Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Parenting – Raising Wee Men’ Category

If you’re alive in America today, you’re probably acquainted with the Lindsay Clancy trial. Lindsay admitted to brutally murdering her three young children one by one, beginning with the oldest, though the defense argued that the murders were a result of Lindsay having post-partum psychosis. I’m not here to debate whether or not she should be held criminally responsible. You can interact with keyboard detectives in plenty of other places if you’re interested in that. My concern goes far beyond this particular case (though this particular case is a concern—three young children lost their lives). What also troubles me is the response so many women have had to the crime–their primary sympathy lies not with the true victims, but with the one who committed the murders. Women across the Internet and outside the courthouse proclaiming, “I stand with Lindsay,” and “Me too, Lindsay.” Women filming themselves flicking water at their babies’ faces and using a doll to mimic dropping their children down the stairs. Women on Oprah saying that they hope if minority women do the same thing, that they will receive equal support (the mother, not the children). Women suggesting that murdering your children is understandable if your hormones really are pretty bad. We seem to have forgotten that we can have sympathy or compassion while still demanding justice. God help us.

What have women in the West become? On the one hand, for those concerned about women’s rights, I wonder that they don’t realize how this kind of behavior undoes hundreds of years of struggle—regressing us to the days when women were lobotomized and thrown into insane asylums for “female hysteria.” Now we’re going back to, “I couldn’t help harming my child—my hormones made me do it”? How can we be taken seriously if we’re going to use that argument? And how can we then go on to argue against a man blaming his testosterone for all sorts of heinous acts? We can’t. Not rationally.

On the other hand, this is a natural progression in our society’s loss of belief in the sacredness of life. This is most apparent in our abortion culture, where the limit for killing a child for “the welfare of the mother” edged ever closer to full-term, which is where we are today. We even debate about whether an abortion survivor should be kept alive. In Canada, a mother who murders her baby of up to one year “when childbirth or lactation has “disturbed her mind” faces a maximum sentence of only five years in prison. The next logical step is to minimize the worth of the lives of toddlers and children.

The “Wine Mommy Culture” is an offshoot of this disdain for children, where mothers joke about needing wine just to get through a day with their kids—as if motherhood is something we need to numb our minds against in order to survive. I’m not talking about joking about diaper explosions or stepping on LEGO—a little mom-humor goes a long way in relieving stress! I’m talking about the Wine Mommy Culture where women think it’s funny to joke about what grasping little brats their children are—how they’ve inconvenienced them and keep them from the life they deserve.

Many married couples are choosing not to have children at all. Not from infertility, not because of some other worthy calling, but because they want to spend their lives having fun. They are choosing instead to become dog-parents. You can, after all, shut up your dog in a kennel if you don’t want to deal with them, and can legally give them away if they stop meeting your needs and bringing you joy. That makes sense. ALL of this makes sense with the extreme love of self that has taken hold of society. I’m glad that some of those people have chosen not to have children. Their selfishness wouldn’t make them good parents. But it’s sad for our society. Sad because children are the greatest of blessings we can receive on earth, apart from a good spouse and knowing Christ. Motherhood and the family were once celebrated and revered, and research shows us that women were happier in those days! God’s word says,

“For people will love only themselves and their money. They will be boastful and proud, scoffing at God, disobedient to their parents, and ungrateful. They will consider nothing sacred. -2 Timothy 3:2

I’m not saying motherhood isn’t hard. It is. I’ve birthed four, adopted one with special needs, and next month I’m bringing home three more. Not because it was easy it’s been so easy for me. I have sat hunched over a newborn at 2AM, crying as I feed them from cracked, bleeding nipples. I’ve been so tired I could do nothing but collapse in a heap and weep. I have anxiously Googled remedies and fretted over hundreds of concerns for my children. I have lain awake waiting for a teenager to come home. I have held a screaming, thrashing teenage girl who’s trying to make sense of her world. No, I never had a diagnosis of postpartum psychosis, but I have known my share of mama-hard. Why so many children then, when it’s hard? Because they have been my and my husband’s greatest joy, and raising and loving them has been our greatest honor. Because being selfish doesn’t make us happy in the end, but living for and submitting ourselves to something greater brings more joy than I can express.

“Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him.” -Psalm 127:3

Women can do hard things, physically and mentally. Men may shed their blood in war. But it’s the women who during those same battles find a corner in the din to nourish their babies with their own bodies. I can’t help but think of women through the ages, who in the most extreme of circumstances, gave their all—even their own lives—for their children. Women of the early church, who nursed their babies even as they ran from the murderous emperor Nero, who was determined to snuff out the Christians. The women of medieval times, who gave their last crumb so their children could survive the upheaval of war. Women on the Mayflower, who cared for their children on leaky ship for months, putting their unknown future into God’s hands. The pioneer women, who hunted, foraged, fought for the sakes of their children. The women of the Holocaust, who did everything imaginable to keep their children alive. If anyone had an excuse for having a victim mentality and throwing their children aside to save themselves, it would have been these women. But instead, their sacrificial love put their children first, and for that they are honored, talked about, and imitated to this day.

So many great men and women owe their greatness to the love, care, wisdom, and sacrifice of their mothers. People like St. Augustine, Abraham Lincoln, D.L. Moody, Susanna Wesley, Constantine, and Louisa May Alcott all attribute who they became to their mothers. These were brave mothers. Unselfish mothers. Mothers who didn’t make excuses or think of their own happiness above their children’s. How might these people have turned out if their mothers had seen their children as an annoyance or a burden, instead of taking on the great heartfelt endeavor of raising them well? The world would have been deprived of some of the best.

This is my call to us all, we women of the Westespecially those of us who claim Christ. We need to stand against this devaluing of the lives of the helpless, whether they are children, the disabled, or the elderly. Let’s stop the victim mentality, stop excusing our bad behavior, and step up. We need to hold ourselves and each other to a higher standard—not in judgment of each other. Not in looking down our noses at each other. But by inspiring each other and pointing each other toward greatness—toward Christlikeness. By helping one another to better love our husbands and children, as the Bible tells us to do. By encouraging each other to stop living for our own flesh and start living for the Lord.

I’m not saying, if you’re suffering then just ignore your own needs, buck up, and go on without getting help. Approximately 0.1-0.2% of women do receive the diagnosis of post-partum psychosis, with symptoms usually appearing 1-2 weeks after delivery. If you or someone you know falls into that category, and you do find yourself considering violence toward yourself or your child, then please–do not turn away help, and put your children in a safe location until you are 100% sure that you can care for them safely. If you are suffering with mental illness, or chronic illness, or are in a dangerous place, take time each day to work on healing and putting yourself in a better place. That is not selfish—you do matter! And being healthy enables us to do so much more for God and our families.

I am so thankful that the Scriptures acknowledges real suffering and injustice. The Bible tells us, “Cast all your cares upon [God], because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7). Our deepest healing mentally and emotionally is done in conjunction with a closer walk with God, who brings joy to our hearts and puts even the deepest suffering into eternal perspective. But also, the Bible tells us that in this world, we WILL have trouble (John 16:33), and even in our weakness and sickness, we can still bless our families and bring glory to God. This brings to mind another great woman, Joni Eareckson Tada, who has spent her entire adult life paralyzed from the neck down. Yet with her art, music, books, speaking–and most of all with her patience, wisdom, and joy in the Lord, she has been a blessing to many. Being in a hard spot is not an excuse for sin. The Bible consistently calls individuals to personal accountability rather than permanent helplessness. It’s hard to hold on to a permanent victim mentality, which so often is used as an excuse for bad or selfish behavior, when we are filled with a spirit of thankfulness and joy that comes from closeness and obedience to Christ.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” – Galatians 5:22

Contrast this to someone who is not living according to God’s ways, but is living for themselves . . .

