Sarah Dixon Young's Blog: Love Much, page 6

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness: A Book Review and a Memory

When I first read Andrew Peterson’s title, “On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness,” I remembered being there myself.

My father was a fisherman, and it was nighttime on the Atlantic in January. The slap of gentle waves against the ship made me sleepy as we sat silently side by side, staring out into the blackness, unable to see where the water met the sky.

It made me think of those ancient words, “And the earth was without form and void, and the Spirit of God hovered over the face of ...

Room for Rent?

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“Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in Him and He in God.” 

Memorizing this verse for AWANA gave my seven year old and I alot to talk about.

He wondered: “Where exactly is God living in me? Right here?” (Pointing at his chest). “Well, is Jesus the Son of God or is He the Son of Man?” (Having just memorized a verse that said so.) “If God lives in you, and you smoke, will He turn black like your lungs?” (Perplexity as I laughed.) 

Where is God’s dwe...

Autumnal Hope

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“The seasons are a sort of disease all young poets have, it seems,” the teacher says to Emily in L.M. Montgomery’s “Emily of New Moon.”

This makes two weeks in a row that I am referencing nature, but it is hard not to during such a beautiful Fall.

Why did the Lord make the dying leaves beautiful?

If death is the last enemy to be destroyed, why is this particular death beautiful?

The golds, the crimsons, the burnt oranges shine in stark contrast with other autumnal dea...

On the Hunt for Adventure

My eleven year old burst into tears while sitting on the couch.

As I rushed over to investigate, I noticed a worn copy of Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood in her hand. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“All the adventures happen in books and never to meeeeee…” she cried. Her tears and distress were real, so I stifled the smile that threatened.

It brought back a dusty memory of myself, twelve years old, praying fervently every night that God would send adventure, and it ...

Wonder of Worship

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Murmuration of Blackbirds

Wonder attracts our attention to detail.

My youngest son and I made leaf tracings this week with red, yellow, and golden leaves. His wonder at the beauty of color made him concentrate on the shape of the leaves, their edges, their veins. 

Because he studied the details, he then could identify and name the trees the leaves came from.

Later that night, I stood studying the details of the northern lights. I took note of the big dipper, cassieo...

Solution for Disaster

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When there are dirty dishes on the counter, it’s surprising how quickly my children remember what everyone else ate.

Accusations fly faster than mashed potatoes from a spoon.

Eventually, the guilty party stops throwing accusations and begins flinging excuses.

It’s rare for someone to confess immediately, and even rarer for someone to voluntarily wash someone else’s dishes. 

No one wants to confess sin, much less repent of it. Hardly anyone likes to think of sin at all...

Dear Josephine

Find this article in its entirety right HERE at Story Warren. I am honored to be an ally in imagination.

In Beatrix Potter’s imagination, Josephine Bunny was the hard-working single mother of Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-Tail, and Peter and was licensed to sell tea and tobacco.

With a business to run and four little ones to raise, Josephine had her hands full. She was exasperated when little Peter did not go obediently down the lane, like the others, to pick blackberries. She had taken the time...

Washed Away

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My grandmother led us stalwartly up the mountain road.

She had on her walking hat and made sure that we each had our walking sticks, either intricately carved or lobbed off a nearby tree.

Each walk had a different story: 

There’s a secret message tree just ahead with a knothole where explorers put secret messages.

The bear came just this way to his cave last week after raiding the garbage cans.

Indians walk without leaving footprints. Can you walk lightly so you do...

The Well-Worn Path

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As my husband and I walked recently, I looked down in the grass and wondered what could have made the two-track trail there.

It didn’t seem wide enough to have been the wheels of our golf cart, and just as I started suspecting someone of trespassing on a four-wheeler, it occurred to me how often we walk through the woods near our house.

We walk a lot of laps as we talk through our days and decisions, news and notions, arguments and agreements. Sheer repetition has made an i...

White for Harvest

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My son has been watching everyday for the harvester to come gather in the wheat that has been growing next to our house. He got to ride on the seeder when they planted the field, and he has been watching it grow all summer.

Today, the field was white as the sun shone on it. He heard the hum of the harvester as it crested the hill, and he ran to my room shouting, “It’s here! It’s time!”

We went out together, hand in hand, to watch the machine cut the stalks and funnel the gr...