Tag Archives: Comfort

Spring searching in Virginia

I have a family member who hates to talk about the weather. Certainly it is a boring topic this year. Snow, wintry mix, ice, freezing rain, wind, rain… March continues roaring about but spring is beating in the heart of the earth. We were blessed to go to Williamsburg last week. One of our favorite small places there is the Botanical Gardens. We roamed and sat in warmth for hours, listening.

One day, we took the ferry from Jamestown to the lovely town of Smithfield. The other month Cathy at Morning Musings wrote about bronze sculptures. This is my sole attempt to follow her lead – hubby and George Washington.

In her post last Monday, she quoted Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, so this one is for Cathy. The sculptor, George Lundeen, portrays the author writing that very poem.

There are seven stops to view these marvelous works. All are historical figures except one.This is “The Valentine Couple”. So sweet. You can click on the photos to enlarge them and see the amazing detail.

It is cold here at home and of course the forecast is for snow tomorrow. I’m listening, I know the earth is sheltering buds and blooms and green. For now, I’ll enjoy the memory of these Lenten Roses.

January energizing

When Bonnie, the Faith Barista, announced the prompt for this week – photo journaling – she linked back to a post on Whitespace: a photo journal. I need this getting away, this time in nature, in quiet. But it has been so very cold. This past Tuesday, it was “warm” so I drove to the reservoir. A few minutes in the roaring wind and I retreated.

I sat a while and watched the gulls and geese and enjoyed the beauty. The wind seemed to keep the gulls huddled on the snow. In “the one that got away”- I didn’t have my camera ready – all the gulls rose but could not fly into the wind and were forced back and down onto the snow. This time they kept low to the water and made a turn back to the road. Someone had stopped and was feeding the geese and gulls from their car.

And then I went home, feeling like I had not accomplished what my soul needed.

Thursday: But it did warm a bit and I wanted to go away and I wanted to stay at home. So I pulled on my boots, coat and mittens and walked out the door to my own back yard. The focus of the day in the devotional I am following was peace and the verse I was thinking about was from Luke 19.

Jesus was weeping over Jerusalem when He said, “…if you had known, even you, especially in this your day, the things that make for your peace…”

I stop on the step as a goldfinch lands on the feeder just a few feet away. He seems at peace with my presence as I pull the camera from my pocket and snap away while he busily feeds from his provision.

I walk slowly listening to the crunch of snow as I walk through the field. I stop to look at tree bark and seed stalks and the beauty of light and shadow and think of things that make for peace in life.

And the things that steal peace till I wander around in confusion.

I keep crunching along among deer tracks and rabbit trails and other critters trails too, caught up in the beauty of glittering snow and grateful for whitespace in my own back yard!

A story of Christmas old and yet to come

A tale told by tree light and candle glow

Somewhere I came across the thought that life is a play and we come onto the stage not knowing what has gone before or who the other players are and we are left to improvise our way into the story. It does seem like that, doesn’t it?

Recently I began reading Becoming Myself. Stasi Eldredge writes, “As a woman, your mother is your most potent role model. How she felt, what she thought, and what she believed had a direct effect on you… including… how happy [you] can be…”

I’ve written before that Christmas in our house was full of happy – gifts, family, food, Mama baking, cleaning, shopping, card writing, decorating… all these wonderful things I learned. But there was also Mama crying which left me full of sad and empty too. And I learned Christmas came with tear stains. It was many years before I heard a little part of her story and gained understanding which did clear some of the mist of Christmas Past that swirled around the holiday, but I had long since learned tears and sadness. My emotions at Christmas became a hazard to me; carols and songs carried the threat of sobs hidden among the lyrics like sad, malevolent goblins just waiting to overwhelm me. Knowledge and prayer brought a slow healing from those learned emotions.

A few days before Christmas I was busy baking cookies and Bing Crosby crooned “I’ll be home for Christmas” into my kitchen space. Like many other families, we have a number in ours who come for Christmas to this place of their birth, ‘only in their dreams’. And I thought of them as I slipped the pan into the oven. Then, as I waited on the oven timer, I was transported back into a dream I had a while ago.

Sometimes my dreams seem like full-length movies. There is no time or space in the world of dream and this one was beyond place as well as I dreamed of William. William, whose absence became presence in my life every Christmas season. William, an older brother who became known to me only in this dream I share now.

Frail and weary, William was carried by his dear friend and comrade from the battles. William felt heart-sick, having failed to overcome in the war. His friend comforted him, offering love and strength but he could hardly receive. His friend had some understanding; he had carried battle worn small ones home before, home to the loving embrace of their Father. Each tiny spirit reacted differently to the journey and he was concerned for William, so small and listless. He pressed the tiny one closer as the journey ended and carried him into the Glory.

