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Archive for the ‘Scotland’ Category

The ONE gift

Posted in Holiday Cheer, Inspirations, Making Memories, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2015| Leave a Comment »

You can hear it so many times that it excites you about as much as the side of a cereal box. Maybe less. Especially if you’ve grown up with it all—those carols and those words. Sunday school, church, Awana, VBS.

Again, and again you hear about the baby born. His miracles. The cross. Until you stop hearing at all. Or maybe you hear, but you’ve lost the wonder. The awe. The faith. 

Maybe you’ve done better than I at keeping sight of “the real meaning of Christmas.”

Then again, maybe not. 

Maybe, like me, you really wanted to show your children the real miracle that Christmas celebrates, but with all your Pinterest surfing, food list making, and out-of-town-company preparing, you forgot. 

For me this holiday season, the truth has crept in gradually, like the slow approach of a faintly burning light in the dark. 

This year has been so difficult, and I’ve felt stretched in so many ways…

Spent the first two months out of the country in Scotland for the birth of Little Bear (our fourth boy and last child; a lump to swallow by itself), and then had to transition to life back in the States. Battled fatigue as I’ve been woken by baby every night for the past twelve months. Struggled to balance my role as wife, mother to four rambunctious boys, writer, cook, organizer of too much stuff, chauffer, friend, and homeschooling mum. Took in a friend’s daughter for the summer. Opened our home to friends—a family of six—for seven weeks while they sought out a new home. Made do with chaos while we put on a small extension to our home. Helped more than one person move house. Pounded at Heaven’s doors for the souls of those yet lost.

Looking back on the four years since immigrating back to the States, it’s not hard to see the other challenges and losses we’ve encountered, like the burglary to our home three years back.

And in one way I feel shattered by it all. Bedraggled. Weary both body and soul.

In another, the shadowy places we’ve trudged through in the past few years have only made the greatest gift—the one believers in Christ Jesus claim to celebrate at Christmas—shine like never before.

For his gift—the gift of eternal life through belief in the life, death, and resurrection of God’s only begotten Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is Himself God—is one that can neither be lost, stolen, damaged, outgrown, or in any way taken away. Such a gift!

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This is the gift I will be sharing with my children and other family members on Christmas, and there is a very simple way you can do it, too, with items you most likely already have in your house.

  1. Wrap up five items in Christmas paper – something broken (a toy?), something outgrown (baby clothes?), an empty wallet or purse, and a figurine of baby Jesus (or picture of the cross), and a heart (a Christmas ornament?).

  2. Gather your family round and let them open the parcels one by one, explaining the meaning of each as you go along, using the suggestions below . . .

  3. For the broken item – Is this toy new or old? Have you ever had anything break? Things don’t last forever, do they? They can stop working or break.

  4. For the outgrown item – Would this fit anyone in the room? Clothes don’t last forever, do they? We can outgrow our clothes, or they can get holes in them and wear out.

  5. For the wallet – Look inside the pockets. What has happened to the money? Has it been stolen? Spent? Lost? Money doesn’t last forever, does it? It can be spent, stolen, or lost.

  6. For the Baby Jesus – Who does this figurine represent? Did he stay a baby or grow up to be a man? Yes, he grew up to be a man and died on the cross to take the punishment for our sins.

  7. For the heart – What is this? Yes, a heart that represents the love of God. If you believe in your heart that God died on the cross for your sins and that he was raised again back to life, then God gives you the gift of eternal life to be with him and others who loves him forever. No one can take that gift away from you. It is the only thing that can never be lost, stolen, broken, or taken away from you by anyone.

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Merry Christmas to you all! 

~ Avonlea 

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If You Know a Tired Mama (How to Love Her) Part 1

Posted in Hospitality, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 29, 2015| 5 Comments »

It’s been six months, but I’m still talking. Still telling what happened–what she did–with as much excitement as if I’d just stepped off the train . . .

It was January, Little Bear just a month old, still waking often, still calling me from shallow sleep to hold him, back-bent and weary, as I rock, rock, try to keep my head from nodding as I feed him off to sleep.

January, and I’m still recovering from his birth, still tender and swollen, still feeling lost as I try to wade my way through the emotions that come with newborns and returning to the country that was home for eight long years.

January, and in spite of craving sleep like an addict, I feel anxious to do some shopping for the belated Christmas we’d be sharing with my family back in the States.

I couldn’t drive, but there are trains there, and I decided catch one, just me and Little Bear, to Inverness, where we used to live and where one can find such delights as Primark, Debenhams, and Marks & Spencers.

I was set to do the return trip in a day, but the night before, I spoke to a friend from our old church. A trendy grandmother with a soft young voice, smiling eyes, and a penchant for the color blue. She convinced me—without much effort—that Little Bear and I should stay the night. Have two days in town instead of one.

