Saturday nice . . .

 

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I like the silence of old fields at night,

The peace of evening, dawn's attendant hush,

Mother-of-pearl inlaid against the sky

As if a master hand with careful brush,

Stippled the sky as housewives often do,

Tinting their kitchen walls in rose and blue.

I like a quiet place where no rude voice

Shatters the silence into quivering sound,

Where porticulas grow in furry clumps

And lie like home-made carpets on the ground,

Where sweet wild olives leaning by a pool

Wave silver wands to children by the school.

I love the peace of Sabbath afternoons,

The calm well being of a day of rest,

Where men walk idly out around the barns,

Clean shaven . . . garbed in all their Sunday best.

Even the cattle seem to sense the day

And walk sedately on their homeward way.

I like the silence of an autumn woods

Before the russet leaves begin to fall,

The utter stillness of a prairie night,

As if it slept in some eternal thrall,

A willing prisoner held in Beauty's sway

Dreaming the quiet centuries away.

~Edna Jacques, Silence

Beside Still Waters, 1939

Silence is golden, or at least that is what the song always said. I think there is some truth to that thought.  We are surrounded by noise on a daily basis.  There is a very busy road that runs just past the end of my street.  My weekdays are embroidered with the sound of large trucks zooming past, loud radios blaring from hot rods, (never mind their blaring engines).  An occasional ambulance on its way to the main motorway which lays just to the North of us.  Trucks beeping as they back into the farm market behind me, delivering their goods.

Silence is peaceful.  A late afternoon with the waning light scattering its golden beams across the floor, a cat nestled into my side on the sofa . . . his breath coming in quiet snores, the heat pump humming across the room, the sound of my fingers as they brush against the pages of the book I am reading as I turn them . . . the trickling sound of the cat's water fountain . . . the ticking of my clock.

Peaceful moments. The quiet sound of joy.

My sister had a box of old photos for me the other day.  I guess mom had been separating photos into three boxes for us children at some point. My sister had forgotten all about them.  The box is full of photos of my children through the years, and myself. I was so pleased to get them. This was one of the photos in the box. I would say I am somewhere between the ages of 2 and 3 in the photo.  I look pretty happy. That is my mother next to me. I recognize her face, and I can see that she is smiling back at me. She looks very happy, even if all I can see is the side.  This is a photograph filled with joy.

Nobody could have given me a nicer gift than this box of photographs.  The next time we go to Michaels I am going to pick up a few photo albums to put them in. I did not have many photos of my children and now I have a lot. It's simply wonderful. What a gift.

 

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I am having the family over here for dinner tomorrow. Nothing too special. I had bought one of those Christmas pies at the Superstore the other week.  It's a turkey pie with all of the flavors of Christmas in it supposedly. My sister said it was good as they have had one.  Anyways, I am going to cook the one I bought and make some sides to go with it. Just a simple meal, but one that my sister doesn't have to cook. It will make for a bit of a break for her and be a bit of a treat for me.

I don't have the family over very often, so this will be nice.

 

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I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 

Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 

PSALM 139:14

Fearfully, when translated from Hebrew, means “with great reverence, heartfelt interest, and with respect.” Wonderfully, when translated from Hebrew, means “unique and set apart.” So, it’s not exactly the way we understand it in English. 

I think the Psalms are one of my favorite books in the bible. Psalms and Proverbs, aside from the four Gospels, of course. There is so much wisdom there. Words for life. 

What a wonderful thought to think that each one of us, with all of our individuality and uniqueness, was created with great reverence and heartfelt interest . . .  with respect by a God who loves each one of us individually and has a vested interest in our futures. 

Patiently, deliberately knit together with intent whilst we were still in our mother's womb. (Vs 13 of the same Psalm.) Knitting is a craft.  It is intentional and done with purpose.  The hands that do it must be skilled and patient, stable. Every person was made with that same gravity of intention, fearfully and wonderfully. 

It's how we all begin our lives. And then life happens, and it is much kinder to some than it is to others. Some lives appear to be quite charmed.  Others quite harsh.  What happens to us, how we live, our environment . . . this is what shapes us as individuals. 

But we all began, created with the same loving intention and reverence. We are all God's children.  At least that is my belief.  I, with my imperfectly human love, love each of my children equally, unconditionally, no matter what.  How much more perfectly does He love us.   It is good for us to love one another as He does, or to at least try. To always be kind.

What is your perfect day?  A day in which everything you touch turns to gold and where nothing untoward happens? Some days are diamonds and some days are dust.  Some days our cakes fall and our toast burns. But there is something splendid in each day, even the burnt toast days. The toast may have burnt, but at least you had toast.  

At the end of each day, I always take a few minutes to express the gratitude that I have for the day I have just spent. And even on my worst days, I can find things to be grateful for.  Sometimes even if it is only that I opened my eyes in the morning.  But it is never just that.  Never.  There is always something more to be thankful for. Small pearls.  Pockets of joy. 

Our lives are built from small and simple things and pleasures. It is good to take note of them.  To count them.  To add them up and store them in our vaults of gratitude. That is how a good life is built. 

 

I loved this.  It is how I try to spend my days.  Paying attention. Finding something amazing to feel in even the simplest of things. Seeking out the joy in the ordinary.

No, I am not Pollyana, and I do have my moments. Moments of sadness. Or hurt.  But just think, what is joy if you have never felt the sad. Or happiness without having also felt the hurt. There is great value in opposition. You cannot have one without also having the other.   What is a holiday if you have never had to work?

 

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I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields,

that it kisses them so gently?

And then it covers the up snug, you know,

with a white quilt; and perhaps it says,

"Go to sleep darlings, till the summer comes again."

~Lewis Carrol

We have not had any snow yet.  A few bits of sleet, but no snow.  It will come and when it does, I will be filled with wonder.  The first snow of the year always fills my heart with wonder.  It's like magic, and then January happens and February, and it loses a bit of its charm. And March, still yet more charm is lost  . . . 

What if we tried to find joy and wonder in every snow fall? Believing that each flake is a little kiss from heaven?  Is it possible?  Ask me in January.

And with that I will leave you with a thought for the day  . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

 *.˛.°Today: Soak in what's real and

what's real is unhurried. The ground.

The air. The exhale. the planted seed.

The shift. The season.° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

~Victoria Erickson° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

 

In The English Kitchen today . . .  Heuvos con Ajos, Spanish Garlic Eggs.   These were insanely delicious. Simple and delicious. Unbelievably so.

I hope you have a beautiful weekend. May your cup runneth over with all the things and the people and moments that you love.  Don't forget!

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And I do too!