Heather Holleman's Blog, page 203

Dinner with the Amish

Last night, I dined with an Amish family in Rebersburg, PA. Since the Amish don’t want to be photographed, I don’t have a photo to share, but I will say that I loved the evening. It was as perfect and refreshing as you are imagining. As the sun set behind the mountains and the evening air fell cool and sweet around us, I felt alive and happy.

The family served fresh bread and strawberry jam, mashed potatoes, meat, noodles, asparagus, fresh fruit, and rhubarb pie. We all sang hymns around the table, and then we went to observe the horses and the chickens on the farm. I watched a man working in the field and children riding on a cart behind their pony. I listened to our host talk about rising at daylight and retiring in the darkness and how he interacted with the birds and animals on the farm.

The grandmother ran a little store out of her home where I bought a jar of her pickled beets and two bags of dried apples. The host said, “You chew on them. So sweet!”

The Amish love simplicity. They do what is simple, but that doesn’t mean easy or without abundance. It means peaceful and right, I suppose. When it was time to pray, the host said that they say a “silent prayer” instead of out loud. When my friend asked if the Amish pray out loud together, he said, “Yes, in the morning and in church, but at dinner with guests, we pray silently. It is more simple.”

We drove home down winding Pennsylvania roads. We turned off the music. We enjoyed simple conversation. It felt peaceful and right. It was a new kind of abundance.

 

System Override

I listen to a wise woman tell me that “God can override any system” as the designer and author of all things. He isn’t limited by physical realities.

I remember these words when I approach the high school this morning on this last day of school. To manage traffic, officers stand in place to direct cars despite the traffic signs and lights directing us otherwise. We don’t observe these standard means of controlling traffic when the officer comes. We don’t obey those laws when a higher law comes on the scene.

This Higher Law overrides whatever system surrounds us.

Always Learning, Always Marveling

Everything stops: the chores fade; the stress of the afternoon dissolves; my mind zeros-in. What’s this? Who is she? How did she arrive here?

I learn she’s a Spotted Tussock Moth, also named the Yellow-Spotted Tiger Moth. Now I know she exists in the world, and it’s a marvelous day.

Growing from Seed

Now that our journey with the robins has ended, we still have joyful growth to observe with our plants we started from seed. It’s a simple, joyful thing.

And It Happens!

The Baby Robins have left the nest! What a journey it’s been. 

They Jump and Then Learn

I continue to learn so much from my baby robins. I thought they would fledge on Wednesday, but I think I miscalculated. They still stay tucked in the nest, warm and well-fed. I glance at the nest every hour to see if the robins have hopped to the ground.

Yes, they jump out; they do not fly. They cannot fly. They jump and then learn to fly.

Something about that crucial jump encourages me so much as I think about risk-taking, new adventures, and new opportunities. If we wait till we can fly–feeling confident, secure, well-trained, and ready–we’ll never actually make it. We’d never leave the nest because the flying depends upon the jumping and the floundering about to build the muscles for flight.

What’s strange about this morning is the number of birds all around the Winterberry Bush. It’s as if the Northern Cardinal checks in, lending support, while the golden finches fly about, observing. I know it’s not true, but in an animated world, I do imagine nature urging the robins on in a great cloud of witnesses to support what every bird must do at some point. Even as I write this, the hummingbirds dart in and out as if to say, “You can do it! I did it, and look how small I am! You will make it!”

You will make it.

 

My Two Favorite Pieces of Parenting Advice

Now that I’m older, I often find myself in conversations with young mothers who ask for parenting advice. I go back into past and remember two key comments that changed everything about my parenting.

First, wise older parents said, “Don’t teach your children to obey. Teach your children to love to obey.” We talked about robotic obedience as an unworthy goal; teaching the love and pleasure of obedience made the culture of our home different.

Second, a wise mother of much older children said, “Say yes as much as possible. Then, your no really matters.” I was a “no” kind of mother. Everything was no! on instinct, on automatic reaction. That day, I answered yes! as much as I could, and it changed parenting into a joy, a celebration, a challenge towards yes and not always no. It was true: the no truly matter and wasn’t questioned nearly as much.

The love of obedience. The saying yes as much as I can. I love these pieces of parenting advice.

Overshadowed

I love that God overshadows. He envelops. He takes over a soul, an environment, a circumstance.

He’s the overshadowing presence over Mary; He’s the voice from the overshadowing cloud speaking over Jesus; He’s the overshadowing glory on the mountaintop; He’s the One who enabled Peter to overshadow others and heal them.

He overshadows. In His presence, we don’t worry about personalities, failures, plans, or limitations. Nothing matters but the Overshadowing Presence Who accomplishes what He desires. This overshadowing God creates, declares, reveals, heals, and brings authoritative order.

Overshadow me, Lord. Overshadow my family and all that concerns us. Overshadow my community. Overshadow us. 

Stillness and Listening

This morning, I learned from an Italian Mama about stillness and listening, especially in those sacred hours of late evening and early morning. We don’t stop and listen to God. We don’t stay still long enough.

Last night, I saw a hummingbird eat at the feeder and then fly upwards to perch on a branch of the Winterberry Bush. She stopped. Her wings stopped. Her movement stopped.

I had always wondered about this possibility of stillness. I never imagined hummingbirds ever stopping.

But here she is. Still. It seems like she’s listening to something. 

I wonder if she sat to cool off in the shade of the leaves. I wonder if, for once, she felt the raindrops beneath her tiny body on the shiny black limb. I watched her for a full minute. Her marvelous emerald feathers radiated even in the dusk.

Was she reorienting? Was she catching her breath to make a decision?

It was the most peaceful thing in the world for that minute.

Then she flew away.

 

At Some Point, You’re Ready

Today I notice the way the baby robins claw and clamor over one another.

It’s nearly time. The nest is too small for their spirit, for their soaring, for their size.

Maybe you can relate. 

At some point, it’s time. Where you are isn’t quite enough. Maybe the people around you stifle you. Maybe you always feel like you’re clawing for space. You look out from where you are, wide-eyed and ready.

Tomorrow, you’ll do it. You’ll break away from something that makes your life too small–a habit, a lifestyle, a way of thinking–and you’ll tumble into the bright sunlight.