Archive for the ‘Misty British Isles’ Category
A Song of Scotland ~ the first
Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, Britain, british, Celtic Music, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, Music, Scotland, Scottish Adventure, Scottish Music, The Silencers, Wild Mountain Thyme, Will You Go Lassie Go on November 5, 2014| 2 Comments »
When You’re NOT Having Tea with the Queen
Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged Christian Mothers, Christian Mums, Christian Parenting, Jim Elliot, Parenthood, Parenting, Scotland, Tea, Tea Party, Wherever you are be all there on October 23, 2014| 2 Comments »
Pictures paint a thousand words.
They can also tell a thousand lies.
A thousand lies of just the sort
you’d like people to believe.
People on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter,
all those people you want to impress.
It’s easy when there’s a filter
for what people see of your life.
And while I’m so glad to be back here in Scotland,
it’s not all tea parties,
trips to castles,
European shops.
Life is life,
with all the dull, the ordinary, the hard to swallow times
mixed in with all the good.
I was reminded this morning–
that moment I started up the stairs for The Professor’s school books,
but then realized Mr. Waddlesworth had a dirty nappy,
and John asked me to get the General’s shoes on just at that moment so they could get to the swimming pool on time.
And all I really wanted was to eat my cereal, which sat there on the table growing soggy, the milk now warm.
A moment of chaos and I wanted to scream.
Yes, even in Scotland there are nappies to change, toilets to clean.
And worse than that, we find that even in the most Paradise-like of places,
we cannot escape ourselves.
And wouldn’t I like to, sometimes?
Hit reset, start again, with a brand new me.
It’s easy to blame others for my impatience, irritation, foul mood,
but when I’m honest I realize that I need to hit the reset button on my own attitude.
Shake it off, let it go,
and embrace joy, grace, and usefulness,
in spite of all the expectations and hopes that didn’t come when and as I’d hoped.
The days have been quiet so far, quieter than I’d hoped,
without any visits to the friends or beloved places I’m so longing to see.
Quiet days, save the usual busyness of home life with the boys.
And even in such a place as this,
greyness can fall,
wrap around you like a fog.
We went for a walk, Mr. Waddlesworth and I, this morning,
to shake the shadows,
start again.
And as I went along the narrow streets,
between the rows of ancient stone,
thinking,
and drinking in
the cries of the seagulls as they soar,
the balmy breeze,
the North Sea’s roar,
I thought of these words . . .
And though I’m trying, still,
to feel them,
live them,
make them real,
I know,
that whether we’re cleaning toilets,
or laughing over a latte with our dearest friends
in our most favorite place,
our moments matter.
And words, our expressions,
they matter, too.
In fact, in the grey times,
when the light is dimmest,
is when our words, expressions, and actions,
mean the very most.
The Beginning of a Journey – SCOTLAND
Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Making Memories, Misty British Isles, Scotland, Uncategorized, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, British Isles, Christian Parenting, Great Britain, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, Journeys, New Baby, Scotland, Tea, Travel on October 16, 2014| 2 Comments »
We’ve arrived.
Took months to get us here, it seems.
Passport renewals and plane tickets.
Hunting out the next size up of clothes for the boys (all three of them, and this new little one who will arrive while we are here).
Cleaning the house in the way that only a nesting mother-to-be can do.
Packing and nesting and saying “See you next spring,” to our friends.
And up until the last two weeks, immersing myself for an hour each day back in 1941.
And it was tiring.
I was tired.
Tired like an addict of some sleep-inducing drug.
But planes and newborn babies, they don’t tend to wait.
And so I pressed through, and I made it, and we’re here.
We’ere here!
Scotland.
Scotland, which was home for eight years, and now hasn’t been for three.
Scotland, where everything is dear and familiar, strange and new.
Even after all that time, the hills never disappoint me.
Never seem less beautiful than ever they were.
And I can never help but think that all of this–all of this crossing of oceans–must mean something. Must DO something, deep inside of me.
Because it always has.
