I hope that I shall never get
So old, that pinks or mignonette
Will fail to stir within my veins
Some answering call -- or April rains
Washing down azure skies will bring
No quickening rapture of the spring.
I hope that I shall never see
Pale blossoms bursting on a tree
With jaded eyes . . . or fail to catch
My breath in wonder at a hatch
of chickens with small pointed bills
Yellow as April daffodils.
And little fir trees lifting up
Pale hands towards the sky's blue cup,
And old folks with their dim old eyes
Looking toward sunset skies,
Life's loveliness . . . work . . . laughter . . . tears,
Giving me beauty through the years.
~Edna Jacques, I Hope
Aunt Hattie's Place, 1941
Oh how grateful I am that I can still find a place in my heart to enjoy small pleasures such as these. I have always been one who sees. One who explores and sees the small things that many others might overlook. Finding wonder and . . . yes, even God . . . in even the smallest details around me. I can't help it. That's just who I am, and who I've always been. Even in the face of mine enemies, or intense struggles, I am one who sees, and who appreciates the smallest of things. I hope that I never change.
This picture reminds me so much of the many nights I spent laying on the sofa watching the flames flicker of the fire burning in our woodstove. I could lay there for hours after the children went to bed, just watching the flames doing their dance, listening to the snapping and the crackle of the logs and sometimes the rush of wind in the chimney . . . such comforting sounds, those things . . .
I know that many don't like a wood fire . . . because of the mess, but I never minded the mess. It was always worth it to me. The warmth, the sight, the smell, the sounds . . .
I always kept a saucepan of water on top to help to send some moisture into the air. Often I would slip a cinnamon stick, some star anise, an orange peel or two and maybe some cloves into it, which would also send a beautiful fragrance out. Home. It smelled like home to me. Or at the very least like I had something really special in the oven, even if I really didn't.
At the right time, I, the Lord, will make it happen.
Isaiah 60:22 (NLT)
Sometimes it can be really hard to keep the faith. Especially in the waiting. I don't know about you, but I love scriptures like these that I stumble upon. They remind me that God can and will do anything for anyone, at any time, even when it seems impossible. What's meant for you will never miss you.
There is a need to trust in God's timing, especially when things aren't happening as quickly as we want them to, if at all. God sees the things we cannot see, and knows what we need even more than we do. Often it is only in retrospect that we can see that His hands were at work in our lives, putting things into place when, where, and however it was that we needed most.
I need to remind myself of this often. Especially when I start to feel down on myself. On those days when I look in the mirror and only see someone that I don't think that anyone could ever want, or love. When I feel the pangs of loneliness or of missing. Of wanting to belong . . . of always being the second choice, or nobody's choice at all.
Trusting in His timing, that is often the hardest, most difficult thing to do, but . . . I have seen the tender mercies of the Lord in my life, over and over again. And on those difficult days, it is those tender mercies that I need to cling to. I, the Lord, will make it happen. A sweet reminder of a God who knows our beginnings from our ends and who wants only goodness for us in our lives.
In the beginning I was so young and such a
stranger to myself I hardly existed. I had to
go out into the world and see it and hear it
and react to it. before I knew at all who I was,
what I was, and what I wanted to be.
~Mary Oliver
I love the honesty in these words. So often we think we should have ourselves figured out by now, but perhaps life was never meant to work that way. Perhaps the point it not to know exactly who we are from the start, but to become ourselves little by little through living.
Every person we meet, every place we go, every joy, disappointment, success, and sorrow leaves its mark upon us. We are shaped by what we notice, by what we love, by what we cannot forget.
Looking back, I can see that so much of life has been a process of introduction. Not just to the world around me, but to myself. And perhaps, that journey of discovery never truly ends.
We don't arrive in the world knowing who we are. We discover ourselves gradually through experience, through mistakes, through heartbreaks and joys, through paying attention to what moves us and what leaves us unchanged. Perhaps that knowledge comes slowly, shaped by the people we live, the losses we endure, the roads we choose to take, and even the roads we leave unexplored.
When I look back across the years, I can see how true it has been in my own life. The young woman I once was could never have imagined the person I would become. There were so many things I had yet to learn, so many joys waiting for me, and sorrows to. There were lessons that could only be learned by living through them. Each experience revealed another small piece of myself. And even now, I am still discovering who I am. Still growing. Still learning.
There is something comforting in that realization. We do not have to have all the answers. We only have to remain open to the journey.
All great and precious things are lonely.
~John Steinbeck
I've been thinking about this quote all week. I never thought I was lonely, but in recent days I have come to realize that I am. I sit in a space I never thought I would ever find myself sitting in, and with each day that passes I am coming to accept that this is probably where I will stay, but I have also come to learn as I thought about these things that . . .
Some of the most precious things in life are experienced in solitude. A quiet morning before the world around you wakes up. A walk with only your thoughts for company. A book that speaks directly to your heart. A prayer whispered into the silence of your room late at night. The moments we sit with our memories, our hopes and our dreams.
There have been season in my life when loneliness felt like something to be endured. I have felt lonely in a crowd, in a family . . . As I've gotten older, I've come to understand that solitude and loneliness are not always the same thing. Sometimes being alone is where we discover our strength, our faith, our creativity, and our deepest selves.
The things that matter most often grow in stillness. Gratitude. Wisdom. Peace. Contentment. They ask nothing of us except that we slow down long enough to notice them.
Perhaps that is what Steinbeck meant. Not that all precious things are sad or isolated, but that they are often found in those quiet spaces where we can finally hear our own hearts.
This was six years ago today. In some ways it feels like just yesterday, but six years is six years and somehow the time has passed. When I think back to how I was feeling then and how I am feeling now, there is a world of difference, and yet, the sadness that I carried then is still there, perhaps in a smaller measure, but its still there. I think that it always will be. I have discovered, however, that I have so much to be happy about and so many more blessings resting in my life now than I can really count. Blessings that I could not have imagined when I arrived in that lonely motel room on that cold, cold night as I stepped into an unknown future, with nothing but faith and hope, and a few people who cared enough about me to make me feel welcome and loved.
And that is all I have to share this morning. On this cold and damp November day. Eileen is still sleeping, I overslept myself. I feel the day impressing upon me that I really need to start moving and doing some of the things that I need to get done, so I will leave you now with a thought to carry with you . . .
☾ ° ★° * 。
° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*.˛.All that you give to others
You are giving to yourself.
~Anthony De Mello
In The English Kitchen today . . .
Old Fashioned Date & Walnut Pudding. A recipe that I chose to update with new photographs and some new writing. Eileen is really enjoying this. I think I made this back in 2011, I think from a recipe I found in Good Food Magazine, or something like that. It was good then, and it is very good now. I hope some of you will want to try it.
I hope you have a beautiful weekend filled with all the things that you love most and that bring you true joy. Whatever you get up to, don't forget!
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And I do too!
