I got the children off to school this morning and the little ones immediately ran upstairs to play upon returning.  I was left in a quiet room with a heart that didn’t feel quiet.

I felt drawn outside for an early morning visit with my flowers.  I’ve neglected them lately as the push and pull of “urgent” things has swept back into our lives.

This zinnia caught my eye.

It wasn’t the largest, or the showiest, or the most white.  It wasn’t even the prettiest.  But it’s shape made me think.

It is open.  Reaching for the sun.  Like a dainty teacup it sits ready to catch any drops of water that might land within its petals.  It’s fully open, the tips of the white petals curling back, reaching, ready, risking.  Its stem is tall and straight, thrusting the flower as high as it can reach.

Do I have courage to live this way?  Are there areas in which I’m holding back?  Am I open, reaching, ready?

It takes faith to open our hearts like this zinnia has opened its petals.  It takes faith to live with open hearts, submitting to all that God thrusts upon us.  Sometimes the sunlight and rain come gently.  Sometimes it scorches or downpours.  But a flower’s full beauty comes when it’s open.  I have a feeling life’s full beauty (and mine as an individual) comes the same way.

This was a precious reminder for me this morning, a tutoring moment.  I have all these mixed up feelings inside.  I need to be still and open my heart to what the Lord has in store for me.  I must trust that it is wonderful.  I must stand tall and straight, open and ready, reaching toward the Light of the World and thirsting for the Living Water.

Like this red dahlia, when we’re open we catch the water.  And our souls may be like watered gardens.

Jennifer

I have no idea how I happened upon this recipe, but I tried it and it’s fabulous.  As in, it might be my new favorite pie.  The slightly tart taste of apricots with the sweet custard and subtle crunch of almonds was amazing.  Meaning, I had more than one piece and was grateful I have a big family to share with so I couldn’t eat more.

Apricot Custard Pie from Tongue in Cheek

1 pie crust
fresh apricots
1 cup sugar
2 large egg yolks
3/4 cup cream
2 Tb. corn starch (mixed with 1 Tb. cold water)
pinch salt
1/4 cup sliced almonds

Peel and halve apricots and arrange them side up in the pie crust.  Mix together sugar, egg yolks, cream, corn starch and salt.  Pour over apricots.  Sprinkle with almonds.  Bake at 325 for 35 minutes  (mine needed a few more minutes than that).

I was so anxious to try this pie that I didn’t even make a crust.  I grabbed a frozen one out of the freezer and had the pie assembled in less than 10 minutes.  It was simple, easy to make, and more delicious than I thought it could be.

If you’re looking for ways to use apricots, this is a worthy one!  I’ve also got several other fruit pie recipes I’m excited to make.  YUM!

Hopeful Homemaker

I am not an apricot lover.  I am not a Pyrex collector.  But I am  in love with how beautiful these apricots are in the one vintage Pyrex piece I own.

We picked these apricots, my children and I, from a tree at the bottom of the hill.  They loved the adventure of  climbing ladders to pluck the orange fruit from branches.  I went from little one to little one, holding them up above my head to reach the apricot they spied.  I helped the older ones move and balance ladders so they could climb much higher.  And I took a deep breath and let my 5 year old son grow up a little bit more as he climbed higher and ventured further than ever before.  I held my breath as I watched him, positioning myself to catch him if he fell but he didn’t.  He was careful but steady, cautious but sure.  It was a precious moment to watch.

It’s really not surprising that the only Pyrex I’d love would be blue and white striped.  I love the soft colors and the bright orange of the apricots together.   As complimentary colors, it’s a combination that never grows old.

While I admire the color, my children happily eat fresh apricots (or “ape-er-cots”, as my three year old daughter calls them) and dream of an apricot tree in our own yard.  I sigh with happiness for these golden moments of childhood, when adventure lies in age-old activities such as harvesting fruit from a tree.  This is summer to me, and I wish it would never end.