“When you follow the desires of your sinful nature, the results are very clear: sexual immorality, impurity, lustful pleasures, idolatry, sorcery, hostility, quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambition, dissension, division, envy, drunkenness, wild parties, and other sins like these. Let me tell you again, as I have before, that anyone living that sort of life will not inherit the Kingdom of God.” – Galatians 5:19-21

We might say, what about the people who have wronged me? Aren’t they partly responsible? Yes, health care workers, and teachers, and husbands, and friends and family members–actually, in any role we have–we all have a responsibility to care for others the best that we can. But no one can stand before God for the choices we make—even in the direst circumstances—but ourselves.

I’m not calling for perfection—that’s not possible. God knows each of our stories, all of our hurts and histories, and He will meet us and strengthen, heal, and equip each of us in a personal way. Progress will look different for each of us. But that does not mean we can’t make progress, moving ever closer to the likeness of our God.

Let us not be women who guide their lives by their own comfort, pleasure, and fulfillment. Who are addicted to wine, addicted to pleasure, materialistic, and trapped in a victim-mentality.  

Instead, let us strive to be the St. Monicas, the Nancy Lincolns, the Betsy Moodys, the Helenas, and the other women who are remembered today for their prayers and faithfulness, even in the hardest of times. To be women who are focused on bringing glory to God. On loving our children and husbands well. On caring for our homes well. On standing for truth and righteousness. On moving ever closer to a likeness of our Savior. Women of integrity. Humility. Joy. Strength. Peace. Perseverance. Love. It may seem impossible, but we women are strong—and in Christ, who is our strength in weakness, we can do all things! (2 Corinthians 12:10). Let us live so that when our children are grown, or when we come to the end of our lives, it is said of us,

“Many daughters have done noble things, but you surpass them all!” -Proverbs 31:29

Avonlea xo

Like this article? Want more inspiration? Find me at . . .

Facebook Happy Little Sigh

Instagram @happy.little.sigh

Bookish Devotionals for Busy Moms FREE here

Read Full Post »

“She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.” 

– Proverbs 31:27 BSB

In the early days of our marriage, John and I watched The Untouchables, the Prohibition-era thriller about crime boss Al Capone (Robert De Niro) and Prohibition agent Eliot Ness (Kevin Costner). The only thing I remember about the film is that I hated the violence–and one scene where Ness calls home to his wife. After getting off the telephone, he says to the other men in the room, “Some part of the world still cares what color the kitchen is.” I identified with that line, and never forgot it.

I got a lot of pushback from some fellow moms over my encouragement for people (especially mothers) to stop reading the Epstein Files. One commented that I was the kind of person who would simply sit and pray and hope Goliath would stop killing the Philistines. In a way, she was right. And this goes for my role and perspective toward all of the evils of this world. I am mama bear, the Keeper of My Home, and I will learn about the evils that are coming at my family–from dangers online, to the corrupt food industry, to the dangers of trafficking. I will learn just enough about these evils to know how to best keep my family safe–and no more. I will learn just enough, and I will pray.

Not because I don’t want these evils stopped–I do. But I will not be the one on the front lines tackling criminals to the ground, tracking down traffickers in the night, or fighting court battles. Some women do, and I am grateful for the females who are there to help other women and children in these vulnerable situations. Social workers, doctors, nurses, and others who step in to provide much needed care. But that is not my personal calling. I am a wife and homeschooling mother. For me to pour over the perverse, violent details of these crimes would do nothing to advance the cause of justice. What it would do is waste my precious time, numb my mind to evil, and fill my thoughts with grotesque images, where it should filled with beauty–beauty that I want to bestow on the lives of my children.

