Inspirations | happy little sigh

Archive for the ‘Inspirations’ Category

Oh, WHAT have we done? Another year over, a new one just begun . . .

Posted in Holiday Cheer, Inspirations, Making Memories, tagged 2014, Bible Reading, Christmas Fail, Ice Storm, Icicles, January, New Year's List, New Year's Resolutions, Snow Pictures, Surrender, The Book of John, The Word, Winter Photography, Winter Pictures on January 11, 2014| 6 Comments »

There was a long list of bad this Christmas.

Like the enormous branch out back that fell and crushed my poor lilac bush. The ice storm came (that was before the arctic vortex and heaps of snow), and I guess that big old tree got a little too burdened down. Couldn’t take the stress. Couldn’t take the weight. So down it came.

The rest of our Christmas, well it was mostly the same. A little too much heaviness to bear.

Plenty of decorating and buying and wrapping and baking and carol playing and even praying beforehand, all meant to create the perfect day, but sometimes all the planning in the world will still leave you with a mess.

Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

That ice again, lovely as it was, had it’s wicked way.

Treacherous driving conditions.

Night out with the girls for a chance to laugh and de-stress? Canceled.

Many thousands without heat or power.

Christmas Eve service at church? Canceled, too.

Mum hosting Christmas dinner? Nope. With two days to plan, it’s going to be me.

But there was more . . .

A mix-up of the name-drawing.

A gift for everyone under the tree? Well, not quite.

Keys locked in a running car.

Tired children put to bed on time? Think again.

A tummy bug moving slowly through the house till we all had our turn.

All of us there round the Christmas table, feeling right as rain? No, not that either.

Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

Yet all this, all this we could have easily born with a nervous laugh and with making due. All this we could have born if only a frazzled mix of folks from different parts of the country, different parts of the globe, hadn’t all been tossed together, till from our botched arrangements surfaced pain, sadness, regret from weeks, months, years past.

Like my lilac bushes, it seems we, too, can be frail.

Tender.

Like the flowers. Like the grass.

Tender,

so that when love and fear come together,

like with family and with friends,

we feel an aching in our hearts

and a burden just too much to bear.

Too much to bear alone.

And it all seemed such a sham. The presents and the tree. The music. All the talk of joy and peace.

Because sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

And sometimes you plan, but there’s something deeper, something realer, that you missed.

All our shattered plans for Christmas or for life, they can really shake our souls, leave us wondering how to hope.

How to hope, or why.

Leave us wondering if the New Year will bring us more of just the same. And if you’re anything like me then you’re tempted to whisk out a sheet of paper and start making lists, ask yourself what went wrong, and start planning so the future will be better.

As if we could fix ourselves, fix our families, with a list.

The only thing is, sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

New Year’s resolutions? Yes, I’ve got them. Organized drawers, eating kale, and the like.

But this year what I’m planning is complete surrender.

Submission like I’ve never known.

All I have, all I am, all I dream, brought to the feet of the only One who will never get it wrong and never let me down.

Because what my family, what my world, what I am missing is more of Jesus.

And because it’s only is His will that we can ever truly be free.

I’m taking His list. Making it mine. Turning my life right upside down.

And I’m starting with the Word.

Because not only is the Word with God, but the Word IS God. (John 1:1).

And it’s living, and it’s active, and it knows me, too (Hebrews 4:12).

I’m going to see what I’ve been missing.

I’m going to learn to love and live

like Him.

This is January.

The first day of the rest of my life.

Join me as I discover.

You won’t look back.

Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday

For LITERARY INSPIRATION for Heart & Home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here!

Read Full Post »

A Different Kind of Thanks

Posted in Holiday Cheer, Inspirations, The Inklings, tagged C.S. Lewis, Fresh Start, Happiness, Thankfullness, Thanksgiving, The Love of God, Victorian Postcards and Clipart on November 27, 2013| Leave a Comment »

One year.

That’s how long it’s been since we came here, to this old yellow house by the river.

