happy little sigh

Sometimes it helps, remembering where you’ve been.

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

Make you crawl into bed, yank up the covers

to hide your face,

blot your tears.

It can be regret

for what you did

or didn’t do

that leaves you feeling this way.

Regret for what you did

or what was done to you.

Other times it’s the life you had

but don’t have any more.

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

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

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

Boxes. Time capsules.

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

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

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

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

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

All that wishing for weekend trips to London.

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

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

Scotland. Our home.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just fine with me.

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

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

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

Clean pain, like from a surgeon’s knife.

Clean pain, when you learn to see

He knows a better way.

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

Round the world. And back.

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

just for me.

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

On the cross.

In my life.

The adventure! I’d never dared to dream.

My sin! Yet He has drawn me back.

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

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

But when Love is waiting to catch you

it’s best to let go.

Let go and rest.

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

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

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

What is the Song You Sing With Your Life?

November 11, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

A little cry breaks the breath,

the sound of the furnace as it warms the chill of these rooms,

makes the red living room curtains dance.

I rush to feed him, lay him back down, hoping for bit more time with my thoughts.

Any moment, another will call out.

And with the words, “Me ‘wake” our day will begin.

Breakfast, with toast crumbs, and sticky honey, and spilled milk (always there is spilled milk).

And sometimes giggles, and little voices lifted to sing our morning prayer.

Other times fights over who gets the blue bowl.

Or someone falling off his chair (twice) followed by hysterical tears.

And I try not to sigh. I try to remember.

The song I am writing

with this, my life.

The song they’ll be singing when they go.

What will they remember, when they go from me?

What are the notes that will dance, involuntarily, through their heads?

Notes of discord, notes of complaint?

A tune of sighs and “why”s?

Or those of grace?

Of overlooking others’ faults.

Sometimes with “I forgive you.”

Other times with silence. Ignoring that burning desire to point it out.

Lyrics of love?

Of my love, and God’s love, for them.

With myself I play it. I play my life’s song.

With my words and my hands and my feet.

With the way I do what needs to be done

(and there is a lot that needs to be done).

With the way I smile as I sweep it, wipe it, clean it up.

Put it back where it belongs. Again.

With the song of thanksgiving that I speak with my tongue

and in my heart

for all we have.

For these little ones, for their daddy.

Singing their own song that I help to write.

I can hear them now. Stirring. Scampering.

The day begins.

The song begins.

My life goes on, the song is endless.

And no part, no day, can be redone.

But each day, each moment, is new.

Each day, the song

it must be written.

And with all I have

all I’ve been given.

How can I keep

how can I keep from singing?

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

The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime; And His song will be with me in the night, A prayer to the God of my life.

~Psalm 42:8

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If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

~ J.R.R. Tolkien

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May the words I say
And the things I do
Make my lifesong sing
Bring a smile to You

~ Casting Crowns

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

My life goes on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear it’s music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

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You might also be inspired by Castle Stone, Cottage Moss https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/09/20/if-youre-scared-to-go-or-you-cant-bear-to-stay/

Avonlea x

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

Find me on Facebook/MeWe/Instagram @HappyLittleSigh

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Casting Crowns, Christianity, Enya, J.R.R. Tolkien, Morning, Motherhood, Music, Parenthood, Song, Tea | 2 Comments »

A Cosy List – For Your Morning Cuppa (tea)

November 4, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

A Dozen Cosies to Warm Your Heart & Your Hands and Bless Your Week . . .

Spread a blanket and have a picnic lunch inside. Or a candlelit picnic at night when the children are abed?
Buy a bouquet of fresh flowers and divide them up in jars around your house. Don’t forget your bathroom and your bedside table. And don’t forget to give them a smell.
Rake some leaves and jump in the pile. Go in and warm your hands and your soul with some tea.

4. Bake something with cinnamon. Apple pie?

5. Go for a walk and pray until your nose and cheeks are red. Then go in and warm up with some tea.

6. Watch Anne of Green Gables and laugh and sigh when Anne is “in the depths of despair.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HZfQ7EqMUs