But when you’re away, out of your routine, it’s easy to forget the working, the striving, and try to get by just sailing for a while. And sometimes you still learn this way. Sometimes the haphazard can still help you grow. But I don’t want to leave it to chance.
I’ve got people. Dear ones. They need me at my best.
And though in the rush of the sea I hear the whisper of my Maker calling, it can be hard to hear His voice amongst so many other things that charm. Here in this place that always stirred my heart.
But hearts, as you know, are not always true. They can lead us on a merry dance.
And so while I want to savour each misty hill, each cup of tea, each warm embrace of a dear friend, I want to end this journey with a clearer eye, a clearer vision, and a closer walk with my Saviour than when I began.
Join me?
Walk with me?
Let’s see where this road goes . . .
Our view from the house
Summer in Scotland (and here, too)
Posted in Beautiful Places, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, British Summertime, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, Poetry, Scotland, Scottish Poetry, Summer in Scotland on July 16, 2014| Leave a Comment »
The weather kept me guessing yesterday.
Couldn’t make up its mind between radiant blue and stormy grey.
Kept me running in and out to fetch the washing off the line–
rescue those white sheets billowing in the wind.
Reminded me of a Scottish summer’s day.
And so I dug out an old poem I wrote whilst we were still living there.
I’ve been told it needs tweaking, but I’ll share it anyway.
Summer
Another dreich* Scottish day—
The air, it runs with silver grey,
With droplets on the window panes,
And from the sun, the mist reclaims
The gently sloping highland hills,
All purple-clad and heather-filled.
Down in the glens, and ‘long the shore,
The wind, it howls, the rain, it pours.
The burns* are filled, the roads a-flood,
And many-a-field’s a sea of mud.
The mums, they all bemoan the rain,
For now their washing’s wet again.
And the children long to get outside,
For games to play and bikes to ride.
The farmers say their barley’s soaked,
And though it’s June, the chimneys smoke.
But in castles great, and wee bothies*,
The folks enjoy a spot of tea,
Or don their trendy Wellingtons*
(What good are these, when there is sun?).
The strawberries are somehow picked,
And beaches walked, and ice-creams licked.
There is no lack of summer fun
Even without the shining sun.
And if the sun stayed for too long,
They’d all complain, and wish it gone.
© Avonlea Q. Krueger
*dreich – wet and dreary , burn – stream, bothie – small cottage, Wellington boots – rain boots
Did You Miss Me? Where I’m Going, Where I’ve Been
Posted in Books!, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, Bringing Up Boys, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Fiction Writing, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, Moray Firth, Raising Sons, Scotland, WWII on June 26, 2014| 2 Comments »
The posts haven’t come as regularly recently. Did you notice? But they aren’t done and the inspiration hasn’t stopped.
The whirlwind of life has kept going, providing me with more life-lessons than I’d sanely choose, if given the chance. And after the long bitter winter, I find myself still in awe of the heavy fullness of the trees and the strange new sensation of heat.
And so yes, still the words come to me, click together like magnets in my head, demand to be spoken, printed, heard.
But in spite of all I long to share, I’ve been otherwise engaged, and I’ve found there simply isn’t enough time in the day (not until I get a housekeeper like the Brown family in Paddingtion Bear, as the Professor suggested I do).
Otherwise engaged? Yes.
Lying on the sofa, mostly. Enduring the drug-like fatigue and debilitating nausea of the first few months of pregnancy. Baby #4 is due to arrive in December, and before you even think it, no, we don’t know the gender but are counting on the baby being another wee boy.
And when I was well enough to be up and caring for my family, holding up the walls and trying to keep the layers of crusted on food from becoming too thick, I’ve been writing.
Writing?
Yes! Fiction, this time. Fiction that I deeply hope I will get the chance to share with all of you.
And what is it about?
It’s set during WWII . . . and the present day.
A wee blurb for the back of the book might go something like this:
Two women. Two generations. Separated by an ocean. Brought together by a house.
So, yes, I’ve been writing fiction, trying to churn out a few pages a day.