“I want you to be wise about what is good and innocent about what is evil.” -Romans 16:19

Having our home and family as our first priority does not mean we stop caring about the anyone outside our family, or stop supporting the cause of justice and the defense of the helpless. God tells us to do this, and we can, through contacting our Representatives, donating to organizations that work to end injustice, signing petitions, participating in peaceful marches, volunteering at women’s shelters or pregnancy centers, fostering, adopting, or being a temporary safe home for children, and by showing hospitality. These are far more useful ways of impacting our communities and world for good than going down endless rabbit holes reading of the evils of this world.

“She opens her arms to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy.” -Proverbs 31:20 BSB

The other accusation against women who don’t want to read all of the Epstein Files, or be fully informed about every evil going on in the world, is that we’re being like an ostrich with our heads in the sand, pretending none of the evil is happening. I hope you can see that’s not true. I am NOT pretending evil does not exist in this world. It is because of the evils of this world that I take my job as homemaker so very seriously. It is because of the evils of this world that I want to guard my mind and heart. It is because of the evils of this world that I understand the importance of my home being a haven for my family.

It’s okay to care about the of color the kitchen walls. It’s okay to want to make a tasty dinner. It’s okay to spend time finding the best books for your children. The reason Eliot Ness was out there fighting evil was so that his wife and children, and other women and children, could be safe at home–the home that his wife was turning into a delightful place to be. Why do the police, soldiers, doctors and others do what they do, but so that we can be safe at home? Why do many of our husbands go out to face the world every day, but so that we don’t have to, and so that we can be keepers of our homes, able to raise our children with purpose? They protect those at home. And it is our jobs as wives, mothers, and homemakers to make home what it is. After all, if no one is there caring about anything–from the color of the walls, to the books on the shelves, to what is going to be on the dinner table tonight–then what is there worth coming home to? And if you’re not going to do it, who will? I can’t overemphasis the importance of the job. There is no shame in our trying to create a place that is cozy, welcoming, inspiring, nourishing, attractive, and clean. To our families, and society as a whole, the haven of home is almost everything.

“A housewife’s work . . . is surely in reality the most important work in the world. What do ships, railways, miners, cars, government etc. exist for except that people may be fed, warmed, and safe in their own homes?”-C. S. Lewis

“To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor.”-Dr. Johnson

Yes, we can get so wrapped up in creating the perfect décor and appearance of beauty that we neglect building inward, true beauty in our lives and the lives of our families. For what is home primarily, but the garden where we grow and nurture the children God has put into our care, with the most important lesson being to know Him. Filling our minds and time with fluff is a problem, too. We need to be on guard on every side. If our present calling is to be wives, mothers, or homemakers, then we should do that job with all of our heart–and that might just involve caring about the color of the kitchen walls.

Learn to love mornings & grow in faith . . .

Bookish devotionals for busy moms. Sign up here FREE

Connect with me on Instagram/Facebook @happy.little.sigh

Read Full Post »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learn to love mornings & grow in faith . . .

Bookish devotionals for busy moms. Sign up here FREE

Connect with me on Instagram/Facebook @happy.little.sigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature  ♥

Read Full Post »

CAM00393

I know all about lists.

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

last week . . .

last year . . .

I know all about adding something to your list

just so you can cross it off

and feel like you’ve done

something.

And I know all about those things that stop you,

get in your way.

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

All that time in the kitchen that can leave you wishing

that you didn’t need to eat.

Those mountains of washing (clean or dirty)

that never, ever go away.

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

for the seventh time that day.

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

(oh, do I!).

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

when someone gets an owie,

bursts into hysteric tears,

yet again.

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

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

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

And it’s easy, far too easy,

to forget

the very reason

that you even do it all.

And forget the very people behind the reason

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

You can forget

that for those of us home raising little souls,

our children are not a distraction from our work,

they are the purpose of it.

PC0200202

And so next time you feel disheartened

by all the things you didn’t do,

remember what will matter

a week, a year, or more from now.

Remember what they will remember

when they go.

And take the time to pull them close,

tell them how they’re loved

by God,

by you.

