Yangshuo, Guangxi, China via Ata Adnan
“We stand, when we are young, on the sunny slope among the pines, and look across an unknown country to the mountains. There are clouds, but they are edged with light. We do not fear as we dip into the valley; we do not fear the clouds. Thank God for the splendid fearlessness of youth. And as for older travelers whom the Lord has led over the hill and the dale, they have not been given the spirit of fear. They think of the way they have come since they stood on that bright hillside, and their word is always this: There are reasons and reasons for hope and for happiness, and never one for fear.” -Amy Carmichael
Tag: hope
Spelling out hope in all kinds of ways
We wake up slowly this morning, the hum of the air conditioner and the dehumidifier a constant reminder of the tropical climate. They are the new silent, the steady noise which blends into the background and becomes a part of these walls and this life.
Outside, the landscapers’ lawn mowers rattle across the sidewalks and through the landscaping mulch, sending a spray of pebbles and bark across the bottom third of the front door. I cringe a little, thinking of the helpless, newly-transplanted moss rose and marigolds in terracotta pots on the front stoop. The new pinwheel, whirring happily to the blast of mower exhaust, doesn’t mind. It just spins and blends the colors into a sphere anyway.
Aveline wants to see it all, and settles in by the second-story window to watch. It’s a Monday-morning routine, at least when the rain stays away long enough for the landscapers to trim and edge and cut and sweep.
Maybe later, we’ll spread out a towel on the narrow strip of sidewalk in front of the door, and sit side-by-side in the sun to “make ABCs” on the concrete, until our fingers and knees are covered in dusty blue and pink and yellow.
She wants to “make ABCs” with her pens and crayons and chalk, this one, not houses or trees or little boys and girls. She flips book pages and pretends to read, and screeches “TWO A’s!” whenever she spots a word which has, indeed, two letter A’s. She can’t pronounce her own name, but she can make a letter “T” from pretzel sticks, and she turns her felt number 2 upside-down to “make Z”.
I don’t know where she gets these crazy ideas. I know how it feels to love letters, though.
I love letters. I love the words you can make from them. I love that 26 characters can be scrambled and pushed into thousands and thousands of different orders to spell out love, or fear, or hope, or happiness.
May she grow up to spell out lots and lots and lots of hope.
MONDAY’S PRETTY THINGS :: Hope is the Thing with Feathers
Feather Table Runner by Michele Varian
“Story Time Print” by Arian on Etsy
Owl Portrait Pillow by Coral and Tusk as sold on Sweet William LTD
“Hope” Print” by Arian on Etsy
Want to know a fun fact? Arian, who illustrated the two prints above, is the same artist behind Josh Garrels’ “White Owl” music video!
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P.S. Even more pretty things.
- Clouds
- Earthy Autumn Blues
- An Antidote for Stormy Weather
- Sleep with the Moon and Stars
- Thai Babywearing
- Stripes Three Ways
- Florals
- Children’s Rooms
- Prints and Posters
- Red and White
- A Soft Pastel Palette
- Organized Spaces
- Coffee
- Here’s to 2012
- Red, White and Christmas
- Scandinavian Christmas
- November Colors
- Bright White
- Two of a Kind
- Autumn Grey
- Wood & Textiles
- Sunshine Yellow
- Bright & Cheery
- On a Tuesday
- Burlap
- Flowers & Textiles
The Thread of Hope
Aveline is finally asleep. The house is quiet for the first time in hours, silent except for the raspy motor on the overhead fan and the clink of the spoon against my cobalt cereal bowl.
My eyelids are heavy. I stare, unsure what to do with this pure, quiet, uninterrupted time. The need for sleep tugs at me, but it no longer captures me with the same intensity it once did. In the past year, I’ve adopted a new definition of what it means to be well-rested.
There is a profound peace in this stillness, tonight. I exhale, the sound of my own voice blending with the fan. I watch the blades spin, lifting and twisting the Florida air. I think of how one year ago, I and a five-week-old Aveline flew through the Florida air to join Josiah, who’d been here for a couple weeks already due to an answered prayer — a full-time job.
I think of the fear and hope of the past two years. I think how hope has been woven into our lives, how hope is the shining thread, the strongest cord, the lifeline of who we are — not because of hope itself, but because of God in who we hope.
I think of the myriad of ways our God poured down manna to us, sometimes as a raven in the wilderness and sometimes as a coin in the mouth of a fish. I think of how He always, always, filled our cups and let them overflow.
And I stand here now in the overflow, here in the land of our sojourn, filled with thankfulness and gratitude and wonder because today — today! — we are finally debt-free. I close my eyes and breath deeply. The glory is God’s.
I lower my spoon, resting the silver-scrolled edge against the bowl. I stand up, and walk toward the bedroom. The night pulled its dusky cover over the earth long ago, and sleep calls.
Before the sun burns off the early morning haze, Aveline will awaken, bright eyed. The sound of silence will be overcome by the sound of life, the sound of love, the clink of the coffee scoop. And the aroma of coffee will swirl and mix with the Florida air, Josiah will kiss me on the forehead, and the thread of hope will shine brighter than ever.
Guest Post: A Lash of Hope
Cancer. Oh, that this word would become no more earth-shattering than hearing “chicken-pox” or “measles”.
A single eyelash has never held so much significance before.