Then there’s been the preparation for our Scotland trip. Oops, I didn’t mention. Yes, a trip to Scotland. A long one. We’re hoping to have the baby there. And I wouldn’t dream of going without you. So stay along for the journey!
Stay and see the view of the Moray Firth from John’s parents’ house.
Stay and find out if #4 is indeed a boy.
Stay and maybe even find out more about my book.
For today, I leave you with a quote–a thought to keep you soaring–aptly taken from the words of a German Christian who was martyred by the Nazis for standing up for all that’s right.
When There’s a Blip
Posted in Inspirations, Scotland, Uncategorized, Videos - If You Were There, tagged Allegri, Allegri's Miserere, Anna L. Waring, Avonlea Q Krueger, BBC, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, In Heavenly Love Abiding, Meditating, Music, Psalm 51, Reflection, Reflections, Tallis on May 5, 2014| 2 Comments »
A blip came to the sameness of my life
(that’s where I’ve been, trying to ride it out).
The news at first neither happy nor sad.
Changing everything and nothing
all at once.
Not like in the early days
of moving continents, moving cities, moving lives.
When I never knew from one month to the next
where I might be,
what British or European city I’d have the pleasure of exploring,
just me and my camera and my thoughts.
Here in America, everything feels so far away,
but of course life happens all the same.
And when you have three little men
all around you like a daisy chain,
(sometimes like a fence),
you have to move a lot more slowly
than you’d sometimes like.
And so the blip, and nothing’s the same and everything is at once,
and it all might mean a long trip to Scotland later this year,
but that is all later and not now.
And I can see just one corner of one piece of the puzzle of my life,
and seeing pieces can get me excited,
full of dreams,
make me fear that when it’s all together, it might not look the way I’d hoped.
Waiting is like that–hope, and fear, and anger, and sometimes peace.
Or the way I am today, realizing there’s a hand working those puzzle pieces,
setting them in place.
A hand, and I know it’s not mine.
And it can take my breath away,
seeing life return to the earth in the form of tender green,
acknowledging that my own life is not in my hands
(and thank goodness),
but that LOVE Himself knows all the days, all the plans, all the tomorrows of my life.
And that He not only knows them, but He’s planned them long in advance.
With one hand behind me, and one hand before, He guides me, keeps me,
though I cannot feel it,
and I do not see.
Some words stick with you,
drift in and out of your mind and heart,
and these I learned at our first church in Scotland,
surrounded by those dear ones who would become lifelong friends.
I remember the piano, the frayed red hymn books, the voices raised in unison
In heavenly love abiding, no change my heart shall fear.
And safe in such confiding, for nothing changes here.
The storm may roar without me, my heart may low be laid,
But God is round about me, and can I be dismayed?Wherever He may guide me, no want shall turn me back.
My Shepherd is beside me, and nothing can I lack.
His wisdom ever waking, His sight is never dim.
He knows the way He’s taking, and I will walk with HimGreen pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen.
Bright skies will soon be over me, where darkest clouds have been.
My hope I cannot measure, my path to life is free.
My Savior has my treasure, and He will walk with me.– Anna L. Waring
Though sameness,
or blips of both the smallest and most painful types,
so often leave me paralyzed,
from weariness or fear,
at times I remember
to embrace the stillness,
and in the sound of the wind in the trees out my door,
or in the stirring notes of my favourite song,
I am turned to Him who thinks of me more times than I can count,
who never makes even one mistake,
who knows all the good plans He has for me,
who holds all my moments,
all my days.
And I am left to meditate,
worship,
awe.
At all He’s doing,
all He’s done,
and in the fact that He’s not finished with me,
not just just yet.
Which piece of music or spot in nature stirs your heart,
is able to draw you away from the happenings (or non-happenings) in your life,
and helps you to meditate, wonder, and awe?
Miserere Mei Deus – Psalm 51 – by Italian composer Gregorio Allegri in the 17th century for use in the Sistine Chapel.
Shivers, shivers . . .