Jennifer

In planning our trip to Grandma’s house for Christmas, the thing I was most excited for was sharing this special tradition with my children.  We always sleep under the tree on the 23rd, but doing it under such a large tree is doubly fun.  We went to the church for a night of games, relays, talent shows and dancing to help wear everyone out.

Imagine this group all sleeping on the floor in one room:

The three babies ended up in their cribs in other rooms, but the one missing grandchild in the picture above (my oldest) joined us for the party.

Grandma and Grandpa gave a flashlight to each child and we somehow found room on the floor for all of them (thankfully most are still under age 8).  We dimmed the lights…

slowly settled everyone down…

(I know that picture is totally blurry but somehow it captures the feeling in the room)

and then I had the honor of reading the children to sleep.

I read one of my favorites:  Barbara Robinson’s The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.  We read it from cover to cover as the room slowly quieted and one child after another dropped off to sleep.  My six year old niece, however, lay just a few feet from where I sat.  She stayed awake the entire time, completely engrossed in the story.  She laughed so hard it made me laugh too.

My throat ached and I wondered if I’d have a voice in the morning.  Five girls stayed up way too late and it was a project to get them to hold still long enough to feel tired.  But it was wonderful.  There is something about reading children to sleep that makes you feel like all is right in the world.  Doing it by the light of a Christmas tree makes it even better.

Before we left for home after Christmas I talked to the children about treasures.  We talked about different kinds of treasures and I told them that memories are among the most precious treasures we have.  I think that those hours under the tree, reading a story, are my Christmas treasure.  I have a special bond with my little niece who laughed with me through the story.  I have a special memory of two people whispering “Goodnight, I love you” to each other as tears pricked at my eyes.  And when they had all settled down and gone to sleep, I sat there in the darkness listening to the sound of their breathing.  Eighteen people sleeping in one room together makes a small chorus of breathing that was worth remembering.  I sat in the darkness and listened to all the moms and dads in the other room talking and playing games together.  It was kind of fun to be the one that provided not just the story for the kids but the down time for the parents down the hall.  I sat there in the stillness of it all and looked at the tree, remembering many Christmases long ago as I lay in the same room, the same stillness, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree, listening to my Mom’s voice as she read stories to us, drinking in the wonder of the holiday, wondering about my future and what it held.

All these things rushed through my mind as I sat beneath the tree and a growing feeling of gratitude filled my heart.  Gratitude for my parents, for my brothers and sisters and all their children, for my husband, for my own children.  Gratitude for tradition, for life coming full circle in small ways as another generation comes along.  Gratitude for the anchor that tradition provides in a crazy world.

Thirty-three people sleeping under one roof.  It might have been my favorite night of the year:  December 23rd.

HH

I’ve been thinking about how we pause on Thanksgiving day to take note of the Pilgrims who first settled in what would become the United States of America.   We pause and consider the difficulties of their lives and their dedication to vision.  We pause to give thanks for blessings we regularly number and to acknowledge blessings which we may not recognize but enjoy daily.  We remember that daily bread is a gift, and daily breath is  complete mercy.  We pause to put simple gifts on our lists of things worth treasuring.  We pause to pray for grateful hearts.

And then we get up the next morning and it’s full speed ahead, stressing about money and things, trying to do more and be more.  All of the things that were sufficient for Thanksgiving somehow aren’t sufficient in the face of the looming Christmas holiday.

I know I’m generalizing here, but I think we all feel a little bit of these feelings.  We go from celebrating abundance to living in scarcity; if not a scarcity of resources then a scarcity of time, at least.  What was, a week ago, great wealth on so many levels becomes insufficient solely because the calendar changed.  I want to learn how to carry Thanksgiving forward and let it set the tone for our Christmas observance.