A year ago, I stood looking up at the sky through the hole in the kitchen roof, counting on two hands the days till the baby would come. Trying not to care that I had to wash my dishes in the bathroom sink. Lay out our meals on a cardboard box.

At the storage unit in town a high cliff of boxes contained our stuff from two different continents,

two different lives.

I tried, but I never did find the baby clothes in time.

At night, on a borrowed computer, we tracked our stolen laptop round the city. Then lost hope when it left the state.

It had only been a year.

One year before that since we’d come back.

Started life again in America.

And even when life’s good, a person might have to mourn a little over that.

Over the loss of a country. Of a way of life.

Even without break-ins, and police, and counting loss.

And that’s exactly what I did for a while.

I counted my loss.

Sobbed over them like a teenager with a broken heart.

It was all too surreal, and I didn’t know where to begin.

And I can’t say when it happened.

Can’t say just exactly when

I felt the great relief of letting go of it all.

All the stuff.

All the demands I had for my life.

For years, I hadn’t dared draw too near. Not close enough to rest my head there on His knee.

I didn’t dare.

There wasn’t peace.

Then one night I dreamed.

He carried me in His pocket.

All linen and white.

And I was small, and I was safe,

and I went with Him through His day.

The roof has long been fixed.

I have a kitchen, and it has a sink.

Slowly, slowly, as we’ve done before, we’re making this house into a home.

But when I find myself surveying it all,

feeling pleased about the way the sideboard looks,

and the curtains, and the chandelier,

I remind myself

what I really have to be thankful for.

What I have–because of Jesus–that nothing and no one

can ever take away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose.”

~ C.S. Lewis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

~ Romans 8:38-39

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Very Happy Thanksgiving to You

Dear Readers!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avonlea x

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday

For Literary Inspiration for your HEART & HOME and a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here!

Read Full Post »

When It’s All Just Tiring & Tedious

Posted in Inspirations, Videos - If You Were There, tagged Andrew Peterson, Anne of Green Gables, Autumn, Cup of tea, Geese Flying in a V, L.M. Montgomery, Lucy Maude Montgomery, Morning, Motherhood, November, Planting Trees, Servant heart, Thanksgiving, Washing feet, Winged Migration on November 25, 2013| 4 Comments »

Another week begins.

Outside, a change has come.

A bitter wind that those bare, black trees just can’t hold back.

My hands are raw like a nurse’s, from all that hot scrubbing.

Because though it’s Thanksgiving week here in America,

for me it will be another seven days of much the same,

if I want to look at it that way.

Loading and unloading

dishwashers,

washing machines,

wee ones in and out of beds.

Washing and scrubbing

walls,

floors,

toilets,

faces,

feet.

It’s sacred ground, you know, my home.

Sacred, with Jesus here.

Beside me as I labor, as I stoop.

Just as He did, right before He died.

Servant-like, He washed all the black off His disciples’ feet, just like He’d wash their hearts.

Just like He washed mine.

And so it’s sacred work, too, that I do.

Washing little hands, little feet.

Not easy. Not easy not to pipe up about what’s fair, and who’s pulling their share of it, and what I need to be happy.

No, the work’s not easy, and it goes on and on.

But what’s easy, really easy, is to go looking for something to give a bit more meaning to it all

when the sacred is disguised as tedium.

I know it’s not there, yet how often I go looking

for something to fill that deep, deep hole.

And yet I know, when it comes down to it, where to be filled.

Filled up and overflowing.

Where I can find the strength to serve and keep on serving.

And I can’t afford not to take the time each day to be filled up,

filled up and floating on all that love, all that grace.

He’s here. Beside me.

But I need to turn and look Him in the eye.

And as I scrub, I need to look them in the eye—my little souls.

They won’t sleep under this roof forever.

And while I’m kneeling, sometimes I’ve got to remember to keep them there, pull them to my lap.

Lean with our elbows on the windowsill to see what’s what.

With our eyes, trace the shape of those big, black trees,

the colours in the sky,

catch some geese in flight,

work together on our smile lines.