7. Make a cup of tea and cradle it in your hands while you read the Bible. Psalm 42?

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=psalm%2042&version=NASB

8. Make a big pot of soup. Calcannon, an Irish favourite?

2 Tbsp butter

1 large onion, chopped

4 garlic cloves, crushed

4 large potatoes, thinly sliced

Chicken or vegetable stock/broth

Herbs and salt to taste

200 grams kale or cabbage, shredded

300 ml cream

1. Heat butter on low. Add onion, garlic, potatoes, cook for 5 minutes without browning.

2. Pour over enough stock/broth to cover, season to taste.

3. Bring to the boil, cover and simmer for 15 minutes.

4. Add the kale/cabbage, bring back to the boil, then simmer for 5 minutes.

5. Pour in the cream, ladle and serve.

9. Sprawl out on the carpet and listen to some favourite songs. Maybe this, by Welsh composer Karl Jenkins?

10. Invite some friends over without worrying about the house. Light some candles. Serve tea.

11. Stand under a tree, look up, and watch the leaves fall. Try to catch one.

12. As many times as you can remember, tell your spouse and your children how very much they’re loved. By God. By you.

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Posted in Anne of Green Gables, Books!, Hospitality, Making Memories, Marriage - For Happily Evers, Videos - If You Were There | Tagged Anne of Green Gables, Autumn, Avonlea Q Krueger, Calcannon, Classical Music, Cooking, Entertaining, Fall, Gardening, Happy Little Sigh, Hospitality, Jesus, Karl Jenkins, Monday Morning, Palladio, recipes, Soup Recipe, Tea, Tea Party | 2 Comments »

Sinking In Deep

November 2, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

I had nothing to show for the day.

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

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

well, it sort of overflowed.

Outside the rain fell warm,

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

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

they all looked

just grey.

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

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

It should be nothing at all to

wash sticky hands and faces,

change nappies,

sweep floors.

Couldn’t anyone do it? Anyone at all?

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

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

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

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

No, no.

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

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

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

Not three times.

Every day.

Or if your baby had actually taken his nap,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

just a little bit his fault.

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

and turning it into something good.

Finding reason for us all to give thanks.

And there’s always a reason.

Or instead of shouting,

kneeling down to look your child in the eye

to find the cause for his tears.

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

and finding something good to do for them.

Because souls, they live in people.

In your children. In your spouse.

And people are more important than things,

and being kind is more important than being right.

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

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

Tell them how very much they’re loved.

By God.

By you.

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

Read it till it sinks in deep.

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

Ephesians 3:17b-19

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Avonlea x

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

OR find me on . . .

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Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

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

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

Colour – For Your Morning Cuppa (Tea)

October 28, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

I always felt the shadows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shadows, they don’t seem as dark.

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

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

And I’m taking pictures.

Recording blessings.

Eating donuts and apple cider every chance I get.

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

~~~

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

~ James 1:17

~~~

Autumn Ambience to enjoy with your morning cup of tea…

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

Noteworthy News – On It’s Way, The Silver Chair!

October 23, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

It’s coming! I’ve heard!

The fourth Narnia film is on it’s way.

No trailer as yet, I’m afraid, so it may be a while.

But, to tide you over, watch

HERE:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puGl87f7A1U

Or for a bit more depth for you literary, bookish types, listen to the podcast

HERE:

http://narniacast.mymiddleearth.com/2013/10/21/narniacast-ep-7-the-silver-chair-movie-chat-1-various-guests/

At least there’s time to read the book (or perhaps read it again?) before the film comes out! Best to know if they’ve left out some of the best bits.

Something new to feel happy about 🙂

“You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you,” said the Lion.”
~ C.S.Lewis, The Silver Chair

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You might also be inspired by Mr. Darcy and Me – My Trip to Pemberley

https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/09/13/mr-darcy-and-me-my-trip-to-pemberley/

Posted in The Inklings | Tagged C.S. Lewis, Narnia, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Inklings, The Silver Chair, Videos | Leave a Comment »

A Walk with C.S. Lewis

October 18, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

A little hunting at my favorite second-hand shop uncovered this treasure . . .

Lock me up in a room with this book

(and a cup, and teapot full of tea),

and I’d be quite content for a good few hours.

Ah, and what ever could I say, when there are images such as these to be poured over?

Part of the magic of living in Scotland was the possibility of getting into one’s car,

and within a few hours, being able to see the home of

Jane Austen,

or Charlotte Bronte,

or C.S. Lewis,

as we did, one lovely April.

We went to Oxford, England,

to Magdalen College of Oxford University,

where C.S. Lewis taught for nearly thirty years.

Anyone can tour it.

See Addison’s Walk along the Cherwell River,

where C.S. Lewis liked to stroll.

And his rooms at the college, now marked by some red geraniums.

“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy,

the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
~ C.S. Lewis

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

~ C.S. Lewis

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You might also be inspired by Start Living Your REAL LIFE Today

https://happylittlesigh.com/2013/09/03/how-to-start-living-your-real-life-today/

Posted in Beautiful Places, Books!, C.S. Lewis, Misty British Isles, The Inklings | Tagged Addison's Walk, C.S. Lewis, Cherwell River, Magdalen College, Narnia, Oxford England, Oxford University, The Inklings | 2 Comments »

Birdsong – For Your Morning Cuppa (tea)

October 14, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

Another day ahead.

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

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

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

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

lie my deeper dreams and goals.

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

All the words I long to write.

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

Like I have to move a mountain.

But of course, I can’t.

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

But this new day awaits. It’s time.

And though the stars are still out,

I can smell the bread.

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

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

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

already been done by Jesus?

In that, I can rest.

With that, I can pull back the curtains,

with hot cup in hand venture a step or two outside

to hear the first bird sing.

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Lamentations 3:22-24

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

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Morning-Land

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

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

~Siegfried Sassoon

And finally, a word from Jane . . .

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

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

Avonlea x

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

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

Reading Emma – For the First Time Again!

October 9, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

Read one of Jane Austen’s works as if it’s my first time?

Oh, could I please?

And the answer

is yes!

Scottish author Alexander McCall Smith, author of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, has been asked to write a 21st century version of Emma, Jane Austen’s fifth novel .

He said the request was “like being asked to eat a box of delicious chocolates.” If that’s the case, then reading it will, I think, “taste” even better! McCall Smith’s writing is so full of warmth, humour, wit, and colour that I expect much from these contemporary versions.

The book is set to be in bookstores next autumn. Too long, I know!

But a version of Sense and Sensibility by author Joanna Trollope will be out this month.

Hurrah!

And versions of other Austen novels are set to follow.

Read the full story here – http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-24383000

Isn’t it lovely to read GOOD news?

And for more on Alexander McCall Smith, great promoter of tea drinking and good books, see my post Our Favourite Drink – https://happylittlesigh.com/2012/02/28/our-favourite-drink/

Avonlea x

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Alexander McCall Smith, Emma, Jane Austen, Literature, No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency | Leave a Comment »

Castle Stone, Cottage Moss

September 20, 2013 by Avonlea Q. Krueger

Some people are scared to go.

Others are scared to stay.

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

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

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

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

I could have stayed forever.

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

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

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

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

And I loved it.

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

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

Gray and cold as stone.

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

But not all green is grass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He will take you halfway round the world.

And He will bring you back.

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

Whatever it takes.

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

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

Whatever it takes.

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

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

And what else could you call Love?

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

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

Not really. Not to Jesus.

It’s what’s in your hands.

It’s where you’re looking.

It’s the color of your heart.

Psalm 37:23-24, Isaiah 43:22

You might also be inspired by . . .

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

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

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

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happy little sigh

Homemaking inspiration from literature

Time Capsule

Sometimes it helps, remembering where you’ve been.

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

Make you crawl into bed, yank up the covers

to hide your face,

blot your tears.

It can be regret

for what you did

or didn’t do

that leaves you feeling this way.

Regret for what you did

or what was done to you.

Other times it’s the life you had

but don’t have any more.

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

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

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

Boxes. Time capsules.

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

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

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

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

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

All that wishing for weekend trips to London.

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

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

Scotland. Our home.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just fine with me.

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

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

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

Clean pain, like from a surgeon’s knife.

Clean pain, when you learn to see

He knows a better way.

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

Round the world. And back.

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

just for me.

On the cross.

In my life.

The adventure! I’d never dared to dream.

My sin! Yet He has drawn me back.

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

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

But when Love is waiting to catch you

it’s best to let go.

Let go and rest.

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

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What is the Song You Sing With Your Life?

A little cry breaks the breath,

the sound of the furnace as it warms the chill of these rooms,

makes the red living room curtains dance.

I rush to feed him, lay him back down, hoping for bit more time with my thoughts.

Any moment, another will call out.

And with the words, “Me ‘wake” our day will begin.

Breakfast, with toast crumbs, and sticky honey, and spilled milk (always there is spilled milk).

And sometimes giggles, and little voices lifted to sing our morning prayer.

Other times fights over who gets the blue bowl.

Or someone falling off his chair (twice) followed by hysterical tears.

And I try not to sigh. I try to remember.

The song I am writing

with this, my life.

The song they’ll be singing when they go.

What will they remember, when they go from me?

What are the notes that will dance, involuntarily, through their heads?

Notes of discord, notes of complaint?

A tune of sighs and “why”s?

Or those of grace?

Of overlooking others’ faults.

Sometimes with “I forgive you.”

Other times with silence. Ignoring that burning desire to point it out.

May the words I say
And the things I do
Make my lifesong sing
Bring a smile to You

My life goes on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear it’s music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?