Each November I am drawn to a particular book on my shelf.  It’s William Bradford’s History of the Plymouth Settlement from 1608 to 1650.  If I don’t have time to re-read it every year, I at least skim it and read some of my favorite passages.  I am always struck by how similar their lives were to mine.   Undoubtedly technology and many other things have changed, but this history reminds me that God has set up mortality to test us in similar ways no matter what age we live in.   I recognize in Bradford’s account many of the same things we deal with today:  trying to stretch our resources to meet our needs, dealing with varying levels of commitment to principles on the part of people who belong to the same organization, frustration over money, dealing with creditors, facing personal opposition in the form of illness and loss.  They may seem old and so very different to us, but I believe we have a great deal in common.

One golden thread that weaves itself through this book is Bradford’s conviction that their settlement was preserved by God, that they were recipients of his mercies and blessings just as the children of Israel were in Old Testament times.  They believed that their experience in coming to the new world testified of God’s goodness and providence.  They further believed that the difficulties through which they passed, the times when they were stretched to their extremities and needed a miracle would only serve to make God’s handwriting more plainly visible to future generations.  Bradford wrote,

“God, it seems, would have all men behold and observe such mercies and works of His providence as towards His people, that they in like cases might be encouraged to depend upon God in their trials, and also bless His name when they see His goodness towards others.  Man lives not by bread alone. It is not by good and dainty fare, by peace and rest and heart’s ease, in enjoying the contentment and good tings of this world only, that health is preserved and life prolonged.  God in such examples would have the world see and behold that he can do it without them; and if the world will shut its eyes and take no notice of it, yet He would have his people see and consider it.”   (Of Plymouth Plantation, 320, emphasis added)

I hope you’ll take the time to read that quote a few times and really digest its message.  I’ve been reading it for years and still find new meaning and motivation in it.  In fact, this year I decided that if I can memorize the page number that it’s on, I should probably just memorize the entire quote.  And so I have, and I’ve been repeating to to myself often in the past few weeks.  The words, “He can do it without them” have echoed in my mind in recent weeks.

Honestly, anyone who has the technology to read this post has likely been blessed so richly that we really know nothing of the physical suffering that Bradford and his community suffered.  I feel like I am part of a generation that hasn’t really been stretched by severe trials, wars, or widespread suffering.  That said,  I also believe that God has a way of stretching us individually until the fibers of what was previously comfortable grow thin and begin to show gaping holes.  Many of us are learning to do more with less for the first time in our lives.   But regardless of our challenges, it is true that if we have the sense to look back at history and consider the countless times when people have endured and ultimately triumphed, we find greater strength to continue our own journey.  I worry that the great stories of the past are slipping from our collective memory, leaving us bereft of their power to propel us through current trials and on to greatness.

These are the thoughts that have followed me through Thanksgiving and into the Christmas season.  I have found myself  pondering how our Christmas celebration influences our ability to recognize, as Bradford did, just how much God can accomplish without the earthly tools and lifestyles we depend so much upon.  This holiday, a celebration of the miraculous circumstances of His birth, testifies of the greatness that can come from the lowliest of beginnings.

I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions.  Without intending to, am I communicating to my children that we need “good and dainty fare, peace and rest and heart’s ease, [and enjoyment] of the contentment and good things of this world” in order to have health preserved and life prolonged?  Am I finding ways to teach them that man lives not by bread alone, and that God can fill our lives with abundance without the latest and greatest?  I’m listening closely for the answers, for small ideas that might help me tip the scale in the direction I desire.

I want our celebration of Christmas to be something that my children could re-create in their hearts even without modern possessions or conveniences.  I want them to be able to call up not things but feelings, powerful stories, testimonies, and memories of times when we warmed ourselves by the fire of God’s grace and tender mercies.   I am placing more emphasis on what we’re reading, what we’re talking about, what we’re listening to, and less emphasis on what we’re giving or receiving.

I want my children to know, absolutely know, that God can accomplish anything in our lives regardless of what we have. I want them to be well-equipped with the ability to live a rich and happy inner life no matter what befalls them.