Acknowledge the sacred.

Because it’s right here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She rises up as morning breaks
She moves among these rooms alone
Before we wake
And her heart is so full; it overflows
She waters us with love and the children grow

~ Andrew Peterson, “Planting Trees”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It was November–the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.”

~ L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

❤ For literary inspiration for your home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here! ❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avonlea x

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

Join me on Facebook/MeWe/Instagram @HappyLittleSigh

Read Full Post »

Time Capsule

Posted in Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Uncategorized, tagged Adventure, Anne of Green Gables, Basements, Daughter, Faith, Great Britain, Hope, International Move, Letting Go, Moving On, Regrets, Scotland, Son, The Cross, The Future and The Past, Time Capsule, Trust in God on November 22, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Sometimes it helps, remembering where you’ve been.

Other times it’s enough to leave you in a fit of tears.

Make you crawl into bed, yank up the covers

to hide your face,

blot your tears.

It can be regret

for what you did

or didn’t do

that leaves you feeling this way.

Regret for what you did

or what was done to you.

Other times it’s the life you had

but don’t have any more.

And it’s a combination, I suppose, of all those things, that can get me, really get me, make me want to head for bed, cocoon myself in the covers, throw a temper tantrum of the grown-up type.

A photo can remind me. Bring to mind all that once was.

A photo, or basement, maybe. A basement full of boxes that represent my life.

Boxes. Time capsules.

And that’s just what I created, though I didn’t know it those many years ago, when I wrapped my treasured possessions in old t-shirts and lace, arranged them carefully in empty banana boxes until someday when I was older, when I’d want them again, when I’d have a daughter . . .

And I didn’t know, when with slim, tanned hands, I slid the lids off the dozens of silver boxes we received for our wedding, that I wouldn’t hear the rustle of that tissue paper or see the gleaming stainless steel and sparkling crystal again for another ten years . . .

Now, with a house of my own back on this side of the Atlantic, they have been delivered to me—water stained banana boxes and silver gift boxes alike, and a thousand memories come back, along with a thousand questions, as I unpack it all and set on the floor around me.

It brings a smile, leaves an ache, when I remember. When I remember that we only meant to stay in Scotland for a year, though it turned out to be eight. When I recall how desperately I’ve always wanted a daughter, though God knew I needed sons.

And I’d like to claim it doesn’t matter. That I’m above all that.

All that wishing for weekend trips to London.

London, when it was just a few hours’ drive away.

England, with all the birthplaces and resting places of those literary geniuses I so adore.

Scotland. Our home.

Our stone house in the village, with our view of the valley, and the short walk to a friend’s front door.

And the rain—how I learned to love the rain!—and the sound of the kettle when we made our tea.

And the mist, and how it never did stop putting wonder in my heart.

And I’d like to claim I haven’t cried for a little girl I could gift with my tea set, my Anne of Green Gables doll.

Yeah, I could pretend. I could pretend that it’s fine.

It’s just fine with me.

And I don’t have to wrestle. Not one little bit.

But I know, and you know, that would all be one fat lie.

And there’s such a thing, I’ve learned, as pain that’s clean.

Clean pain, like from a surgeon’s knife.

Clean pain, when you learn to see

He knows a better way.

And though I’ve always known it, in theory, that His ways are best, that He’d take you round the world and back again to bring you closer to Him, I didn’t really know it till I’d gone.

Round the world. And back.

And I have to still my heart a little, to realize He’d do all that

just for me.

And so when I doubt, when life seems about as predictable as a Kansas plain, when I’m pretending to let go, but my thumb and finger are pinching, holding tight to something I think I need to make me happy, that I can’t live without, that’s when I’ve got, just got, to remember what He’s done.

On the cross.

In my life.

The adventure! I’d never dared to dream.

My sin! Yet He has drawn me back.

My former life can seem quite rosy, in the scrapbook of my mind.

It’s easy to forget the shadows when we think of the past.