And pull them close to read

that favourite, dog-eared book.

And kneel down to tell them,

as if there’s nothing else,

what they’ve done right,

or how what they’ve done has hurt another

and how they can make it right.

For raising souls should not be rushed, 

is not a side-line job. 

And while we long to make a beautiful, harmonious haven

for those we love,

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

but the love we give, the patience we show,

the fruit of the Spirit within us, 

the Spirit we help them to grow inside

that they will remember most,

that will really matter

in the end.

Avonlea x

Start your MORNINGS with Jesus & Your favorite books!

For FREE literature-inspired devotionals SIGN UP here!

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

 

 

Read Full Post »

I almost didn’t see him.

Nearly passed right by those handsome features, noble mien, and that shock of dark hair falling becomingly over his forehead.

You’d think I’d have been on the lookout. Kept my eyes peeled wide open.

I was in his house, after all.

Pemberley. Or, em, Chatsworth, which is what the place is really called. Chatsworth, not Pemberley, though it’s quite the grandest house in all of Derbyshire, and most certainly the place Jane Austen had in mind for this favourite literary hero, if the experts have it right.

Yes, there I was, at Pemberley, and I nearly missed my chance to meet Mr. Darcy because I had my eyes on the gift shop. The gift shop. Coasters and tea towels, and things like that.

But John called my name, and I swung round

and there he was.

Just waiting.

He even posed for a picture.

283469631_369449981708514_1162223419104090588_n

But that’s not the real Mr. Darcy!” you may be muttering, or even shouting at the screen.

Well, I was at the other Mr. Darcy’s house too (Lyme Hall in Cheshire)! BBC fans, you may now breathe a sigh of relief.

Only there, I didn’t see him.

Though I did see this fair prospect . . .

283368132_803049980680876_9167628992764560018_n

I laugh a little now.

I almost didn’t see Mr. Darcy!

And oh, doesn’t it seem just a world away.

Not only that we’re in America and can’t just pop down to England to see Elizabeth and Darcy and all our other favourites like we did when we lived in Scotland.

But even having time to think about it all. To dream.

Finding time to put two of my own thoughts together seems like a luxury these days, what with all the loving I’m blessed to pour out on my three precious little men and their daddy.

The making of tea and the making of beds. The raiding of the kitchen and the cleaning it up. The folding and folding and folding of laundry, and the trying to find the time to put it away. The potty accidents to clean up, the littlest one to pick up, and the trying to look above and through it all to find just what gifts there are in today.

But it’s worth it, I’d say.

Worth taking time for stories.

Worth taking time to be still and (with a cup of tea!) examine and consider the finer, the truly beautiful and good.

And it’s worth, most of all, taking time to be with Him.

To be with Jesus.

How many times do I race through my day with my eyes on the gift shop? On running my errands, making my phone calls, and leaving my house at least as clean as it was that morning?

But how would it be if I took more time to look for treasures along the way?

To realize there is someone far nobler, realer, and more beautiful than even Mr. Darcy?

Someone who’s not just waiting, but knocking.

Knocking at my door, knocking on my heart,

and not just to pause for a picture,

but to spend the day with me.

JEREMIAH 29:13

You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart.

 

Avonlea x

Start your MORNINGS with Jesus & Your favorite books!

For FREE literature-inspired devotionals SIGN UP here! 

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

Read Full Post »

You don’t have to look far to find ugly.

It’s there in the news.

It’s there on your computer.

You can find it in the tone of your very own voice.

And as much as we’d like to erase it,

make it disappear with our magic mummy wands,

one day our children will find out about ugly.

Or maybe it’s ugly that will find out about them.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

My fingers are blue with the telling of it.

All that rolling eggs round till they come up like the sky.

And we said it was like the stone rolling,

opening up that cave-tomb

two millennia ago.

