the composer, Alex)

Psalm 63 sung by Clare Ross to Bays of Harris. Clare recorded this piece with Alex in the 1980s. You will hear English at the end.

God Has Given Us a Dream – Hymn and melody by The Reverend Alex Muir, MA BD, sung by singer and filmmaker, Matthew Todd of Fellowship Film

Avonlea xo

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Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature  ♥

PS Enjoy the story behind the writing of Bays of Harris, including an interview with Alex, below ⤵

Posted in Books!, C.S. Lewis, Hospitality, J.R.R. Tolkien, Misty British Isles, Scotland, The Inklings, The Royals, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

From Scotland

August 21, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

For you created my inmost being;

    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

    your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

-Psalm 139:13-14

After nine long years, I find myself here once again. This place that was so dear to me as home. So inspiring to all my senses, and aspirations, and heart. I hardly want to sleep (though I am). Hardly want to miss a second of all this sweet Scottish air (oh, how purple the heather on the hills just now!). Don’t want to miss a minute with the sweetest of friends who will be, through eternity, lodged in my heart.

Our first weekend we went to Inverness to stay with friends from our former church. First a play at the park with my sweetest friend Mhairi and her boys–oh, what fun to have Scottish children to show them all the best climbing trees and hiding spots! Then at Maureen and Alasdair’s, where there’s endless snacks for the children to keep up their strength, and endless cups of tea, and her beautiful garden where the boys picked raspberries, and her husband’s workshop where he helped them make wooden porridge stirrers, and all the talk of things big and small that we managed to cram in-between. I tried to soak, soak, soak up all the love and goodness and wisdom I have always felt from their presence.

And at Rona’s, the stunning views over the highlands toward Loch Ness, and the mouth-watering Indian food she prepared, and the kids laughing with her son over a game, and realizing how similar a path we tread from different corners of the earth, and the talk of grace that seasoned it all.

Seeing these precious faces again, I thought maybe my heart would burst. Burst because of the loving so very much, or burst because of the having to say goodbye. It seems unthinkable that it’s been nine long years since I last saw them or last breathed the sweet highland air. Unthinkable that in three weeks I will once again have to say goodbye. That their life will go on, and so will mine, and who knows when we’ll meet again. The only thing that keeps it all from being too much is thoughts of eternity . . . One day, one day, we will all be together. And all those lattes, and cups of tea, and cakes, and misty mountains, and faces of friends, well, they will just not stop. Death will be dead and so will goodbyes.

Why would I want anything else? Why would I want to be anyone else but what God has made me? Why I would I want any other end than the one He has prepared for me? The thought that God not only created us with foresight, purpose, and detail but also continues with us throughout our lives with the same love, wisdom, and attention to detail is utterly mind-numbing. He made those friends. He made me. He brought us into each other’s lives, and He will carry each of us through until we are all reunited in the end. “But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (I Corinthians 15:57).

“Dear Lord, thank you for the sweet friends in Christ you have blessed my life with. Thank you for making each of us with care. And thank you that you will carry each of us till the end–till we are forever with each other and you. Amen.”

Avonlea xo

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Cherry Street is now on Audio & Ebook!

July 12, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

For those of you who don’t follow me on social media, you may not have heard that The House on Cherry Street now has audio and ebook (Kindle and other) versions available. The audiobook is narrated by the beautiful Scottish voice of voice actress, Angela Ness. Perfect for road trips and work or school commutes!

Book description –

Forbidden Love in a time of war. The house that kept the secret for generations… until someone comes looking for the truth.

Michigan, 1941 – Grace, daughter of a wealthy furniture baron, can have anything she wants—except her one true love.

Scotland, 2014 – Charlotte has big plans for her summer–when a surprise letter from America changes everything . . .