But when Love is waiting to catch you

it’s best to let go.

Let go and rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You might also be inspired by “Sinking in Deep” https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/11/02/sinking-in-deep/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Little Sigh in now on Facebook and Twitter. Join me there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Full Post »

Sinking In Deep

Posted in Homeschooling, Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, tagged Autumn, Autumn art, Christianity, cottagecore, Fall, God's love, homemaking, Homeschooling, marriage, Parenting on November 2, 2013| 4 Comments »

I had nothing to show for the day.

Nothing but a pail of wet nappies and some autumnal paintings drying on the porch.

Oh, and the fridge was emptier, and that basket of clothes that needed folding,

well, it sort of overflowed.

Outside the rain fell warm,

but we hadn’t seen a drop of sun all day,

and even the yellow trees, and the red, and the orange,

they all looked

just grey.

And it felt a cold place, a lonely place, to be doing battle.

And I’ve told myself a thousand times that it shouldn’t be so hard.

It should be nothing at all to

wash sticky hands and faces,

change nappies,

sweep floors.

Couldn’t anyone do it? Anyone at all?

But there’s a little more to it, always a little more.

Because they howl when you do it. When you wipe their hands and face.

And they howl when you change them, and they try to crawl away.

And the crumbs are never nice, dry crumbs that skid across the floor.

No, no.

They stick. Mashed peas and bread crusts. Cereal welded to the wood.

And you’d have to use a crowbar, or at least your nail, to pry them free.

And it wouldn’t be so bad if it were only once.

Not three times.

Every day.

Or if your baby had actually taken his nap,

or your toddler hadn’t been ill and bit hysterical at every little thing you asked him to do.

And there isn’t a room in the house (not one room) where they don’t come after you

with their quarrels and their tears and their demands for more food.

And so yes, it is a battle. And it’s hard.

And sometimes, it can leave you wondering what you’re worth.

Because you can’t help but feel that there are grander things you should be accomplishing.

And your husband, yes, he has to hear about it all, and you can’t help but feel that this is all

just a little bit his fault.

And part of the battle is taking it all—all the busyness, and the fights, and the tears

and turning it into something good.

Finding reason for us all to give thanks.

And there’s always a reason.

Or instead of shouting,

kneeling down to look your child in the eye

to find the cause for his tears.

Or forgetting about all the good things your spouse should be doing for you,

and finding something good to do for them.

Because souls, they live in people.

In your children. In your spouse.

And people are more important than things,

and being kind is more important than being right.

And when it all seems a bit of a mess, that’s what you’ve got to remember.

And as many times as you can remember in a day, you’ve got to tell it to your children

Tell them how very much they’re loved.

By God.

By you.

And when there’s no one there to tell it to you, you need to read it.

Read it till it sinks in deep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

Ephesians 3:17b-19

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avonlea x

Been inspired by this post? Follow my blog for more Literary inspirations for heart & home.

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

You might also be inspired by A Walk with C.S. Lewis — https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/10/18/a-walk-with-c-s-lewis/

Read Full Post »

Colour – For Your Morning Cuppa (Tea)

Posted in Inspirations, Videos - If You Were There, tagged Apple Cider and Donuts, Autumn Colour, Avonlea Q Krueger, Darkness and Light, Fall Color, Gardening, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Seasonal Depression, T.S.Eliot, The Piano Guys on October 28, 2013| Leave a Comment »

I always felt the shadows.

The chill of autumn always felt colder to my soul than to my bones.

But it wasn’t just the cold. It was the light.

At the first leaf I saw wave goodbye to summer, I felt an ache inside. A nauseated, physical ache that felt like a broken heart.

For I knew the darkness was coming. Those days when the sun wouldn’t shine, and the night would come sooner, and the bitter cold would bite.

Those unnatural months of rising in the dark, when the earth seems to say “Keep sleeping,” but the world is waiting for you to be somewhere by eight.