Our foster baby was losing all his hair as a side-effect to the chemotherapy he was receiving but this one remaining eyelash stuck tight.
For weeks and weeks that have turned into months, we’ve done everything possible to ease the suffering of our little guy.
If only I could take his place.
If only I could give him his daily injections without pain.
If only I could reduce the anxiety that comes as soon as he sees a nurse or doctor.
If only Adam and Eve had never turned their backs on God the Father, there in that perfect garden…
One single eyelash that refused to give up.
It has since fallen out, but with only two more cycles of treatment (we hope) there will soon be fresh ones to take it’s place.
Life will be sweeter again. Normal again.
But little things will still symbolize eternal meaning.
Hope; in an eyelash.
Love; in a touch.
Joy; in a smile.
Peace; in a baby’s sleepy breathing.
Faith; in the rising of each day’s sun.
God who rules Heaven sees each eyelash that falls.
And He knows the significance of little things.
And He cares.
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Mary Margaret Gascho describes herself as “an ordinary, unremarkable woman whose broken heart was breathed back into existence by the extraordinary, incredible love of a relentless, passionate God.” She’s raised 5 kids as well as more than 2 dozen foster babies/toddlers, and has graciously allowed me to republish this piece from her archives.
You can find her at Mary Margaret Photography or at her online stock-photography business.
this wild life
i’ve taken to drinking an iced coffee every afternoon. i’m relying on the placebo effect, since it’s all decaf these days. but caffeine or not, there is just something so satisfying about coffee.
last week was a bit on the rough side. the wee one suddenly decided she preferred the newborn schedule of waking up every three hours at night. she also decided there was no need to nap during the day. by the time the weekend rolled around, i was ready to flop myself down on the floor and sleep for days. and glory be, on sunday afternoon i actually fell asleep on the sunlit bed, with josiah next to me surfing the interwebs, and aveline snoozing peacefully in her crib. when i woke up two hours later, i was utterly confused at the foreign feeling of restfulness, but deliriously happy.
it’s amazing what a little sleep can do.
and now, it’s tuesday afternoon and she’s napping. napping, people!! (in this new world of parenthood, a baby napping is an epic joy — something to be celebrated. i’ve celebrated by showering and eating a proper lunch.)
and you know? this new life is beautiful. even the chaos is beautiful, because it’s not a chaos of strife or contention. no, it’s a beautiful chaos. like the lapping waves of the ocean, it’s constant motion; changing always yet the sound is a steady rhythm. the scattered blankets and washcloths and teething toys on the floor of the living room are like the stones and shells scattered across a sandy beach. there is no precision, but it’s all beauty. there is high tide and there is low tide, there is the scorching high noon sun and there is the charcoal darkness of the new moon. but it’s life, it’s all life, pulsating with love and punctuated laughter.
and we are sitting here, joy-filled, holding our precious baby and reveling in the spray of the ocean air. our hair is wild with the wind and the salt, our eyes looking onward, looking forward, our hearts firmly planted in joy and hope and peace.
“there’s a joy in your sweet abandon, like the cowgirl ballerina”
i just adore my little family. we are unbelievably blessed. when i look at her bright eyes, i can’t help think of this beautiful rich mullins song:
“O Eli
There’s a sanctity in your innocence
A certain beauty and no uncertain strength
That brings me to the faith
I don’t know if I
If I am climbing to or falling in
But it comes like grace from your tiny hands
When I hold you in mineAnd I pray that the eyes
Of your heart
Shine bright
With the hope to which you’re called
And may you know with all the saints
The height ~ the depth ~ the width ~ and the length
Of the love of GodO Eli
There’s a joy in your sweet abandon
Like the cowgirl ballerina
Leaves that ride
The wild and holy bucking wind that the sky
Sent through you to blow away these walls I’ve built
Walls of selfishness and walls of guilt
That leave me free to be a childAnd I pray that the eyes
Of your heart
Shine bright
With the hope to which you’re called”
the sun will rise, and with it, our daily bread
it’s been an odd year. i think back to last december, when we nearly had to move out of the house into which we’d only just moved. that was stressful. but we’re still here, wild with the hope.
and so much has happened since then.
praying every single day for a full-time job for my husband. quitting my own job just a couple of weeks before finding out i was expecting. it has been a wild ride. i’d like to say that i’ve learned a lot, but really, it’s more accurate to say, i have so much yet to learn.
like learning to trust. learning to know that God will take care of me tomorrow, just as he’s taken care of me today. learning what it means to pray for “our daily bread.” not our weekly bread, or our bread for the entire upcoming year; but rather, our daily bread.
that takes a lot more faith. wouldn’t it be nice to see it all stacked up, in neat little piles of 30 and 31, all marked out by month? but it’s not like that. it’s manna in the morning, and it melts away with the sun. and yet He promises the sun will rise again tomorrow. arise, shine, for your light has come.(isaiah 60:1) the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings. (malachi 4:2) and with that healing, rising, sun, comes another layer of sweet, sweet manna.
if only i could learn that his mercies are new every morning. if only i could learn that his mercies never fail. if only i could learn that the sun will always rise. if only i could learn that he always hears our prayer for daily bread, and He does not give a scorpion or a snake. if only i could learn this, it might save me some tears during the darkness of night.
The Oaxacaborn Blog 