Grace – Grace’s life is dictated by society and her father’s wishes, right down to the man she’ll marry. So when she falls for Georg, she must keep their love secret–all while keeping up the pretense of going steady with another man. As America is forced into WWII, Grace must fight for all she holds dear. Who is following her and Georg? Grace’s intended, or someone with more sinister plans? Grace thinks she knows who’s to blame, but as events unfold, she realizes all was not as it seemed . . .

Charlotte – When an out-of-the-blue plane ticket to America arrives, Charlotte decides to use it, even if this means putting wedding planning and the purchase of her dream bed and breakfast on hold. But her trip becomes a solitary stay in a crumbling mansion and a puzzle at every turn. Thankfully, her life back in Scotland is falling nicely into place—or is it? Meanwhile, missing documents leave her confounded. Will the house give up its secrets at last?

🍒 Shop here

A LITTLE NEWS!

In less than a month, we leave for Scotland for a month-long visit! Stay connected on FB/IG/MeWe for photos, videos, and the whole scoop! My Instagram was lost, sadly. If you’re an Instagrammer, reconnect with me on happy.little.sigh here

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking inspiration from Literature ❤

Posted in Books!, Misty British Isles, Scotland, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

My Book is Here!

March 31, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

🍒 It’s finally here! My book, The House on Cherry Street, is now available on Amazon – Link

From Edinburgh, Scotland to Grand Rapids, Michigan, this story brings to life Michigan’s once vibrant furniture industry and the history of the US internment of German Americans. Read the description below . . .

Forbidden Love in a time of war. The house that kept the secret for generations… until someone comes looking for the truth.

Michigan, 1941 – Grace, daughter of a wealthy furniture baron, can have anything she wants—except her one true love.

Scotland, 2014 – Charlotte has big plans for her summer–when a surprise letter from America changes everything . . .

Grace – Grace’s life is dictated by society and her father’s wishes, right down to the man she’ll marry. So when she falls for Georg, she must keep their love secret–all while keeping up the pretense of going steady with another man. As America is forced into WWII, Grace must fight for all she holds dear. Who is following her and Georg? Grace’s intended, or someone with more sinister plans? Grace thinks she knows who’s to blame, but as events unfold, she realizes all was not as it seemed . . .

Charlotte – When an out-of-the-blue plane ticket to America arrives, Charlotte decides to use it, even if this means putting wedding planning and the purchase of her dream bed and breakfast on hold. But her trip becomes a solitary stay in a crumbling mansion and a puzzle at every turn. Thankfully, her life back in Scotland is falling nicely into place—or is it? Meanwhile, missing documents leave her confounded. Will the house give up its secrets at last?

🍒 What happened before chapter one? I’m offering two FREE bonus prologue chapters to anyone who leaves me a review. Simply email me a screenshot of your review to happylittlesigh@gmail.com and they will be yours!

Avonlea x

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Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

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THIS is Beauty ~ this is LOVE

February 12, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

For friend hearts, and sweethearts, and parent hearts, too,

for hungry tummies, and open arms, this one’s for you.

Some truth, some fluff, some real love stuff . . .

CAM00419b

Ah, Janey, make us swoon.

To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.

~Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

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Love? Yeah . . . You’ll be crying . . .

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Well, well . . .

Handsome is as handsome does.

~J.R.R. Tolkien

CAM00415a

Ah, at last . . .

I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want you.

~Lucy Maud Montgomery,

Anne of the Island

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Sweetest video ever made–send this one to your honey.

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And this is what you can tell them over Valentine’s dinner 😉

Opening her eyes again, and seeing her husband’s face across the table, she leaned forward to give it a pat on the cheek, and sat down to supper, declaring it to be the best face in the world.

~Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend

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Love? Oh, WOW.

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CAM00414

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

~William Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis

 

A little something for the Valentine table.

For your children, for your honey, or for you!

Beetroot and Parsnip Soup with Horseradish*

(nope, not tomato!)

pink soup? think of that! and jolly easy to make!