William felt the change but could not seem to turn to its embrace. And then he heard, “William, dear son, welcome home! I am so proud of you. Well done!” William blinked and looked timidly into Eternal Love. “But, I failed to be born. I failed my mission to live earth life. I failed… “

“Dear William, you did not fail Me. You were brave and fought valiantly in your battles. You lived nine months in your mother’s womb. She and your earth father and your brother and sister loved you as they could and you will never be forgotten. My dear little child… “, welcomed Eternal Love. And William smiled into the radiance of his heavenly Father. He snuggled, resting in Love, growing stronger; aware of Father giving instructions to his comrade. His dear angel friend gathered William into his arms and bore him off to the chambers prepared for him where he would grow.

William came from the Glory and returned there December 23, 1942

As the dream memory passed, I thought, Oh! “I’ll be Home for Christmas” is actually my song and William waits for me to come home for Christmas! And in that moment, my simple kitchen became a ‘thin place’ and it was as if I could see through the veil and a robust and glowing man leaned through the portal, grinning – “You’ve got it, Sis! There’s no place like HOME for Christmas!”

And the timer sounded and the ordinary was all around and I felt my smile and a few gentle tears too as I blew a kiss. I’ll be home for Christmas one day, William, and I know it will be far better than snow and mistletoe and holly!

This piece may not fit your theology or thoughts on dreams and visions and that’s ok. Even if it was only imagination, I believe the Lord Jesus has continued the healing process in my soul through it all and I am grateful.

The Lord used Pastor Jack Hayford’s I‘ll Hold You in Heaven – Healing and Hope for the Parent Who has Lost a Child through Miscarriage, Stillbirth, Abortion or Early Infant Death to do just that for my Mom. I offer this as a resource which could be a blessing to others like her who carry this pain of a lost child.

From Psalm 139 RSV – For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.(vs 13) Your eyes beheld my unformed substance, in your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. (vs16)

Advent Gift

When I was 9, I left my local parish school. That fall I entered the thick grey walls of a girls’ school, a long streetcar ride from home. The halls that threaded the school where normally filled with the muted trampings of rubber soles and the rustling of black habits and long rosary beads. Those first months I felt the walls had eyes and ears that peered into my soul, weighed me and found me lacking in grace and whatever other qualities where expected in a student there. And I shrank into my introverted shell.

Then came late November and a gift was dropped into my soul. All the elementary students gathered at the beginning of the day in a strange wide place filled with windows in an otherwise enclosed hallway. The windows stretched from steamy radiators almost to the high ceilings. I remember that Monday filling the space with grey early light. There was a surprise as the heavy scent of Christmas hung in the air as we pressed in to be close to the large wreath of fresh greens somehow suspended above us. As a candle was lit, those several hundred voices sang out, “O come, O come, Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel…” I don’t know if I understood the words but enclosed in the sound was mystery and comfort.

I’ve sung and heard this hymn sung every year since and when I hug it close and let myself return to that dark place, I hear the echo of those voices down through time and touch again the mystery and the comfort.

I believe that God Himself touched that lonely little girl with His presence and began a game of hide and seek with her. It would take many years but again in real time He would touch my soul with the mystery, wonder, and comfort of His presence and I would know His name – Emmanuel – God with us – God with me.

Ann Voskamp is sharing about Advent wreaths, Jesse trees and keeping Advent. Ann has such insight and grace to touch mystery and wonder; you might enjoy a visit with her at the farm.

Vintage stitching

I decided to share my vintage crewel work because this bird always makes me laugh. A dodo, I presume, showing off under the Tree of Life design.

Needle and thread comfort

When I was quite young, I learned a few embroidery stitches. I think perhaps my older sister or a Scout leader taught me. In our community we had a five and dime type store where for a small expenditure a carefully chosen dresser scarf or doily type of piece, stamped with a design and some thread, were mine. I would walk home dreaming of the beauty soon to come but all too often I simply created knots and tangled thread made lumps inspiring the dreaded – “Let me see the back of your work.” tsk, tsk.

It was a terrible discouragement but there was something about the desire to make something beautiful which drew me. Eventually the soft wool and classic designs of crewel embroidery from Erica Wilson and Elsa Williams came to my attention. I made less mess and acquired a little skill. But in the business of life, unfinished projects sank to the bottom of a thread box.

Earlier this year I picked up a pattern and Perle cotton thread. In times of waiting, snow people took shape. Uneven and wobbly stitches aside, I enjoyed the very comfort of plying a needle again.

The Snow Happens pattern can be found here along with other fun patterns and supplies.

A blogger of note, Bronwyn Hayes of Red Brolly has some lovely stitching and photography tutorials, fun designs, quilting and recipes from life Down Under.

Heart-full therapy

Today Ann Voskamp wrote on grief, hard grief. I think whatever grief we are going through is a hard grief. I picked two sentences to remember.

Joy is the way to live bravest of all.

Thanks therapy is God’s prescription for joy.

Last spring I read One Thousand Gifts, Ann’s book. Yesterday I wrote my 1,000th entry. It has been therapy. I am starting over today.

I’m From Twelve Days of Christmas

It has been about seven years since I stepping into the family history adventure. In this time I have met new family and said good-by to several senior members of these wonderful tribes. My life has been so enriched by the stories and I have grown interested in memoir. How I wish to come upon some long ago writings!

This year I found Spiritual Memoirs 101 and sometimes I even do the exercises!

This is a quiet time and so I’ve mused on the “Where Are You From?” Christmas exercise, one which you might find fun as we continue on through these twelve days of Christmas. So many are ready to put out the tree but for my family, we would still be in Christmas mode, and would stay so past Twelfth Night giving Dad a chance to celebrate his birthday in a festive house before boxes had to be fetched from the attic, packed and then hoisted up again.

I’m from twelve days of Christmas

I’m from sugar cookies rolled thin, Quality Street candy and candy canes too

I’m from homemade fruitcake, family dinners and packages sent ’round the world

I’m from Advent wreaths and singing O Come, O Come, Emmanuel on dark December mornings

I’m from candle lighted windows, frosty cold bedroom and a warm, cozy kitchen

I’m from prickly holly and an angel topped tree

I’m from red felt stockings hung down the stairs and secrets and laughter and Christmas tears

I’m from row house grandparents and Manger gardens with trains

I’m from Christmas movies and carols sung off-key

I’m from department store Christmas windows and market stalls of treats

What Christmas treasures have been mine! Like an amazing box of ornaments from a storehouse, each one unwrapped, the beautiful, the not so, some broken and ugly and all come alive again in memory. I sit here long years later, listening to wind howl, gazing into candlelight and feel the smile play on my face. For just a moment it can all real again, the crisp snap of a cookie, the pungent smell of sherry soaked fruitcake, the couch where I sat in tree and candlelight and longed for snow. I can feel the cold and crowds pressed in to see the wondrous animated scenes in the store windows and smell the roasting peanuts near the market bus stop and even warm my hands once again on the large bag of them I hold for the long ride home.

There were tears that stained Christmases too. Time and understanding have faded them gently to the background like the soft crumpled tissue that will cradle it all until another Christmas comes.

Geese can amaze me

I decide to drive through the reservoir on the way home. As I approach the dam, I can see the water spilling down, wave-like. I continue on the winding road and I’m amazed that geese are standing atop the spillway!

I find a place to park, walk back and hear them chattering as geese do. I image them all offering encouragement to each other to stand strong or paddle against the current, but I do have to wonder why, in such a large lake, they are here.

What fun are they experiencing or is this a kind of late afternoon strength training exercise?

There are no answers from them so I move on to my favorite place and into the golden glow.

And I find that the drive and the beauty and the brisk air are strengthening for me today. I hope you have a place to soak in the golden glory of late afternoon sun.

September dances through

Storms turned the skies to September blue, hostas turned gold, the burning bush flamed, cleomes burst seed and the last of the blue hydrangeas changed to rosey attire.

Some seasons of life I’ve enjoyed the life of a night owl, but I’ve come back to treasuring early time. So I search and photograph and go back into the cozy warmth of kitchen only to be drawn out again knowing the wonder of early light is happening. Moving my chair to face the east where cloud play is illuminated in the rising sun, I huddle into an old quilt with my mug of coffee. And watch. I hear the traffic hum of those on the go and I begin to hear hammering and saws nearby. Work calls but I stay listening to quiet bird calls beginning to sound through the yards.

I lower my eyes to write and suddenly feel like there is a disco ball in the yard! The aspen leaves wave their quivering morning excitement filtering and shattering the light into sparkling pieces as the sun rises through them and the birds sing applause now. The coffee chills but I still sit and wonder why I am not here every morning when dawn calls hope and promise for the day.

With hot coffee, I return to find my quilt like stained glass. A breeze stirs now and the sound of leaves dancing close fills my ears and I huddle again into the quilt and move my chair into the expanding warmth of the ever rising sun. All too soon these days pass and the exuberance of October is upon us!