Sweet Treats – Comfort for a Messy Mind and a Messier House
Posted in Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, Uncategorized, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, Bible, Bible Reading, Christian Mothers, Christian Parenting, Gardening, Happy Little Sigh, happylittlesigh, home school, homeschool, Homeschooling, Parenting, St. Augustine, Vegetable Gardening on March 27, 2014| 2 Comments »
I wasn’t ready for it. A restless night of twisted sheets, being forced from bed to soothe a crying baby, and strange dreams of being a gymnast, practicing my skills on the bars, had left my body feeling tired, my mind distracted and dazed. But it came anyway. The start of the day. Breakfast, and packing lunches, and making beds. Changing nappies, and dressing wee ones, and preparing for the school day ahead.
Before my boys came along I worked as a teacher, but this is my first year of official home education. My first year of adding tutor to my already full job description of chef, maid, nurse, chauffeur, activity director, police officer, and kangaroo (for the Admiral, who, at a whopping 24 pounds, still wants to be carried the day long).
And so an hour later I found myself, still dazed and unprepared for a day of living (let alone living well), trying to have a discussion about odds and evens with the Captain, all the while jiggling the Admiral on my knee and trying to ignore the General, who had squeezed onto the dining room chair behind me and in his very high-pitched three-year-old voice was speaking non-stop about wanting some cake (although I’d told him several times over that he had to wait for elevenses).
I tried giving snacks, introducing different toys, and even (though I try to avoid it in the mornings) putting on the television so I could get on with the lessons. But still, each soldier in my little army remained intent on being inches from me, if not in direct contact, each asking for something more or different or better from what he already had.
My head seemed to spin faster than I’d spun round those bars in my dream. I longed to crawl back into bed and find the unconsciousness of deep sleep. Or even the still, quiet surroundings of an empty house, where I could potter about, making sense of my jumbled thoughts.
To my right, the living room was strewn with giant colored cardboard bricks and scattered sofa cushions, the abandoned remnants of my attempt to entertain the younger ones. My mind seemed just as disorderly as the house, and as I attempted to turn my focus back to the math lesson, the thought crossed my mind that it would be awfully nice to have a real nanny and maid, so that I could be left to teach the Captain, and do only nice things with the boys (and perhaps sleep in a little on rare occasion). But of course that seemed as likely as my getting around to organizing some kitchen cupboards and planting the bell pepper seeds as I’d hoped to do that day (not to mention the school subjects we had yet to get through).
But unrestricted sleeping hours and empty houses are not some of the frequent luxuries of mummies of armies of wee boys, and in the chaos I longed for some little escape, some little treat to bring me comfort, and temporary escape from the swirl of color and noise that surrounded me.
A square of dark chocolate, perhaps?
A cup of espresso, topped up with raw sugar and heated milk?
A few minutes to skim the news feed on my Facebook account?
These are the things I often turn to bring drops of sanity to my busy, noisy day, but yesterday as I contemplated what method of escape I would employ, I thought of a different way. Down the hallway on my bedside table sat my black leather Bible, which I hadn’t yet touched that day.
And I didn’t have time, not just then, to pour over it as I would have liked to do. But I did have the time–as long as it would have taken me to slip into the kitchen to devour a square of chocolate–to flip to the Psalms, and the sweet morsels of goodness found there.
O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
– Psalm 34:8
And I wondered as closed my Bible, felt peace wash over me like a cup a chamomile tea, what I’d been missing.
Although there isn’t anything wrong with coffee, and chocolate, and Facebook news, what had I been missing by reaching for them instead of the Living Water found there in the Psalms, so accessible, so available to me?
For while our SIN can be easy enough to spot (though at times it’s not), there are deeper, sweeter paths of closeness to the Lord which we can go a lifetime and not discover. And what if those paths, those changes I so long to see in myself, can be reached not only through long segments of time spent in the Word, but through little moments of calling out to God for strength, and reaching for little pieces of His word?
What change could even one pure morsel of eternal truth make to my day?