30 grams butter

1 potato, peeled and chopped

2 parsnips, peeled and chopped

1 small onion, chopped

2 large or 4 small beetroot,

peeled and chopped

800 ml vegetable stock

1oo ml cream and sour cream,

combined

1 T horseradish mixed with

1 T olive oil and 1 t vinegar

Melt butter in a large saucepan over low heat. And the onion and cook till soft but not brown, then add the potato, parsnip, and vegetable stock/broth. Bring to the boil and then add the beetroot, cooking for a further 15 minutes. Don’t overcook, as the beetroot will go from a lovely deep pink to a red color. When the vegetables are tender, remove from heat and puree with a stick blender (or blender) until the soup is smooth, but with a few lumps. Stir in the cream, sour cream, and horseradish mix and season with salt and black pepper. Exquisite!

*Recipe adapted from Delicious Soups by Belinda Williams

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Though our feelings come and go, God’s love for us does not.

~C.S. Lewis

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Wishing the happiest of Valentine weekends to you!

Avonlea x

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Happy Little Sigh
Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

 

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Posted in Anne of Green Gables, Books!, Hospitality, J.R.R. Tolkien, Jane Austen, Marriage - For Happily Evers, The Inklings, Videos - If You Were There | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

More Than an Ardent, Mr. Darcy Kind of Love

January 5, 2023 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

“One of His disciples, the one whom Jesus loved, was reclining at His side.”
-John 13:23 BSB

After the Christmas magic fades, we are left with our true selves. Our true lives. We can wonder, when all the glitter, and carols, and excitement have gone, and it’s time to get back to the routine of life, who we really are and what our life is really about. Where are we headed? Why do we do what we do? What can we change to make things better? The thought of once again picking up our responsibilities can seem overwhelming. We might even feel depressed. But when we are at the place of feeling disillusioned with everything the world has to offer, this can be our best place to be, because this is when we turn to Jesus. This is when we recall that only He can satisfy. The disciple John called himself “the disciple that Jesus loved,” or in some translations, “the one whom Jesus loved.” What if we thought of ourselves that way, too? What if we signed our cards and emails, “The woman that Jesus loves”? That is something we probably wouldn’t do! But we could sign our journal entries this way, and we could think of ourselves this way, too! Whatever else we are unsure of in life, this we can know–“Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”

“Dear Lord, I’m so thankful that at the end of all my struggles, whys, and what ifs, Your love is always there. Amen.”    

Enjoy this Pride & Prejudice ambience as you ponder these words . . .

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Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

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Good Walls – Survive Winter & Love it

December 29, 2022 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

Everywhere, there were walls. Day by day, they’d grown up around us till every house and shop and school and road had its own borders, its own barriers. Keeping things out, keeping them in. Walls, running all over this frozen land. Walls made of snow. Not that the barriers were intentional, when we all went out with our shovels, blowers, and plows. But the walls came anyway, as we made a path from door to car, from car to sidewalk, from sidewalk to road. But at our house, we also had a path. A path between our neighbours’ house and our own.

Not that we’d used it often, that imaginary gateway, that break in the wall. No, not in such a winter when the snowfall set records and people had to shovel their roofs so they wouldn’t collapse under the weight, and icicles hung like thick stalactites from gutters, and the painful wind and cold brought tears to your eyes and chapped hands and cheeks and lips. No, not in such a winter.

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But then there came a day, one soft and snowy Sunday, when we did. Church had been canceled after an ice storm left thousands without power. So we were home, the day before us a little lonely and uncertain and unfilled. But then there came a knock.

I shuffled to the mud room in my slippers, found the tall frame of our neighbour filling the glass door. Expecting him to ask John’s help with the snow or maybe something to do with frozen pipes, I reached for the handle, hoping all was well.

“We’re not going anywhere today, and neither are you,” he said. “We’ve got a ham in the oven and we’re hoping you’ll come over and help us eat it.”

Well, such an invitation! Such a welcome invitation on such a silent, snowy day.

And so we put on our boots, didn’t bother with coats, and filled the silence with our chatter as we walked that path, that break in the wall of snow, and into our neighbours’ large kitchen.