Ever since my teenage years, it was those days that most rumpled the pages of my Bible. Sent me searching for the face of real Light. Reminded me of the world’s empty promises—for in the end, no matter what we do, death will come. It will come to us all.

But I turned to my Bible. I knew its secret.

That Christian’s aren’t buried, they are planted, to one day spring forth with new life.

Like bulbs. Like the red and white tulip bulbs I planted on Saturday.

In-between the hours of autumn rain there was a window. An hour or two of blue sky and warmth. And so I hunted out my gardening gloves and spent half an hour chatting with the earthworms. Digging holes and tucking those glossy white bulbs into the earth. Imagining the colour they will one day bring.

And I don’t feel it as much this year.

The shadows, they don’t seem as dark.

Even though it’s getting on now—nearly November.

But there are days left ahead. Days of colour. Days of mild coolness and sun.

And I’m taking pictures.

Recording blessings.

Eating donuts and apple cider every chance I get.

And when I feel that little ache, that unsettled ripple in my soul that says, “You’re missing something. You’re not getting it quite right,” then I know. I know I have to rumple some pages again. I have to stop and listen to the voice that whispers through the trees, and through the breeze, and through the harvest, “Listen. Listen. I am the Light!”

~~~

Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.

~ James 1:17

~~~

Autumn Ambience to enjoy with your morning cup of tea…

(more…)

Read Full Post »

Birdsong – For Your Morning Cuppa (tea)

Posted in Books!, Inspirations, Jane Austen, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Uncategorized, Videos - If You Were There, tagged England, Fresh Bread, Jane Austen, Morning, Siegried Sassoon, Tea on October 14, 2013| 4 Comments »

Another day ahead.

Not that it’s always easy. The getting started of a day.

Not when my bed’s so warm and the house so dark, and the children woke me in the night three times, at least.

And while my mind swirls with the to-dos of today,

beneath the surface of these plans, beneath all that I know will keep me busy, rushing from here to there,

lie my deeper dreams and goals.

All my heart longs to do and be for my family.

All the words I long to write.

And they look like a mountain from here. Like I’ve been given a wheel barrow and a shovel and told I have to move it.

Like I have to move a mountain.

But of course, I can’t.

And so no wonder it’s easier to stay in bed. Slip back into those dreams.

But this new day awaits. It’s time.

And though the stars are still out,

I can smell the bread.

The first gift of today, and there will be many.

And just waking, well isn’t that a gift?

And hasn’t the one thing that really needs to be done

already been done by Jesus?

In that, I can rest.

With that, I can pull back the curtains,

with hot cup in hand venture a step or two outside

to hear the first bird sing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lamentations 3:22-24

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning-Land

Old English songs, you bring to me
A simple sweetness somewhat kin
To birds that through the mystery
Of earliest morn make tuneful din,

While hamlet steeples sleepily
At cock-crow chime out three and four,
Till maids get up betime and go
With faces like the red sun low
Clattering about the dairy floor.

~Siegfried Sassoon

And finally, a word from Jane . . .

“What fine weather this is! Not very becoming perhaps early in the morning, but very pleasant out of doors at noon, and very wholesome—at least everybody fancies so, and imagination is everything.”

~ Jane Austen, November 17, 1798, in a letter to her sister, Cassandra.

Avonlea x

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

❤ Fore more literary inspiration for your home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here! ❤

Read Full Post »

Castle Stone, Cottage Moss

Posted in Inspirations, Misty British Isles, tagged Aberdeen, Crossroads, Gray, Green, Jane Austen, Journey, Pooh Sticks, Stone, University of Aberdeen, Winnie-the-Pooh on September 20, 2013| 5 Comments »

Some people are scared to go.

Others are scared to stay.

I was like that once. From this side of the Atlantic, going to Scotland seemed like a one-time thing. But the place got to me. Once I’d wandered the cobblestone streets of that fifteenth century university where I studied, stood on the cliff tops overlooking a ruined castle and felt the sea air make my hair dance, sat in my dorm room reading Pride and Prejudice while the tree outside my room turned from winter to spring, the place got into my blood, got into my soul.