After taking the time to read from the Psalms, I went on to finish the school day, plant those pepper seeds, and even clean out my kitchen junk drawer!
What a difference the reminder of Jesus’ love and presence had made.
In Him is strength, beauty, refuge, truth, and the nourishment I need to help me view my boys, my home, my life in the light of eternity.
The eternity that continues in the next life,
the eternity in which we live today.
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Happy Little Sigh is now on Pinterest! Join me there?
http://www.pinterest.com/happylittlesigh/
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England – A Virtual Getaway for Tired Mums
Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Uncategorized, Videos - If You Were There, tagged Avonlea Q Krueger, Christian Mothers, Christian Mums, Christian Parenting, David Crowder Band, England, English Country House Estate, English Gardening, English Tea Time, How He Loves by David Crowder Band, How He Loves Lyrics, Jesus' Love on March 12, 2014| Leave a Comment »
I know their fantasies. Whispered in the semi-dark of their living rooms, or over coffee on our girls’ night out, they’ve confided in me what they really want. And I’m not shocked. Not one little bit. After all, it’s what I want too.
A hotel room.
A cup of tea.
And a book.
No one else. Nothing else. For one entire day.
And that is the true, wild fantasy of mothers everywhere.
Not only strange, unusual mothers, but average mothers, like you or me.
A mother who endures drafty showers because someone has burst in to ask her to tie on their ninja mask. A mother who rarely sleeps through till morning, and must nightly peal herself from bed and lurch through the house to lift and calm a teething baby. A mother who must clean a food-encrusted high chair three times every day.
And that is to say nothing of the raisins that get squashed on the bottoms of her slippers, the puddles of water and crumbs that appear as if my magic on her kitchen worktops, the mountains of laundry that move in cycles around her house, and all the toys that she must daily return to their homes on the shelf. The little fingernails she must cut, the beds she must make, the toilets she must scrub. The meals she must prepare, the dishes she must wash, the floors she must sweep.
This, all this, a mother must do. And how she longs to do it well! With joy, and patience, and grace, so that her children and husband and any guests who enter may be strengthened and comforted by their time there, in this mother’s home.
And yet motherhood is not a part-time job. It’s not even a full-time or a live-in one. There are no vacation or holiday packages. No weekends or nights off. And so it’s not hard to see why a mother—a mother like you or me—could get a little tired. Find herself longing for escape. A time of refreshment. A break.
Like hiding in the closet, maybe, with a bar of chocolate. A trip to the grocery store all by herself! Or that hotel, maybe? A trip, a real trip away? How about England? A country estate? Yes? Then come with me!
A virtual trip to England . . .
to the quiet and the green . . .
Hear the bird song. Smell the lavender. Let the grass tickle your feet.
Stop at the tent for tea and scones. It’s all here for you, so enjoy!
There’s a concert, too. Did I mention?
Right here in the gardens, underneath the sky.
David Crowder Band. Ever heard of them? Listen, will you? to what they have to say . . .
How He Loves
He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions
Eclipsed by glory and I realize just how beautiful You are
And how great Your affections are for me
And oh, how He loves us,
how He loves us all
And we are His portion and He is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes
If His grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking
And heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way
Oh, how He loves us,
how He loves us all
Singer: David Crowder Band
Songwriters: John Mark Mc Millan
Hope you were refreshed by your visit. Come back any time.
For more than sunshine. More than chocolate. More than a new outfit, or a girl’s night out. His love is what strengthens. Renews.
Bask here for a while in the immensity of it.
For you will never find the depths of Jesus’ love.
What I Learned from Downton Abbey – what I don’t want to forget
Posted in Downton Abbey, Misty British Isles, tagged A Life of Surrender, Anna and Bates, Devotion, Downton Abbey, Downton Abbey Season Four, Downton Abbey Season Four Photos, Faithfulness, Lord Grantham, Loyalty, Matthew Crawley, New Year's Resolutions, Social Class Divisions, Tom Branson on January 17, 2014| Leave a Comment »
It’s ba-ack. As if you hadn’t noticed, whether you wanted to or not. Whether you’ve been glued to the TV on Sunday nights or feel like screaming when you realize that yet another of your friends is still in mourning over Matthew Crawley’s untimely death, you must be aware that Downton Abbey has returned.