And we speak of the first Good Friday,

and how strange that we call it all good,

when there came then the ugliest ugly

that ever was

or ever will be.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

From the kitchen window I watch them,

red-breasted robins against the flat, dry brown.

And I know it means winter was beaten,

and I smile at the green that will come.

A great kafuffle and we’re out there,

tramping the brown with our boots.

And I stop them once or twice just to point out

where a bulb or a bud has poked through.

And I’m breathing in the sweet smell of new life,

and I’m thanking Him there’s such a thing as grace.

Because today there was plenty of ugly

In my heart, in my voice, in my face.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

You don’t have to look far to find ugly.

Ugly always finds some way in.

And how could I even bear it?

Go on pretending that everything’s great

If it wasn’t.

Really wasn’t.

If I couldn’t look them in the eye and tell them

That ugly won’t win.

No, ugly won’t win, precious children.

Because His grave didn’t hold death in.

And the last time we lock eyes

won’t really be the last.

Oh, my sweet ones,

He has conquered death and sin.

 And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

– Revelation 21:5

Avonlea x

Start your MORNINGS with Jesus & Your favorite books! For FREE literature-inspired devotionals SIGN UP here! ❤

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

Read Full Post »

When Covid restrictions hit two years ago, we, like most of the world, found ourselves cut off from the people and activities that were the framework of our lives. The large church we attended closed. For quite some time. Even though we’d volunteered and attended faithfully for eight long years, the size of the church and several other factors made it almost impossible to make deep friendships with people in our area. More than ever, we ached to share life with friends. So we started attending a small church. Before we knew it, we were “doing life” with two other families. Sarah and her husband, who live locally, and Ann and her husband, who were here for missionary aviation training. Here are two more reasons why we fell in love with our tiny church (link for part one below) . . .

1. Gaining wisdomMany big churches tackle the need for community by creating small groups, or churches within the church. These small groups are meant to meet together regularly to study the Bible and encourage one another. Sometimes this results in real spiritual growth and lifelong friendships. But other times these groups become transient. People move, change churches, or don’t want to lead any more, and the budding friendships, along with the spiritual growth, can fade away. Another challenge is that Bible studies and small groups are often organized by ages and stages of life. All the newlyweds are put together, all the young families, all the college kids, and all the retired people. While we may have more in common with others in our same stage of life, we end up missing out on the blessing of a real church family. College kids don’t get the benefit of homecooked meals and a stable place to take refuge on the weekends. Older adults are left feeling like they’re in the way and not needed any more. Children lose the joy of adopted grandmas and grandpas. And younger couples lose the gift of being discipled by those who have already passed through many mountains and valleys of life . . . Not only did we find we were “doing life” with Sarah, Ann, and their families, we were also blessed to be surrounded with others both older and younger than ourselves. The woman who came from England some 50 years ago to work for the summer, and married a local farmer. The single dad with two kids. The grandma who drives a school bus and teaches Sunday school. The high school graduate. The WWII vet. The guy who comes on a motorcycle. These sound like stereotypes, but each one has a name, and each has gifted us with generous pieces of themselves, and a share in the wisdom and richness of their lives.

We cared so deeply that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God, but our own lives as well. That is how beloved you have become to us.

– 1 Thessalonians 2:8
One of our favorite Seniors & one of our favorite Juniors

2. MissionariesPeople who serve God in foreign parts don’t come home for long, and when they do, getting to know them personally and hearing firsthand about their work can be hard, especially in a large church. Missionaries, like those on stage in the worship band, can become “other,” people who are extraordinary and different from ourselves. But all that can be different in a tiny church. Being part of our church family provided us and our children the opportunity to bond with Ann, her husband Ernst, and their children. We were wading rivers, walking trails, soaking each other in splash pads (even the grown ups!). We were roasting hot dogs, sipping coffee, dishing out ice cream. And as friendships formed, so did the realization that their year was almost up, and we would soon have to say goodbye. With growing achiness in our hearts, we felt how attached to them we had become, and how at home they had come to feel with us. Yet through the pain, we realized the immense blessing of seeing up-close-and-personal that Ann and Ernst were special. Not because they were super-humans, but because when God called, they had responded, “Here am I; send me.” (Isaiah 6:8). The impact of this living example of obedience to God has been incredible, both for our children’s hearts and our own.

Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous deeds among all peoples.

– 1 Chronicles 16:24
Charlie getting a lesson from Ernst on one of the helicopters used to reach remote and mountainous areas

A year after arriving at our tiny church we said goodbye to our friends, as they prepared to enter the next stage of their missionary journey. I was so glad Sarah’s family is still local, and God has answered our prayers and brought other families to our church. I’ve been reminded that we talk about hearts for good reason. It’s the muscle that pumps life-giving blood through our bodies. It’s also the source of our joys and sorrows–and sometimes, blood-clot like, is the place those joys and sorrows get stuck. I’m feeling that today. Feeling that immense grace, but with a good measure of achy-heartedness, lodged like a lump in my chest. That happens, sometimes, when friends are loved and lost. But isn’t that what life is? To love. To find our true purpose. To lose–but only for a short while! Because in Christ, this is not the end. Never goodbye, only “See you later.”

Ann, Sarah, Avonlea

Avonlea x

Start your MORNINGS with Jesus & Your favorite books! For FREE literature-inspired devotionals SIGN UP here! ❤

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

  • Missed my first post, “Three Big Blessings in a Tiny Church”? Catch it HERE

Read Full Post »

The great boot exchange, I call it. Snow boots hauled up, rain boots hauled down from their upstairs closet winter home. April now, and I’ll expect a spate of showers before the sultry of summer comes to stay.

The rain boots tumble from my arms. Frogs, and monkeys, and the green Hunters I like so much. Chatter, and light in my lads’ eyes as they recall past springs and puddles splashed.

Then I send them out with boots and brushes to wash away the winter mud, for boots must be stored away clean.

I peek from the dining room window and watch them sitting on the steps, lips pressed in earnest as their little hands scrub.

57456832_336340127013665_1991082852002824192_n

Then I’m caught up for a while, sizing up which rain boots now fit who, and which can be given away—just another part of motherhood one wouldn’t think to list, though it takes an afternoon twice every year.

But I leave my work now, and step out. So new the spring, the grass yet a patch of green and straw.

Birdsong. Warmth. Flat blue beyond the branches bare.

I gasp. I’m gasping. And I cannot gulp enough of this sweet, this air.

And I watch my lads for a moment, as they laugh and run.

My curly top squats beneath our big old tree, and I’m called to see the wild violets growing there.

57402315_2257583141149497_5163496201072410624_n

58375486_2347210011967323_1884738564105699328_n

A moment more, then in again to think of dinner.  And as my hands chop carrots into little discs, I think of this day. And I think of motherhood, and the labor of making a home. I think of how it’s disregarded. Seen as unfulfilling and of little worth. But I know otherwise.

And I sigh contentment for all I am and all I have. For the pleasure in this exchanging of boots. In this marking of the seasons, and remembering of dear times past.

I am building their memories, building their lives.

May my lads always find pleasure in order and in a job well done. May they find joy in little things. May they have thankful hearts. And may they one day go into the world with the strength that only a mother’s love can bring.

Avonlea x

❤ Start your MORNINGS with thoughtfulness, grace, and literary inspiration sign up here!

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe/Pinterest @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

Read Full Post »

CAM003941

For a home that’s truly beautiful

You must begin with the air.

Not lavender essential oil

although that’s lovely . . .

Not fresh baked banana bread

although an untidy house where there is cake

is better, far better, than a tidy house with no cake . . .

But for a home that’s truly beautiful

you must begin with the air,

the very air,

and the words that float across it.

The words that find their way

to the ears,

to the hearts,

to the souls

of our children,

of our spouses,

of our friends.