The trip began disastrously. I spent half the time trying to ignore the stressful cries of a newborn, and the other half in the dressing room feeding and changing his nappy. I would have had to go home empty-handed, frustrated, in tears.

But instead came my friend with her car to meet me and whisk me and Little Bear off to her home for a hot dinner (she held the baby while I ate!), endless cups of tea (she said I must keep my strength up!), and a heart-to-heart conversation in a soft chair (I sat while she bathed the baby!). And that’s only the beginning. I haven’t yet mentioned the fruit and water bottles in my room in the event I needed a late night snack, the electric blanket that had been turned on to keep my bed warm and waiting, or the new home décor magazines that were set out in case I wanted to take a look.

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I laid my head on my crisp white pillow that night with a smile on my face and peace in my heart.

Just a night in that house and I felt rejuvenated. Encouraged. Loved. Ministered to in every way.

And I could say my friend is just like that. Just the sort of person to convince you she liked sleeping on the floor and that you really should have her bed. And perhaps that’s a little bit true. But if you’ve seen her Bible then you’ll know it’s also a little bit more than that. Book marks sticking out like porcupine quills. Notes added to the margins in her tiny, dancing hand. She spends a great deal of time with that book, I gather. Probably a great deal of time on her knees, too.

And somehow, in a way that surpasses all comprehension, spending time with that book has the power to transform us. Help us stop thinking of our own needs and see the needs of others. Help us see what a teary-eyed, bone-weary Mama needs more than anything else.

Avonlea x

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Sleeping Beauty (or life with a newborn and jet lag)

Posted in Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 6, 2015| 4 Comments »

I could sleep one thousand sleeps.

One thousand all together, my own sleeping beauty tale.

The erratic sleeping habits of a new born

along with the lingering effects of jet lag

and a late winter cold

have left me feeling that I’ll never be rested again.

Not ever in my life.

But I will (I do hope!),

and life will resume a normal pace.

Whatever normal is,

and for however long it lasts.

Because I never seem to know for very long

what tomorrow’s normal might be.

There have been times of sameness . . .

My college years, with the grueling cycle of classes, homework, and my job.

But then came that semester in Scotland,

a meeting with a dashing redhead

one mild winter night,

and my world became bigger than I’d ever dreamed.

Three years later came our wedding and I was back in Scotland,

and after setting up house in Inverness,

there came a bit of sameness again.

Me teaching, John working,

and whatever it is that children-less couples do on evenings and weekends

(someone remind me of that again!?!?).

Then came our first cottage.

A baby.

And since the Professor’s birth there has been that sameness that you’ll know about if, like me, you’re a stay at home mum.

Changing, feeding, bathing, dressing, bedtime, naptime, playtime,

the endless mopping up of spilled drinks.

Then came one, two, three more babies . . .

But with a trans-Atlantic move stuck in the middle.

A new life.

A new business.

A burglary.

And all the strangeness of finding out who I am

as an adult

in the country of my birth.

But life always settles, when it can, into sameness and routine.

And I’m here again,

after four months in Scotland

and the birth of Little Bear,

my fourth son,

trying to find normal again.

For however long it lasts.

But I’m learning not to rely on “normal” to give me peace.

And I’m learning to enjoy all the sameness,

all the everyday moments

I could so easily take for granted

or even despise.

Because real  peace cannot be based on the temporary

and it’s all temporary.

It can only be based on the eternal.

The one and only

Eternal One.

For all my unknowns

and all my tomorrows

are not unknown to Him.

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Rainbow on the sea

Posted in Beautiful Places, Holiday Cheer, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged , on December 31, 2014| Leave a Comment »

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A rainbow is a promise. This rainbow appeared over the sea on Christmas day while we opened our gifts. May 2015 be a year where each one of you experiences the trustworthiness of God’s promises and feels his presence going with you.

Happy New Year!
Avonlea x

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A Son is Given

Posted in Holiday Cheer, Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on December 24, 2014| 1 Comment »

 I sit and hold him,

cradled warm and snug against my chest.

Trace with my eyes the curve of his ear.

Run my finger along the plump softness of his cheek.

My son. My baby. My last.

A smile tugs at his lips.

“He’s dreaming of angels,” they say here in Scotland,

of fluttery newborn smiles.

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In the background the voices of the boys choir of Kings College Cambridge

pour out The Holly and the Ivy,

one of my favourites, though I never knew it till I came here.

And I thought I’d have girls. Lots of them, born in the summer.

And yet this is the third Christmas I’ve sat with a newborn, a son,

(the Professor came in the spring)

wondering at this new life given to my care,

as I also wonder about the other baby,

whose birth we celebrate this time of year.

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What brings more wonder than a baby,

a new life?

Nothing.

Nothing at all, I would say,

except the life of that baby,

the one born in a stable,

who lived not only his life,

but because of his God and man-ness

is able to know intimately the minute details of the lives of each one of us.

A baby. A man. But also God.

A God who sees.

A God who knows.

A God who cares.