Downton Abbey,which garnered 9.5 million viewers for its debut episode of season four in the UK, and 10.2 million in the USA, making it the highest-rated premiere for a drama in PBS history.
Downton Abbey, that period drama lover’s ultimate feast of the eyes, the ears, and the imagination.
Oh, the costumes, oh, the settings!
Oh, the dialogue, oh, the quotes!
And we cannot help it, can we, if even just a little, stepping into the shoes of Mary, upstairs, or Anna, down. Can’t help but feel their small triumphs, feel their pain.
And it’s a little bit of all of this, I’d say, which drew me to Great Britain in the first place. Which always made me so pleased to be living there. The great natural beauty of that greenest of islands, and how history has dotted the countryside with its castles, and its churches, and its woods. And how you can hardly pass through a small town or village without passing by the birthplace or resting place of some literary genius who has brought to our language rich stories, and phrases, and words. And there is something, something about the tiers of society, the division of the classes, which has formed Britain through the centuries, and which has always drawn my curiosity and admiration. Not the exploitation of children and women and minorities, and the horrors that these abuses brought. But the idea that in this world, in this universe, there is something grander and finer than anything most of us know. Something worth giving our lives to. Something worthy of our allegiance and respect.
The idea of servitude is quite foreign to us here in the West. We see it as our right to aim for the top, make our voice heard, and live as we please. But it’s a thought, isn’t it, that most of us will never be the giver nor the recipient of such humble loyalty and devotion as there is between Mary and her Anna. Between Lord Grantham and his Bates. Perhaps between us and our spouse we might know such a relationship, but probably not even then.
And I can’t help but think, as I open up my Bible, read the words my eyes have passed over so many times before, that there might be something to that idea of servitude and fidelity. Something for me now, today.
It can be easy to think of God’s commandments as simply a good idea. An admirable option. We remember to see Jesus as our best friend, our older brother, but forget that God is a consuming fire, a King who requires our submission, our unquestioned obedience, our all.
He won’t ever force His will upon us, for a slave is not what He seeks.
The choice–to follow or to run–is, and always has been, ours.
But if we give but half a heart, half a life, how can we expect to fully receive all He wants to give us?
Be guided as He wants to guide us?
Be blessed as He wants to bless us?
Know Him as He longs to be known?
And after all, though God calls us to be His servants, it is not in the servants’ hall that He wants us to dwell.
When chauffer Tom Branson of Downton Abbey married Sybil, the family were eventually forced to put aside his former status for the sake of their daughter. They even stopped calling him Branson, let him sleep upstairs in the big house, and gave him a say in the running of the estate. But in the truest sense of the word, he never became fully a son, an heir.
It’s different, though, with us and God. He calls us His children. Wants us close.
So you are no longer a slave, but God’s child; and since you are his child, God has made you also an heir. ~Galations 4:7
Being a servant, yes, God calls us to that, but it is not something that He has not done himself. His entire life on earth, right up till His death for us on the cross, was spent in service to us. He gave the ultimate sacrifice, showed His faithfulness to the last.
So that is where I’m starting this January, this new year.
I’m throwing out my old New Year’s List.
Starting with a new:
1. Unquestioned obedience.
My face like flint.
It’s a step of faith, this giving of myself, giving my all in the day to day.
And it won’t be easy.
But with a God who is LOVE, who has already given all for me, I have nothing to fear.
For the Lord God helps Me, Therefore, I am not disgraced; Therefore, I have set My face like flint, And I know that I will not be ashamed.
Isaiah 50:7
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Happy Little Sigh is now on Pinterest! Join me there?
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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.
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You might also be inspired by “Sinking in Deep” https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/11/02/sinking-in-deep/
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