Today I attended the funeral for a man I know who slipped from this life on Thanksgiving Day.  I watched his wife, now a widow, and their three young children.  As we stood at the side of his casket I watched his three year old daughter run to us, squeeze through the line and stand there hanging on the side of the casket.  As she stood on tiptoe trying to peek at her daddy my heart ached for the journey this family will now walk without husband or father to guide and protect them.  I wondered, as they face this tremendous loss, what shapes and forms of abundance will enter their lives, gifts from a loving God to bless and help compensate.  I thought to myself, “I guess that God can do what he needs to do in their lives without a husband or father physically with them.”

As I said, the words “he can do it without them” have echoed in my mind for the past month.  I keep coming back to all that they imply.  I keep thinking that I’ve got to learn how to see daily life in those terms.  I’ve got to see, not the scarcities, but the opportunities to discover what God can do.   He invites us to turn away from the arm of flesh and instead lean on his ample arm because when we say that “he can do it without them” we’re really saying this:  HE CAN DO IT.

This Christmas season my heart has paused in this place, wanting to really “see what God hath done” and from that vision draw greater faith in all that He has yet to do, in all the promises that will yet be kept.  I want a Christmas of Thanksgiving.

Care to join me?

Jennifer

I love vintage Thanksgiving postcards and wanted to share one with you today.    It comes with hope that your holiday will be one that nourishes your spirit as well as your body, one that centers your heart in that which matters most, one that inspires you to live with greater dedication and appreciation.

One of my favorite books is William Bradford’s history of Plymouth Plantation.  I love reading about life for the pilgrims as it reminds me how much like us they were.  I also love reading of their conviction that God was their strength and their support.  May I share one quote from him,

“And thus they found the Lord to be with them in all their ways, for which let His holy name have the praise forever, to all posterity.”

May you, too, find the Lord to be with you in all your ways.  May we all spend more time praising Him for His presence in our lives. May we work diligently to preserve this knowledge as part of our collective memory so we do not leave our children bereft of the great strength that comes with knowing that in every age God has kept his promises, and HE WILL CONTINUE TO DO SO.

Happy Thanksgiving

With all my heart,
Jennifer

It was the pattern that made me stop.  A picture of golden wheat on each plate:

My mind’s eye automatically pictured a few treasured pieces of vintage Madeira linen I had at home.
This wheat pattern I have in a set of four placemats.  The detail on them is intricate and lovely.  I marvel that someone spent countless hours placing each stitch by hand.

But this is the piece the china reminded me of most.  A Marghab piece in the New Wheat pattern.  Breathtaking.

In my ultimate Thanksgiving dreams I would have 30 of these placemats to serve Thanksgiving dinner on.  The pattern is so simple and sophisticated.  I love it.

And so I stood there, pondering the china, reflecting on the timeless symbol of golden wheat and how aptly it communicates appreciation for simple things:  for sustenance, for harvests, for the beauty of the earth.  I turned one over.

22 karat gold!  Usually I’m not interested in gold, but my heart quickly made an exception.  I counted the pieces.  Twenty-eight in all.  Twenty-eight pieces of china for $18.  They came home with me.

Later that night I stood at my kitchen sink and carefully washed each piece.  I noticed how the gold has largely washed off many of the dinner plates, leaving only a hint of the shine that once graced each rim.  I noticed stains on a few, and scratches on the wheat image in some places.  I couldn’t help but wonder about whose Thanksgiving table was graced, obviously many times, with these beautiful pieces.  I wondered at the memories the plates held, the family recipes they’ve seen, the conversations held around that table.

Part of me felt sad for whatever twist of fate sent this lovely stack of dishes to the thrift store.  Did someone pass away?  Did enough of them finally break that they no longer were used?   Why did no one want them?

My sister-in-law serves Thanksgiving dinner on her grandmother’s china.  Each year they are carefully washed by hand and stored lovingly.  I watch this ritual take place in honor of a wonderful woman, and feel a twinge of envy that no such heirloom will ever be mine.  I envy the act of remembrance it represents, not the dishes.  I look at my newly acquired china and wonder why no one wished to do the same with it.

