Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Videos – If You Were There’ Category

Indignant is the word to describe how I felt back in 2005 upon hearing that another version of Jane’s Austen’s beloved novel, Pride and Prejudice, was to be released in the cinema, this time starring English actress Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet. The very existence of this new intruder version felt like an insult to those who had played in the 1995 BBC adaptation of the book. Like utter disloyalty to Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth, who, in my mind, actually were Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Why make another when perfection had already been reached?

But of course when the time came for the film to appear in our one local cinema in Inverness, Scotland, where we were living at the time, I went along to see it. And slowly, as I sat with my sweet popcorn and mini tub of ice cream, I felt my arched brow of skepticism slowly fade into a soft smile. For even with the simplified script, the overacting, and that awful brown dress Kiera Knightly dons for the majority of the film, it cannot be denied that with all the talented cinematography that captures the breathtaking Darbyshire scenery and the gorgeous film score by Dario Marianelli, the film is a veritable feast for the eyes and ears. And I decided that perhaps seeing what other artists had to offer was, after all, a good thing. 

I like to put it on in the background sometimes, if I’m, say, folding laundry or working on my scrapbook. But Keira Knightley will never, ever be Elizabeth Bennet, just as the 2005 version will never be to me the haven of coziness, inspiration, and nostalgia that the 1995 version is. 

KIMG0015

And so it will be with this newest adaptation of the novel Anne of Green Gables by Canadian Author Lucy Maude Montgomery, which will air in February 2016. This version was created by Breakthrough Entertainment , and stars young actress Ella Ballentine as the red-headed orphan Anne Shirley, and Martin Sheen as Matthew Cuthbert, the Bachelor who, along with his spinster sister Marilla, ends up adopting the feisty, talented, kindhearted Anne.

Canada’s CBC-TV also has plans to run a series, simply titled “Anne,” which is set to air in 2017, and which CBC says will follow Montgomery’s story line, but will also “chart new territory.” Writer Moira Walley-Beckett say she had adapted Anne’s story and that Anne’s issues are really contemporary ones like feminism, prejudice, and bullying.  

I will watch both versions. And if the trailer for the made-for-TV film is any indication, that adaptation will be charming and entertaining, if nothing else.

But I’m a little concerned that the series will modernize Anne too much, throw Anne’s catch phrases about in a way that becomes obnoxious, make the story into something Montgomery never intended it to be.

 So yes, I’ll watch them, but at the possible risk of having to go back on my word, I’m quite sure that these will not be the versions I go back to–again, and again, and again. Because Megan Follows who starred as Anne in the Sullivan Entertainment   version simply is Anne Shirley, just as Colleen Dewhurst is Marilla, and Jonathan Crombie is Gilbert Blythe.

I was practically introduced to Anne’s world from birth when my mother named me Avonlea, and it was to Sullivan’s 1985 version that I was first introduced. It was these actors whose faces I had in mind as I read the books, these faces I felt uplifted and encouraged by on those days when I, too, felt “in the depths of despair,” or had “a Jonah Day,” or could say of God’s working in my life, “He knew.” They are as much like friends to me as any fictional characters could ever be.

Another chance to view what is probably my favourite story on earth? Yes, please. Perhaps Breakthrough will even go on to make other Anne films based on Montgomery’s books,and stay a little closer to the stories than Sullivan did with their second Anne film. But just as I’m quite sure that a rose called a thistle or a skunk cabbage wouldn’t smell the same, an Anne by any other name could just never be as sweet. 

 

 

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

DryBridge2

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 Him

Green 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 . . .

Read Full Post »

403508_10151766586585527_2091706072_n

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.

1212

Stop at the tent for tea and scones. It’s all here for you, so enjoy!

1213

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 . . .

295062_10151766589715527_793058219_n

581121_10151766581840527_909369835_n

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

522391_10151766587265527_673033641_n

318081_10151766588135527_134185611_n

544727_10151766586080527_1076766181_n

1214

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.