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We stayed for hours. And I couldn’t tell you what it meant to sit round their table, surrounded by photos of their grandchildren and a collection of Eiffel Towers. But it was more than the ham and potatoes and veg that we ate while we talked and laughed. More than the tea and cookies and jello that came next. More than the stories from days past, told with such animation that we laughed over till our sides hurt. More than our neighbours themselves, who had begun as kind strangers and turned into friends.

It was the sum of it all that filled us that day, warmed us from the inside out, made us feel that winter was the most wonderful of seasons because it had brought us together–could bring us close to other family and friends–before spring came and the world opened up and let us sprawl out, warm in the sun but far from each other.

March is nearly upon us, but the temperatures are still frigid, and until the warmth comes to melt the mountains of snow and banish the walls, we will have winter. And for as long as it lasts, for all those long Saturday afternoons and black winter nights, I’ll be searching for ways to warm our home, to warm the hearts of our friends. With big pots of chili, and spontaneous tea parties with plates of shortbread taken from the rations John’s parents bring.

And that is the best way to not just survive winter, but love it.

It is said that good fences make good neighbours, and I agree. Good fences, good walls, they make good neighbours–but only when there is a gate.

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And there is quite a different sort of conversation around a fire than there is in the shadow of a beech tree…. [F]our dry logs have in them all the circumstance necessary to a conversation of four or five hours, with chestnuts on the plate and a jug of wine between the legs. Yes, let us love winter, for it is the spring of genius.

~Pietro Aretino, translated from Italian

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Nature looks dead in winter because her life is gathered into her heart. She withers the plant down to the root that she may grow it up again fairer and stronger. She calls her family together within her inmost home to prepare them for being scattered abroad upon the face of the earth.

~Hugh Macmillan, “Rejuvenescence,” The Ministry of Nature, 1871

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Avonlea xo

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For When Your To-Do List Just Doesn’t Get Done

June 18, 2022 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

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I know all about lists.

I know all about lists of things that should have been done yesterday . . .

last week . . .

last year . . .

I know all about adding something to your list

just so you can cross it off

and feel like you’ve done

something.

And I know all about those things that stop you,

get in your way.

The things that need to be done everyday and keep you from getting ahead.

All that time in the kitchen that can leave you wishing

that you didn’t need to eat.

Those mountains of washing (clean or dirty)

that never, ever go away.

And I know what it’s like to trip over a toy, drag it back to where it belongs

for the seventh time that day.

Or what it’s like to feel frustrated by a spilled drink

(oh, do I!).

What it’s like to feel a little less than sympathetic

when someone gets an owie,

bursts into hysteric tears,

yet again.

Oh, and isn’t it easy to grow frustrated, feel hopeless

at the impossibly long list of jobs you want to get done–

those emails, those phone calls, those jumbled closets and drawers.

And it’s easy, far too easy,

to forget

the very reason

that you even do it all.

And forget the very people behind the reason

you’re making those phone calls, cooking those meals, cleaning that house.

You can forget

that for those of us home raising little souls,

our children are not a distraction from our work,

they are the purpose of it.

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And so next time you feel disheartened

by all the things you didn’t do,

remember what will matter

a week, a year, or more from now.

Remember what they will remember

when they go.

And take the time to pull them close,

tell them how they’re loved

by God,

by you.

And pull them close to read

that favourite, dog-eared book.

And kneel down to tell them,

as if there’s nothing else,

what they’ve done right,

or how what they’ve done has hurt another

and how they can make it right.

For raising souls should not be rushed, 

is not a side-line job. 

And while we long to make a beautiful, harmonious haven

for those we love,

it is not the meals we cook, the dust we extinguish, the pictures we hang,

but the love we give, the patience we show,

the fruit of the Spirit within us, 

the Spirit we help them to grow inside

that they will remember most,

that will really matter

in the end.

Avonlea x

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