A few weeks in, there was a gathering, a cup of tea, a charming red-head with an accent so thick I had to smile and wanted to cry, and did. Three years later we were married, kilts and empire waistlines and all.

We only meant to stay in Scotland for a year, though it turned out to be eight.

And I never did believe it, even after all that time, that I could be so blessed.

I could have stayed forever.

There, in that green corner of Scotland where we lived. As if Scotland has a corner that’s not that color. That’s not green.

Yes, I would have been quite happy to keep our home at the foot of the highlands, with our view of the village and the valley and the hills beyond. Our home and my great white kitchen with those walls thick enough to park your car, and our winding staircase, and the window seat John built me, where you could close the curtains and open a book and get lost for a while.

The nursery, where we spent the tenderest moments with our boys, singing lullabies, kissing toes.

The paths we walked—field and forest, castle and garden, playing Pooh Sticks, collecting rocks.

And I loved it.

But sometimes, sometimes you can love a thing too much.

You can love a thing, love a person, so much that your heart grows gray.

Gray and cold as stone.

I looked green enough, I’m sure, from the outside.

But not all green is grass.

Because I never missed a Sunday. Bible beside my bed never collected that much dust.

But I’m quite sure, if you’d gone looking, you would have seen the moss.

And moss means damp, and sitting, and rotting, and feeling comfortable too long.

It means clinging on for safety to what’s not really safe. It means being happy to linger in the shadows when you should be chasing light.

It wasn’t easy leaving. I must have left a trail across the country where I tried to dig in my nails and hold on tight.

But I’ve felt God’s love like I’ve never known it, and I’ve seen that He will take you places if He knows it will bring you closer to Him.

God will lead you to green pastures. He will lead you to a desert.

He will take you halfway round the world.

And He will bring you back.

He will bend you far like a reed, or wrap you up and cradle you like a newborn.

Whatever it takes.

Sometimes God borrows human hands, to cup your face and turn your eyes to His.

Other times His hands look like painful goodbyes, or a loss so big you don’t think you’ll ever smile again. Or a turn of luck so grand your mouth hangs open. Wide open. And you’ve got to dance.

Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes to make sure you’ll be with Him. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.

He’ll chase you like He’s been chasing us humans from the beginning. He’ll forgive you again and again, make a way to bridge the bottomless gap. Pursue you, even when you’re running. Even when your heart is so gray and your deeds so black you make Him weep.

And what else could you call Love?

Some people are scared to go. Others are scared to stay.

But it’s not the going or the staying that matters.

Not really. Not to Jesus.

It’s what’s in your hands.

It’s where you’re looking.

It’s the color of your heart.

Psalm 37:23-24, Isaiah 43:22

You might also be inspired by . . .

And so on my birthday — some things that always get me . . . happy sigh?

https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/08/16/and-so-on-my-birthday-some-things-that-always-get-me-happy-sigh/

Read Full Post »

Start Living Your REAL LIFE Today

Posted in Inspirations, The Inklings, tagged Blessings, C.S. Lewis, Eternity, Fernando Ortega, Gifts, Heaven, Jesus, Narnia, Pinterest, Real Life, Time on September 3, 2013| 4 Comments »

I don’t go there every night.

Sometimes I’m held up.

Distracted.

For night is the end of another day, another twenty-four hours that seem to have taken me no closer. No closer to my dreams. To my goals. And so in my worry I mull them over.

Dreams, goals, regrets . . .

Dreams for this house, like those black and white photos of the children I want printed out and framed, and the upcycled furniture I’d like when we finally remodel the breakfast room. I could lie awake for hours planning it all out in my head. As if someday I’ll get there, you know, to my real life, my forever life, where every closet and drawer is organized and my house is decorated like a Pinterest fantasy.

My real life, where I’m fitter and stronger and have smoother skin than I did at eighteen.

My real life, where I have hours every day to sit in the garden and paint, and read, and write, and play with the children, and somehow the cooking, and cleaning, and shopping doesn’t take much time at all.