Cares enough to live among his creation,

and here face death

to give each of us the chance

to live again.

Imagine!

A new world, a new life,

through him.

Imagine.

Your life,

mine,

made new through him.

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I’ll have plenty of time to drink it all in tomorrow.

The carols, the mince pies, the sweetness of my newborn’s breath,

and the wonder of the birth of my Saviour.

But you’ve been kept waiting,

and so let me introduce him to you,

my newest wee manie.

We’ve called him Charles.

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Wishing a merry,

the VERY merriest,

of Christmases to you.

And enjoy this gift of music from The Piano Guys.

If you haven’t ever heard them then you really, truly must.

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Higgledy-Piggledy

Posted in Beautiful Places, Misty British Isles, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 10, 2014| 3 Comments »

I’ve been agonizing over it from the beginning.

Discussing with John, my friends, and my own own uncertain brain

just what should be done. 

I’d so wanted him to come into the world in the usual way,

this fourth son of mine.

You know, as most babies come,

instead of in the traumatic, agonized way my first ones arrived

before being swaddled and placed into my shaking arms.

And so I discussed, read, considered,

and after arriving in Scotland and speaking with my midwife and consultant,

decided I wanted to try to labor on my own instead of booking a date for surgery.

I decided it as if that were it.

As if since that’s what I wanted

then that’s how it would go.

Yet here I sit, my stomach still round and high and hard

like a Christmas pudding.

A week after my due date and no baby has arrived.

I tried  to help him come. 

Tried to make my dreams of a natural birth,

which deep inside I’d always felt had been unfairly stolen from me with my first births,

into a reality at long last.

For a week now I’ve been walking all over this town.

Through higgledy-piggledy harbor-side streets lined with fishing cottages,

and up along the braes where the grander houses stand.

With the hills behind me and the sea in front,

and dotted all around, the towering church steeples,

I never lost my way.

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I walked, and lunged, and squatted.

We ordered spicy Indian food.

I prayed.

Prayed for God to please make it so,

for if He formed me,

then He could make my body do just what it needed to do to make this baby come.

And yet four hours from now I’ll be at the hospital,

making preparations for yet another c-section.

And I must admit to moments of panic

earlier this week.

Moments where I felt I’d do most anything

just to have my way. 

Never mind my limited vision.

My limited perspective of my own life,

the life of those around me,

and the life of this child inside.

But God knows.

He more than knows it. 

Knows every eventuality

of what could and would

come to be

with the type of delivery I have,

with the different paths I take.

And so I trust Him.

Not only because He knows,

but because He’s waiting.

Already there. 

With one hand behind me,

and one hand before,

He’s with me.

He’s with my baby.

As He’s been with us

from day number one.

There, in the operating room

He is with me.

In the following weeks of recovery

as I feed, and change, and soothe,

He is there, too.

And what His reason is for letting me journey this path,

rather than the one I thought I wanted,

I may never know.

But I trust Him.

Because He made me.

Made me for a purpose,

a purpose that involves my experiences,

my challenges,

all the people that I’ll meet.

And so rather than hanging on with desperation and despair

to an ending that will not come to be, 

I’m determined to

take that hand

He stands holding out for me,

walk with Him the path He’s laid for us.

The path that is my life

just as He meant it to be. 

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Sunrise Over the Rooftops – Happy Thanksgiving from HappyLittleSigh

Posted in Beautiful Places, Holiday Cheer, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged , , , on November 27, 2014| Leave a Comment »

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Thankful for being here, in the midst of this Scottish adventure, with surprises and blessings waiting at every turn–if I open my eyes to see. Thankful for your thoughts, ideas, encouragement, dear readers and friends both near and far. 

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

x Avonlea 

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A Song of Scotland ~ the first

Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 5, 2014| 2 Comments »

There’s music in the air here. 

You didn’t think it was all imagination, 

fiction, 

fantasy,

did you now? 

It’s in the wind as it batters rugged coastlines, 

whispers over green pastures, 

whistles through winding streets.

It’s in the waves as they crash against the rocky shore, 

against the ancient harbors of this land of fisher folk. 

It’s in the breath of livestock as they plod their verdant pastures.

It’s in the seagulls’ cries. 

And somehow through the ages this land, 

as every land, 

created its own music. 

A wealth of hymns, folk, Celtic, pop and bag pipe songs that get your feet tapping

and also give your heart

a delicious little ache. 

I’ll share one with you now. 

From a collection of Scottish tunes given to me by John in the months leading up to our marriage. 

He knew the power of music in winning a girl’s heart. 

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When You’re NOT Having Tea with the Queen

Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Misty British Isles, Scotland, tagged , , , , , , , , , 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 . . .

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 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.

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The Beginning of a Journey – SCOTLAND

Posted in Beautiful Places, Inspirations, Making Memories, Misty British Isles, Scotland, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , 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 . . . 

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 Our view from the house

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