I wish to.

My heart whispers a silent “thank-you” for the twist of fate that brought this treasure to my home, for the chance to use them tomorrow.  There aren’t enough for the large group we’re expecting, but we will use them for dessert.  The thought makes me smile.  It means that tomorrow night I get to stand again at my kitchen sink to carefully wash them as I reflect on the memories of the day.  Tomorrow these plates begin a new journey, gathering memories at my kitchen table to be carefully stored away until next year.

The thought makes me smile.  And would you believe there’s even sunshine outside?
Life is good.

Jennifer

“The only artist who is perfect in all forms of creativity – in technique, in originality, in knowledge of the past and future, in versatility, in having perfect content to express as well as perfect expression of content, in having perfect truth to express as well as perfect expression of truth, in communicating perfectly the wonders of all that exists as well as something about Himself, is of course God – the God who is Personal.”

-Edith Schaeffer
The Hidden Art of Homemaking
(quoted in The Reluctant Entertainer by Sandy Coughlin)

Last night I felt captivated by the wonder of the evening light as it slanted across the earth and kissed the tops of trees with gold.  I am in awe of our Heavenly Father’s use of light and color, how the light saturates already perfect colors and creates in them a brilliance that takes my breath away.

Each morning I watch breathlessly as the first shafts of sunlight cut through the morning clouds, their angles sharp and bold as they glance off mountains and across the valley.

This morning my heart is full of gratitude for an infinitely creative God, full of thanks for the privilege of witnessing even the smallest portion of that creativity.  I am grateful for eyes to see and for the yearning I feel when I watch these beauties unfold.  My own feeble efforts at creative expression are not even elementary in comparison with His greatness, yet His love for us shines through his artistry with such brilliance that I feel compelled to press on.

Each year I keep a gratitude list during this season of Thanksgiving.   A simple (and common) exercise, it never fails to remind me that, far from being a scarce and rarely tasted drink, I’m swimming in abundance.  God’s simple gifts are as plentiful as the air I breathe so thoughtlessly.  My list helps enlarge my heart and remove the scales from my eyes.   This year I have decided to log it on Hopeful Homemaker.  You can find it at the top of my right hand sidebar where I’ll be adding to it daily.  If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll start one too.

What are you grateful for today?
How might expressing that gratitude affect your day?

Hopeful Homemaker

I’ve done all my usual things.  I’ve dreamed up fabulous menus, thought of all kinds of pretty little finishing touches for everything from bathrooms to desserts, written a list of projects to finish that is longer than all the projects I’ve done this year.  There is no shortage of ideas in this head of mine!  As the weekend has drawn nearer, however, many items have been crossed off the list as reality sets in.  Last night the whole family joined in and helped to clean bedrooms and bathrooms.  The essential rises to the top and the nice-to-do settles to the bottom.

As I’ve done this, I’ve been pondering my little cycle of preparing for out of town company.  Why is it that I expect my perfect house, my perfect self to be ready for gatherings?  I know that it won’t really happen, but I impose the standard on myself anyway.  Why do I behave as if my house shouldn’t look like ten people live in it when ten people really do live here?  Why do I worry and stress when I know that it will all turn out fine, just as it’s done every time before this? And what about the cost of stress for my family?

I want to live graciously.  I want to have  a gracious home, a gracious family, a gracious demeanor, a gracious smile.  I want my home to be a warm and happy place where people feel at peace.  I want to give thoughtfully, to entertain cheerfully, to live with a calm and happy heart.  And perhaps most importantly, I want to prepare for all these things graciously as well.

Sandy Coughlin wrote, “Gracious living is the butter on the warm bread of common life.”

Isn’t that beautiful?  Does it make you want to go bake some bread to share with a friend?  It does that to me.  It also reminds me that gracious living isn’t something I should focus on only when guests are expected; it’s something I should offer to my family every day.  People who are gracious make it look easy, but really they’ve worked at cultivating this talent.  It’s a talent I am determined to develop.