My real life, as if it’s a place where I’ll one day arrive. As if one day, everything that needs to be done will be done.

It’s easy to forget with all that planning for tomorrow. Easy to forget that my children will never be as young as they are today. That I will never be as young as I am today. That we can never get today back.

It’s easy to fill my days and fill my mind and hold onto these plans, these goals, as if this is all there is.

But then I catch myself. Lying in my bed at night, I remember. I feel the smallness of myself in this universe. The frailty of my body as I lie there on the mattress listening to my baby and my husband breathe. Even if we eat nothing but organic, they are not forever. I am not forever. For a while. A good while, I hope, but not forever.

And as a wife and a mother, how could I sleep with that, how could I live with that if I didn’t know. If when my children realize that the end will come for me, for them, and the tears pool in their eyes, I couldn’t lift my little person onto my lap and hold him close and whisper “Yes! Yes!”

And If I didn’t know, if I hadn’t seen, that what He says more than anything is “Fear not.”

“Don’t be afraid!”

And so I go.

Sometimes I creep, when I feel how much I’ve missed the mark. How I’ve let Him down that day. With head hung low I crawl toward Him, always toward Him, because I know He wants me there. That He’s happy, miraculously, not just to welcome the repentant but the reluctant and the angry, too.

I lie there by his feet and soon there comes His hand upon my head. “Daughter.”

Other times I run, through a field of wildflowers and hazy sunlight, my arms outstretched, and I meet Him. I meet the warmth of His robes and the strength of His love, and like a little girl I’m lifted and swung. “Child.”

The colors blur, and I know that’s home. That’s forever.

And there’s peace.

Peace like Lucy clutching Aslan’s mane and burying her face there and knowing it’s going to be all right.

No matter what, I’m safe, and it’s going to be all right.

And what could be more important than having them with me?

There in that field. In those arms. In that eternity.

There, when this house and everything in it, and every worry I ever had will be long gone. There, where everything will finally be complete and time . . .

well, it will just stand still.

We’re all together, with Him, and time is standing still.

This house—will they even remember? The color of the walls, if the furniture was scratched?

And if they remember, will I let them think it’s worth a wisp of worry?

Or will I reach out and grasp hold of this time, these hours that slip so easily into days and years, and

instead of making lists of all that’s wrong,

make lists of all that’s right?

And will I help my children, and each person beckoned through the doors of this house, to smile over every seen and unseen gift, every finer thing, and to point them, always point them, to the Giver?

And how can I remember where to point unless I keep my eyes there,

always right there

on His face?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For YOUR watches of the night . . .

Listen.

1Peter 1: 3-9, Psalm 91: 5-9, Psalm 63

You might also be inspired by . . .

It’s One of the (LONDON) Days

https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/06/17/its-one-of-those-london-days/

Read Full Post »

And so on my birthday – some things that always get me . . . happy sigh?

Posted in Inspirations, Uncategorized, Videos - If You Were There, tagged Birthday, Blessings, Cake, Cello Suite Prelude, Croissants, Favorite things, Gifts, Hanging washing, Johann Sebastian Bach, Latte, Laundry, Surprises on August 16, 2013| 5 Comments »

It’s my birthday week!

Help me celebrate?

A little of what we love? A little of the finer? A little, or maybe a lot, of being thankful for extra blessings, extra gifts?

Being thankful and letting out, maybe, a happy little sigh?

And maybe it’s a little silly, but if you’re in the mood to listen, a few of my favourite things?

Surprises left on the front porch . . .

Hot flaky croissants and a latte . . .

Hanging out the washing to dry (my favourite) . . .

Roses (Thank you, my love) . . .

My favourite song in all the world (I listen to it every birthday. Makes my heart pound every time) . . . Glorious?

And this . . .

And I could count my worries (yeah, I’ve got some). And I could count the things I have to do (and that would take some time).

But counting these instead . . . seeing them all there, where I’ve put them on the page . . .