DSCF00031

Read Full Post »

Everywhere, there were walls. Day by day, they’d grown up around us till every house and shop and school and road had its own borders, its own barriers. Keeping things out, keeping them in. Walls, like the walls all over Scotland where we used to live. Garden walls, and farm walls. Walls where you wouldn’t imagine a person could live, there in the beautiful bleakness of the Highlands, following the steep rise of a hill till out of sight. Walls, still there three hundred years on from when a man first placed stone upon stone, keeping thieves out and sheep in.

And yes we have them now, too, running all over this frozen land. Only ours won’t last, at least not as long, for our walls, of course, are made of snow. Not that the barriers were intentional, when we all went out with our shovels, our blowers, and our plows. But the walls came anyway, as we made a path from door to car, from car to sidewalk, from sidewalk to road. But at our house, I’m glad to say, we also had a path. A path between our neighbour’s house and our own.

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

CAM001351

CAM001411

CAM001341

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

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

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

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

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

CAM00367

CAM00362

CAM00368

CAM00492

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

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

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

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

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

CAM00533

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

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

~Pietro Aretino, translated from Italian

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

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

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

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

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

CAM004321

CAM00391

Read Full Post »

Dark mornings don’t call good mothers from bed. Don’t call good daddies, either. Not like beds, which call real loud. Hold us in their warmth and stillness, blankets wrapped around like strong arms that could shield us from every last thing we dread about the day. Entice us with our dream adventures, numb our bodies like a drug.

Yeah, it’s hard to leave that on late winter mornings, hard to meet cold floors with warm balls of feet, trade stillness for the swirl of to-do’s and the demands of little voices that never stop the long day.

And it’s easy to want to stop it coming, stop the start of another day. And too often this winter I’ve done that. I’ve listened to that call, counting times I’d been up in the night to comfort little cries, let myself stay a little  longer, yanked the covers another inch higher, told myself that for today, whispered prayers, half-mixed with dreams and plans, would be enough. Enough to go on. To give me perspective. To put my thoughts just where they ought to be.

But creaking crib and cracking door always break the silence, and it all ends.

CAM00277

And so I start the day running, running late before I’ve hit the floor. Little things to be done–today like everyday–and so it should be no surprise, and yet I find myself overwhelmed, feeling fragile, incapable, and just a little bit insane. And then it’s not just my feet running, not just my hands trying to get it all done. My mind’s running, too, over what I’ve done wrong to make things turn out this way, and what I must be missing to leave our life feeling so fractured, so unharmonious, so flat.

Grey skies and that blue snow, these thin walls and the bitter cold, they hem us in like prison on those days. It’s a prison, and I’m running so fast, feeling so stressed that I miss three dozen precious little moments of my little men’s lives. Can’t see the beauty all woven through my day. Can’t see those sparkles of light, though I know my little men see and feel all the greyness of my frustrated tears.

And on those days even the words won’t come, though I sit down to write. Words, which have always been with me, forming patterns, rolling round my mouth as I make sense of world. Because on those days there is no sense, and so the words, they just don’t come.

It’s a hard thing, too, in the evenings, dragging myself away from the dreams of Pinterest, the drama of television, the softness of the couch. It’s a hard thing when the wee ones are down and my tea’s not cold, and I can put two sane thoughts together without any little voice to interrupt. It’s hard to leave that stillness, brush my teeth, climb into bed. But it’s worth it. Worth the rest. Worth the energy I’ll have next morning to be the first one up, with time to find some stillness there in the almost light of a new day.

His compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness.

~ Lamentations 3:22-23

CAM0049411

Because though I’ve heard it, I still need it. I need it every day. Need to hear the voice of Him that made me, hear just whose I am, and what I am, and why. I need truth. Love. Strength. Light.

And so early to bed (and then to rise) is a worthy goal. Because good mothers need rest. Good daddies need it, too. And more than that we need to pause a minute (or a few), and reach out to take the hand of the One who walks right with us (though we sometimes forget it) through every hour of our day.