Sandy Coughlin is the author of the blog, Reluctant Entertainer, and earlier this year she published a book by the same title. Having read her blog here and there, I purchased the book when it first came out, and for me it’s been a gem.  While many of her tips and tricks were things I already knew, I enjoyed it because she sounded real and down-to-earth.  I also enjoyed it because as I read the book ideas and insights were opened to my mind concerning how hospitality and graciousness relate to me as a mother in my relationships with my children.  Heavenly Father can use anything to teach us what we need to know.  I learned a great deal and wrote pages of notes.

“Hospitality is more about creating the right mood than the perfect piecrust,” she writes.  The key, in her opinion, is to seek excellence instead of perfection.  “Excellence is working toward an attainable goal that benefits everyone.”

It’s so easy to get it backwards, to think that we must create the perfect environment so that the right mood can prevail.  With all of my little ones I’m in a stage of life when the environment is far from perfect.  If I let my success hinge on that one thing alone, I cannot succeed, and there’s nothing that will destroy my mood faster than the feeling that I can’t succeed.  While having a tidy and presentable home is important, it is NOT more important than the feeling in my home.

Excellence, on the other hand, is win-win.  It blesses all of us.  Unlike perfection, excellence can be attained – not in all areas at all times, but in some.  Ultimately the secret to success and to graciousness is in “being relaxed and engaged when you greet your guests at the front door.”  Life is about people, relationships.

All these thoughts have paraded through my mind this week.  There have been moments of stress and moments of peace.  I look around my house this morning and see many loose ends to tie up.  I see fingerprints all over walls that I didn’t get to.  I also see a newly organized pantry and a guest room that is ready and waiting.  There is excellence in a few areas and great need in others.  I see three little ones who need me to be their mother in the midst of  all my daytime busy-ness.  I have simplified many plans and kept my sights set on one or two.

Most of all, I’m excited.  In a few hours someone will notice the car pulling up, and eight sets of feet will run from different parts of the house to greet grandparents who have sacrificed to spend a couple of days with us.  That  moment, the moment of pounding feet and noise converging on the front door is what it’s all about.

I look forward to greeting my parents, my brothers and sisters and others at the door with a smile on my face, ready to engage in the opportunity to make memories and build relationships.  My two year old said to me yesterday, “I don’t like when Grandma and Grandpa go.  I like it when they are here.”  It will be wonderful to see them, precious to see my daughter dressed in white with her Daddy for her baptism.  We’ll bask in the blessing of being together.  And the dirty fingerprints won’t matter.

Hopeful Homemaker

She kept a candle on her kitchen table, called a victory candle, and on days when a family member had accomplished something noteworthy, they lit the victory candle and talked about the achievement.  She wrote about how her children would come home from school sometimes saying, “We need to light the victory candle tonight!”

I’ve tried to do this over the years, but for some reason my husband and children haven’t really latched onto the idea of lighting a victory candle.

I light them anyway, but  they have come to represent a different sort of victory for me.

On the days when we’re running crazy, when I’m not very organized, when the meal isn’t what I wish it was, when the children seem at odds with one another, I light the victory candles.  Yes, I light them on the days when it most feels like we’re losing the battles of life.

I light them to help myself pause and celebrate what we’re doing.  In spite of exhaustion, chaos, or just the lateness of the hour, we are having family dinner. We are gathered at the table to pray, eat and talk together.  And that is a victory.

So on the nights when my failures are the most glaring, I turn down the lights and we eat dinner by candle light.  It brings a mood to the table that fills in the gaps and helps smooth over my inefficiencies.  Instead of sitting at the  table feeling like a failure, this simple act allows me to sit at the table and say to myself, “We are doing it.  We are having  family dinner.  We are being consistent.  This is a victory.”

It’s my simple strategy for fighting off the feelings of discouragement that come knocking at my heart on the  tough days.  And it  helps, it really does, which makes it a victory all over again.

Candles, anyone?

Hopeful Homemaker