Not just the gifts, but remembering the Giver . . .

Yes, a happy, happy little sigh.

Blessed.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »

happy little sigh

Homemaking inspiration from literature

Archive for the ‘Inspirations’ Category

Oh, WHAT have we done? Another year over, a new one just begun . . .

There was a long list of bad this Christmas.

Like the enormous branch out back that fell and crushed my poor lilac bush. The ice storm came (that was before the arctic vortex and heaps of snow), and I guess that big old tree got a little too burdened down. Couldn’t take the stress. Couldn’t take the weight. So down it came.

The rest of our Christmas, well it was mostly the same. A little too much heaviness to bear.

Plenty of decorating and buying and wrapping and baking and carol playing and even praying beforehand, all meant to create the perfect day, but sometimes all the planning in the world will still leave you with a mess.

Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

That ice again, lovely as it was, had it’s wicked way.

Treacherous driving conditions.

Night out with the girls for a chance to laugh and de-stress? Canceled.

Many thousands without heat or power.

Christmas Eve service at church? Canceled, too.

Mum hosting Christmas dinner? Nope. With two days to plan, it’s going to be me.

But there was more . . .

A mix-up of the name-drawing.

A gift for everyone under the tree? Well, not quite.

Keys locked in a running car.

Tired children put to bed on time? Think again.

A tummy bug moving slowly through the house till we all had our turn.

All of us there round the Christmas table, feeling right as rain? No, not that either.

Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

Like my lilac bushes, it seems we, too, can be frail.

Tender.

Like the flowers. Like the grass.

Tender,

so that when love and fear come together,

like with family and with friends,

we feel an aching in our hearts

and a burden just too much to bear.

Too much to bear alone.

And it all seemed such a sham. The presents and the tree. The music. All the talk of joy and peace.

Because sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

And sometimes you plan, but there’s something deeper, something realer, that you missed.

All our shattered plans for Christmas or for life, they can really shake our souls, leave us wondering how to hope.

How to hope, or why.

Leave us wondering if the New Year will bring us more of just the same. And if you’re anything like me then you’re tempted to whisk out a sheet of paper and start making lists, ask yourself what went wrong, and start planning so the future will be better.

As if we could fix ourselves, fix our families, with a list.

The only thing is, sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.

Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.

New Year’s resolutions? Yes, I’ve got them. Organized drawers, eating kale, and the like.

But this year what I’m planning is complete surrender.

Submission like I’ve never known.

All I have, all I am, all I dream, brought to the feet of the only One who will never get it wrong and never let me down.

Because what my family, what my world, what I am missing is more of Jesus.

And because it’s only is His will that we can ever truly be free.

I’m taking His list. Making it mine. Turning my life right upside down.

And I’m starting with the Word.

Because not only is the Word with God, but the Word IS God. (John 1:1).

And it’s living, and it’s active, and it knows me, too (Hebrews 4:12).

I’m going to see what I’ve been missing.

I’m going to learn to love and live

like Him.

This is January.

The first day of the rest of my life.

Join me as I discover.

You won’t look back.

Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Share the Beauty

A Different Kind of Thanks

One year.

That’s how long it’s been since we came here, to this old yellow house by the river.

A year ago, I stood looking up at the sky through the hole in the kitchen roof, counting on two hands the days till the baby would come. Trying not to care that I had to wash my dishes in the bathroom sink. Lay out our meals on a cardboard box.

At the storage unit in town a high cliff of boxes contained our stuff from two different continents,

two different lives.

I tried, but I never did find the baby clothes in time.

At night, on a borrowed computer, we tracked our stolen laptop round the city. Then lost hope when it left the state.

It had only been a year.

One year before that since we’d come back.

Started life again in America.

And even when life’s good, a person might have to mourn a little over that.

Over the loss of a country. Of a way of life.

Even without break-ins, and police, and counting loss.

And that’s exactly what I did for a while.

I counted my loss.

Sobbed over them like a teenager with a broken heart.