What does it matter how clean,

how coordinated,

how stylish a home,

and who could care about granite countertops,

wooden floors,

chevron-patterned cushions,

organized drawers,

if the words we fling at each other

across our air

are like poison darts,

causing stinging little wounds

that fester and bleed,

leaving us and our loved ones

with a little less hope,

a little less faith,

a little less joy?

A freshly baked cake and the lovely smell it brings does make a home inviting, but the words with which we choose to fill our air have more power, far more power than we could ever know, to bring beauty and life

to our homes

and the people in them

than any piece of furniture, any article of clothing, any lovely smell

ever could.

CAM003951

Avonlea x

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

❤ Start your MORNINGS with thoughtfulness, grace, and literary inspiration sign up here!

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe/Pinterest @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature

Happy Little Sigh is now on Pinterest! Join me there?

http://www.pinterest.com/happylittlesigh/

Read Full Post »

Usually it was fish and chips that they offered to bring. Crispy battered haddock and thick-cut fries doused with vinegar and a sprinkling of salt, picked up from the Chippy on their way over.

I’d start to tidy, but would remind myself not to worry too much. Just a quick wipe of the bathrooms, and a fresh hand towel (one of my personal hospitality must-do’s) would suffice.

There wasn’t much point in frantically scooping Lego into toy bins or straightening out the sofa cushions. Our friends did, after all, have three little boys who’d be joining our two (at that time), and I knew I could expect the five of them to make quick work of emptying the wicker toy basket and turning the sofa into a pirate ship.

After the ketchup-soaked fish and chip papers had been cleared away and the children were in the other room hard at play, the adults would gather round the dining room table, within ear shot of the littles in case someone got a bump, or there was a lesson on sharing that needed to be learned.

There’d be coffee then, or tea, and some little nibbles, and the stresses of life would dissipate as we talked and shared, the fire crackling at our backs. They’d stay past bedtime, but we didn’t mind.

They were our last-minute friends. The spontaneous ones. And we loved it.

We loved it, and it went both ways.

I remember phoning once, on our way home from a day of picnicking and wading in the rock pools of St Andrews. And we were invited to “tea” (the evening meal in many parts of Scotland).

There were probably toys everywhere. Crumbs on the floor.  Some sprinkles on the toilet seat. But I don’t remember.

I remember the lamb chops smothered in curry paste, the homemade sweet potato chips sprinkled with salt and hot pepper seeds. I remember Mary’s smile. I remember there was cake.

Later on, Mary and I nursed cups of milky tea beside the patio doors while the men took the children into the cool autumn air to play on the trampoline. Two tired mamas, we talked, we laughed, we shared our hearts so that the other knew how to pray. We felt stronger. We knew love.

CAM012461

You see, a mama doesn’t mind it. Not one little bit.

Doesn’t mind balancing her cup of tea as she picks her way over the minefield of toys to make her way to your couch.

Doesn’t mind grabbing a wad of toilet roll to wipe sprinkles from your toilet seat.

Has selective vision when it comes to the pile of dishes in your sink.

She didn’t come to inspect your house. She didn’t come to give you extra work.

She came for the friendship. The laughter.

She came to see you.

Friendship and laughter bring sanity. Clarity. Helps us see that most of the chaos is normal, and we’re not the only ones going through it all.

God made us that way. To bear one another’s burdens. To celebrate together.

And I have to remind myself of this often–

that my desire is to bless, not impress. 

That laughter is made brighter, tears are made lighter when there’s cake.

Cake, and of course, a hot cup of tea.

And so even if you are a tired mama, don’t let this stop you from letting others into your house, especially if they are a tired mama, too.

CAM012441

Read If You Know A Tired Mama (how to love her) Part 1 & Part 2

Avonlea x

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

❤ Start your MORNINGS with thoughtfulness, grace, and literary inspiration sign up here!

OR find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe/Pinterest @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ❤

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »