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Posts Tagged ‘Happy Little Sigh’

Too Deep for Words

Posted in Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2014| 2 Comments »

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I dig my heals into the mattress, feel the sheets wrinkle up beneath my feet like an elephant’s skin as I push myself up to sitting. My legs are cold, so I tug at the quilt my grandmother made me–all polyester and purple and pink, though I have it flipped round so I can only see the back–and the white, nobbly chenille bedspread we bought at a market in Portugal.

I’m tempted to lie still, bask in the white light that’s pouring into my bedroom, let myself drift in and out of dreams. After all, silence is a thing that a mother learns not to waste. Silence is not a thing to waste, I remind myself, and so I reach for it–my black leather Bible–breathe in the sweet smell of the leather. Run my thumb across the gold lettering, faded from those years I read it every day. Those days I underlined verses, scribbled margin notes, added stickers–a shiny pink heart and an ice cream cone. Those days when silence and aloneness were not a foreign thing. Not like now.

And then I flip to the index, search for a phrase our pastor said. And I find it.

for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.   – Romans 8:26

And I read it, and I read it again, and I’ve read those words three dozen times before, but somehow this time they strike me. Stay with me through the day.

The day of noise, and being anything but alone–though I can feel alone in a house with no one else over the age of eight. My day of being followed by Mr. Waddlesworth, his arms lifted, his curly head tilted back, big Charlie Brown mouth wide open as he cries crocodile tears because he’d love to be picked up and carried the day long.

My day of struggling through the times tables with the Professor, and the difference between “puppies” and “puppy’s” and reminding him to be a little ray of sunshine and not a little black rain cloud.

My day of helping the General in and out of his daily costumes–felt super hero masks, and pirate belts, and cowboy hats, and asking him if he needs the potty, and then adding his wet clothes to the laundry basket when he’s been too busy saving the world to take a trip to the bathroom.

My day of crumbs and stickiness–on the worktops, on the highchair, on the walls, on the floor. Crumbs and stickiness that never stay away for long.

My day . . . and yet I found, that during those rare seconds of quiet–or at least a quiet thought–that my mind drifted to those words I’d read that morning. Drifted like it never does, and I felt wonder. Peace. Strength.

Because I knew that every time I let myself become aware of the presence of God, that He was there, also thinking of me,

caring for me,

loving me,

as He always does,

though I cannot see Him

and I do not know.

Though I forget He’s there,

and how He cares,

and hardly think of Him in my busy, noisy day,

He is there

on His knees

lifting me.

Though it’s easier at certain times than others to see the miraculous, the eternal, in the everyday, today JUST KNOW that whenever you think of Jesus, He is already right there, thinking of, praying for, loving you.

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When There’s a Blip

Posted in Inspirations, Scotland, Uncategorized, Videos - If You Were There, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 5, 2014| 2 Comments »

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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 . . .

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Living in That Ordinary Grey

Posted in Holiday Cheer, Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2014| 2 Comments »

Today began with so much sameness.

So much of what I faced yesterday.

Last week.

And a thousand days before. 

A crying baby and an aching back broke my sleep,

made it hard to peel back the covers and start the day, 

especially when I thought I knew

just what was coming. 

As I got ready,

stood in the bathroom and smeared cream over my face,

the murky light that crept in from the windows

seemed just like the greyness I felt inside, 

that feeling that I really didn’t want to “do” today, 

that feeling of longing for something

though I didn’t know quite what. 

And then it all happened

just like I feared. 

I realized we were out of yogurt,

and milk, 

and eggs, 

and bread, too. 

And so as I scrambled to make a smoothie with our solitary banana and some berries, 

spread peanut butter over an apple I’d sliced,

it seemed they were all underneath me at once, 

my wee men, 

one complaining about the breakfast, 

one wanting to help, 

the wee-est one digging his fat fingers into my leg and hollering to be picked up. 

And I did think, for that chaotic hour, 

“is this really all there is?”

And I knew that if it was

then I really couldn’t bear it,

and the day would not go well. 

And any sacredness there, any beauty,

in my home, in our lives,

well I didn’t really see it

at all. 

We didn’t stick around. 

I decided we needed out.

Sometimes we all just do. 

And it was cold and grey when we piled into the car,

headed for the museum. 

But when we returned

just a few hours later

the grass was two shades greener 

and the air like a greenhouse of hazy warm light. 

And as we shed our wellies and jackets in the mudroom

I checked my tomato seeds and found a few new sprouts. 

All that warmth and light had done them good. 

Warmth,

and light, 

it does us good, too. 

And for me,

for a follower of Jesus Christ, 

that word is just

everything. 

For light can banish

not only the greyness of sameness and uncertainty, 

but the blackness of tragedy

and every darkest fear. 

And yes, sometimes life is a jumble, 

and you’re waiting,

and you’re feeling how much you really need 

to get it right. 

But sometimes that’s when God is calling

though it can be so hard to see. 

Not just in the tragedy, in the blackness, 

but in the grey. 

And though the waiting is uncomfortable

and we all want answers now, 

the greyness is the time to dig in deeper, 

listen longer, 

listen sharper, 

and persevere. 

Run.

 

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Fixing our eyes on Jesus. 

Hebrews 12:1-2

Run to Jesus. 

Like he never stops running

after you. 

 

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Sweet Treats – Comfort for a Messy Mind and a Messier House

Posted in Inspirations, Parenting - Raising Wee Men, Scotland, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 27, 2014| 2 Comments »

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I wasn’t ready for it. A restless night of twisted sheets, being forced from bed to soothe a crying baby, and strange dreams of being a gymnast, practicing my skills on the bars, had left my body feeling tired, my mind distracted and dazed. But it came anyway. The start of the day. Breakfast, and packing lunches, and making beds. Changing nappies, and dressing wee ones, and preparing for the school day ahead.

Before my boys came along I worked as a teacher, but this is my first year of official home education. My first year of adding tutor to my already full job description of chef, maid, nurse, chauffeur, activity director, police officer, and kangaroo (for the Admiral, who, at a whopping 24 pounds, still wants to be carried the day long).

And so an hour later I found myself, still dazed and unprepared for a day of living (let alone living well), trying to have a discussion about odds and evens with the Captain, all the while jiggling the Admiral on my knee and trying to ignore the General, who had squeezed onto the dining room chair behind me and in his very high-pitched three-year-old voice was speaking non-stop about wanting some cake (although I’d told him several times over that he had to wait for elevenses).

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I tried giving snacks, introducing different toys, and even (though I try to avoid it in the mornings) putting on the television so I could get on with the lessons.  But still, each soldier in my little army remained intent on being inches from me, if not in direct contact, each asking for something more or different or better from what he already had.

My head seemed to spin faster than I’d spun round those bars in my dream. I longed to crawl back into bed and find the unconsciousness of deep sleep. Or even the still, quiet surroundings of an empty house, where I could potter about, making sense of my jumbled thoughts.

To my right, the living room was strewn with giant colored cardboard bricks and scattered sofa cushions, the abandoned remnants of my attempt to entertain the younger ones. My mind seemed just as disorderly as the house, and as I attempted to turn my focus back to the math lesson, the thought crossed my mind that it would be awfully nice to have a real nanny and maid, so that I could be left to teach the Captain, and do only nice things with the boys (and perhaps sleep in a little on rare occasion). But of course that seemed as likely as my getting around to organizing some kitchen cupboards and planting the bell pepper seeds as I’d hoped to do that day (not to mention the school subjects we had yet to get through). 

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But unrestricted sleeping hours and empty houses are not some of the frequent luxuries of mummies of armies of wee boys, and in the chaos I longed for some little escape, some little treat to bring me comfort, and temporary escape from the swirl of color and noise that surrounded me. 

A square of dark chocolate, perhaps? 

A cup of espresso, topped up with raw sugar and heated milk?

A few minutes to skim the news feed on my Facebook account? 

These are the things I often turn to bring drops of sanity to my busy, noisy day, but yesterday as I contemplated what method of escape I would employ, I thought of a different way. Down the hallway on my bedside table sat my black leather Bible, which I hadn’t yet touched that day. 

And I didn’t have time,  not just then, to pour over it as I would have liked to do. But I did have the time–as long as it would have taken me to slip into the kitchen to devour a square of chocolate–to flip to the Psalms, and the sweet morsels of goodness found there. 

O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!

– Psalm 34:8

And I wondered as closed my Bible,  felt peace wash over me like a cup a chamomile tea, what I’d been missing.

Although there isn’t anything wrong with coffee, and chocolate, and Facebook news, what had I been missing by reaching for them instead of the Living Water found there in the Psalms, so accessible, so available to me? 

For while our SIN can be easy enough to spot (though at times it’s not), there are deeper, sweeter paths of closeness to the Lord which we can go a lifetime and not discover. And what if those paths, those changes I so long to see in myself, can be reached not only through long segments of time spent in the Word, but through little moments of calling out to God for strength, and reaching for little pieces of His word? 

What change could even one pure morsel of eternal truth make to my day?

After taking the time to read from the Psalms, I went on to finish the school day, plant those pepper seeds, and even clean out my kitchen junk drawer! 

What a difference the reminder of Jesus’ love and presence had made. 

In Him is strength, beauty, refuge, truth, and the nourishment I need to help me view my boys, my home, my life in the light of eternity.

The eternity that continues in the next life,

the eternity in which we live today. 

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

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

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Murky Solstice Minds & LOVE for Advent

Posted in Holiday Cheer, The Inklings, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 21, 2013| 2 Comments »

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The darkest day.

I always remember.

The least sunshine. The least light.

Winter solstice.

December 21st.

And after this, I’m counting minutes–approximately two each day–until the hours stretch to bring the golden light of the summer sun. But for now, when I feel more than a little sorry for those Narnians and their ever winter never Christmas. When even the icicles hanging outside the kitchen window, and the layer of ice coating everything else, when even they can’t shine, my brain can feel as cloudy as this murky winter light.

Still, sometimes I see it–the beauty of eternity that begins today. These little souls, my little men, and the treasure that they are.

Other days I hit the floor running,

some crazy dance from room to room,

glancing occasionally at the clock,

and imaging the utter shock

my friends would feel if they ever stopped

and saw the state of this house.

On those days I find myself, at least once,

pausing–the whirlwind of Cheerios and Lego and foam swords  and four little men swirling all around me, a now cold cup of tea in my hand–wondering,

what, oh, what, is going on?

There must be something, something I’m missing,

or it wouldn’t be

like this.

But what?

A little sleep, to be sure.

An intentional effort to count blessings

and sing praise

and speak truth.

Yes.

All that.

All that, and just a little more time

with Jesus.

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Because though I have 2 million distractions, though the crumbs, and the laundry, and the children cry out to my clouded, foggy, weary brain, though the weather is bleak, and though I carry sorrows and disappointments in the deepest chambers of my heart,

none of it

none of it

should be an excuse.

An excuse to raise my voice or declare my dissatisfaction or remain in a dark, murky mood.

Because eternity begins today.

Our eternity began the day we were born.

And for those of us who love Jesus

that means counting those blessings,

speaking those truths,

and no matter how we’re feeling,

choosing to live like Christ.

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The new year is coming.

Isn’t that a shock?

And what sort of year, I wonder, is it going to be?

I have my hopes and have my dreams,

but I realize that what I need

more than anything

is to spend more time with The Word.

With Jesus.

Pouring over His commands,

reading and re-reading his life

until His words and His ways and His will,

which are all Him,

become more of who I am, too.

For there is no better way to know what we’re missing.

There is no better way to bring into the darkness of our lives and minds

His perfect light

than to know Jesus.

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Let’s remember not just the manger but the cross. The purpose of Christ’s arrival on our planet. The depth of His LOVE.

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For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.   ~ John3:16

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Love came down at Christmas
Love all lovely, love divine
Love was born at Christmas
Star and angels gave the sign.

Avonlea x

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday  ❤

❤ For LITERARY INSPIRATION for Heart & Home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here! ❤

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Hearts in the Snow & JOY for Advent

Posted in Holiday Cheer, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 16, 2013| Leave a Comment »

I’ve heard it before.

So often my eyes glaze right over.

A stable, not a palace.

A manger, not a throne.

Yes, I know.

The King of the Universe,

our God,

here, on earth, in a human body.

A small one.

A cuddly bundle,

all silky skin and baby breath.

With his big brown eyes

and wee legs kicking.

A little baldy.

Or maybe an absolute

mop of curls.

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But reading the words,

writing them down,

my mind still can’t grasp it all.

Because there’s a door, and though the Light shines through all around it, 

it’s black, and it’s shut, and I can’t seem to turn the handle to see what’s inside.

And you wouldn’t think that anything could blind it,

make those beams seem a little less bright.

But somehow, the twinkly lights and inflatable Santas,

somehow, they all just DO.

Because after all, the whole world’s singing it. Belting it out like it’s no big deal.

Silent nights and angels singing.

Little towns and receiving our King.

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And so of course–of course–it’s hard to awe.

Hard to grasp.

But what I can see with those golden beams shining–

when I cup my eyes to shut out the rest–

is the wonder, absolute wonder

that God would care

at all.

That He’s in love,

so in love,

with us, with the world,

that no matter what we say

or do,

no matter how hard and fast we’re running

in the opposite direction,

He’s there.

Eyes waiting to catch ours,

hand outstretched.

That He doesn’t just sit there

high on His throne,

calling, whispering

into the moments of our lives,

but He came down to join us mortals.

So close He could cook us breakfast

(like maybe toasted fish on the beach?),

so close He could kneel down in the dust

to wash the sheep dung from our feet.

He went to those lengths

because for some strange reason

He loves us that much.

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Now that is something to wonder over.

Something to feel happy about.

That is a God we can worship.

A God who deserves our very selves,

who deserves our hearts.

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him:  give my heart.

~ Christina Rossetti

Avonlea x

Find me on . . .

Instagram/Facebook/MeWe @happylittlesigh

Happy Little Sigh

Finding beauty in the everyday ❤

 ❤ For LITERARY INSPIRATION for Heart & Home & a PERIOD DRAMA in your inbox EVERY Friday sign up here!

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A Cosy List – For Your Morning Cuppa (tea)

Posted in Anne of Green Gables, Books!, Hospitality, Making Memories, Marriage - For Happily Evers, Videos - If You Were There, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2013| 2 Comments »

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

  1. Spread a blanket and have a picnic lunch inside. Or a candlelit picnic at night when the children are abed?

  2. 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.  

  3. Rake some leaves and jump in the pile. Go in and warm your hands and your soul with some tea.

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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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