“I like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day,” said Mr. Irwine.  “No dust has settled on one’s mind then, and it presents a clear mirror to the rays of things.”

~ George Eliot

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

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

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

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

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

Read Full Post »

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

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

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

CAM00419b

Ah, Janey, make us swoon.

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

~Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

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

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

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

Well, well . . .

Handsome is as handsome does.

~J.R.R. Tolkien

CAM00415a

Ah, at last . . .

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

~Lucy Maud Montgomery,

Anne of the Island

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

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

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

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

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

~Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend

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

Love? Oh, WOW.

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

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

~William Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis

CAM00414

A little something for the Valentine table.

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

Beetroot and Parsnip Soup with Horseradish*

(nope, not tomato!)

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

30 grams butter

1 potato, peeled and chopped

2 parsnips, peeled and chopped

1 small onion, chopped

2 large or 4 small beetroot,

peeled and chopped

800 ml vegetable stock

1oo ml cream and sour cream,

combined

1 T horseradish mixed with

1 T olive oil and 1 t vinegar

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

*Recipe adapted from Delicious Soups by Belinda Williams

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

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

~C.S. Lewis

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

Wishing the happiest of Valentine weekends to you!

Avonlea x

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

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

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

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

Read Full Post »

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

We arrived late morning, just in time to see the tail end of the die-hard Black Friday shoppers toss another piece of plastic in their over-laden carts before struggling to maneuver them to the check-out.

I couldn’t help but wonder,

did they even like that stuff?

Did they need it?

Or had they been tricked?

But I was there, too, of course.

I was there, or I wouldn’t have seen it.

I was there, and armed with the page from the paper that showed the great deal on the bathroom set I was after. Bathrobe hook, hand towel loop, toilet paper holder, plus a few more.

And wasn’t I excited to keep the hand towel off the floor, where the children always leave it, and keep the toilet paper roll out of the toilet (or so I hoped).

But of course those items were just one of many on the long, long mental list of things I’d like for the house.

And of course once we’d stopped at the mall to let the children burn off some energy at the play area, and I took a stroll past H&M, I began think about my other list. The list of things I’d like for my wardrobe.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It’s intoxicating, you know, the mall is.

Every sense assaulted from every side.

Starbucks coffee, cinnamon rolls, perfume drifting from the department stores. The feel of silk, and faux fur, and leather. Nat King Cole crooning, and the Salvation Army bell jingling. The displays of clothes and furniture all looking so perfect, so much better than anything we have at home.

Couldn’t a person just get lost in it?

Caught up in the frenzy of buying

and trying

to fill the hole inside.

And while I went home looking forward to the giving

of the few gifts I picked up,

I also went home aching,

asking,

feeling anything but PEACE.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Because I know, though I never quite believe it,

that I am blessed beyond measure,

and that the more I have, the more I will want.

And though I tell it to my children,

what Christmas is all about,

and though we’re finding more ways of giving,

more ways of loving this year,

I find it’s still easy

to miss the point.

To miss the heart.

To miss PEACE.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I love the Christmas season.

Love it more each year.

Love the baking,

and the making

of sugar cookies,

paper snowflakes,

a wreath for the door.

Love candles glowing bright,

and singing Silent Night.

Love spotting a red cardinal

perched on a branch of lacy snow.

Or holly berries, and their leaves of thorns.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

But what I needed on that day,

and what I need on this,

and what I desperately want my children to see,

is that the point of Christmas,

the heart of it all,

is found in His heart.

In the heart of Jesus,

and His love for us.

In His love we can let go of all the trappings,

all our unwritten lists,

all that haunts us in the wee hours of the night,

and we can simply rest.

Cling to Him, and be at peace.

“For He Himself is our peace.”

~Ephesians 2:14

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

As you light your second Advent candle this Sunday, remember the PEACE we have through Jesus. Hear Him whisper, “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”

Avonlea xo

happylittlesigh.com

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

“The Holly and the Ivy,” King’s College Choir, Cambridge University, England

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

Find me on Facebook & Instagram @avonleaqkrueger  See you there?

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

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »