Heather Holleman's Blog, page 206

All the Spring Things

Something So Wonderful

For Mother’s Day, my husband sent the Local Artist some photos of my favorite spot, the Vernal Pond, and images of my daughters when they were younger. He commissioned a large painting to hang in my office. This beautiful acrylic painting reminds me of the last decade of living with flair: the woods, the spring buds, the Lady Slipper Orchids–all of the wonders of nature captured.

Having a gift like this, painted by a dear friend, represents one of the best gifts I’ve ever received in my life.

 

The Perfect Mother for Your Children

I remember the day my friend Crystal told me that God chose me to be the mother of my children, so therefore, I am the perfect mother for them.

Knowing God chose me for this mothering task, and how He daily empowers me to be a mom, has strengthened my heart. And it means I can be myself; I don’t have to be like any other mom.

You bless your children just as you are, because of who you are, as Jesus enables you to mother.

When you feel overwhelmed, I pray this truth blesses you.

Happy Mother’s Day!

A Candle for Mother’s Day

I love candles, and so, as you can imagine, that’s what I always ask for on Mother’s Day. The family knows they cannot go wrong with a candle. I’m not even picky, although I do have a favorite candle and scent: the Yankee Candle Citrus and Sage. It’s a wonderful scent for a home.

I love to light a candle in the living room, in the kitchen, or at my writing desk. There’s something so peaceful and orienting about the flickering flame and the fragrance. Candles represent a slowing down, a going inward. They signal a time for reflection and, of course, coziness. When I come home from a long day out, lighting the living room candle means that all is well, I’ve now come home, and the evening of comfort and coziness now begins.

I have learned that we need rituals and objects around us that usher in that cozy feeling of home, and for me, it’s lighting the candle.

 

 

Consider the Violets

I love the day the purple violets spring up all over the forest behind my house or in the stretch of rocky grass beside my garage. I remember collecting bouquets of violets as a child. The sun set in the woods by the creek of my childhood, and violets covered the pathway alongside bright green moss. I loved how small and fragile they were, yet how bright and purple. They held their own and made a statement as powerful as the tall oaks rising all around them.

I remember how the violet doesn’t want to be an oak tree. The violet shines as a violet. Perfectly designed, perfectly positioned, and perfectly cared for by God.

Is the violet jealous of the oak tree? Does it wish to be moss or the creek?

I consider the beauty of the violet, small and perfect in that vibrant life on the forest floor. Here, there’s moss and the sound of a creek rushing by. Here, it’s cool and shaded. Picturing the perfection of violets reminds me to love my life as it is, where it is, and how it is.

 

When Your Plans Depend Upon a Storm

Today I learn something so wonderful! We watch the robins building a nest outside the kitchen window as the sky darkens all around them. With thunder in the distance and big drops already falling, my daughter wonders why the robins build now, on this morning, in this storm. After all, we watched them sit so lazily on that same branch yesterday with just a bit of a nest formed.

It’s like they stopped working until the storm came.

My daughter pulls out her computer to ask why a robin builds a nest in a storm. We find out that robins will wait for rain because they reinforce their nests with mud. They line the nest with mud. They need the rain for the mud.

What seems like less than ideal circumstances actually represents the very conditions that make the best nest.

Perhaps, I think, we need the rain because it’s allowing for the thing we need to fortify whatever we’re building.

I remember this as I move out into any situation that seems imperfect, fearful, and gloomy. The soaking rain of any despondent thing creates something I need. I gather the mud and pack the interior of my life with a strength only storms produce in me. It’s just what James 1:2-4 promises about trials in life that produce a persevering, unshakable faith–as steady as a nest enduring any storm.

And now I can say that when a trial comes, I’m simply building and strengthening my nest.

Sometimes the Blooms Take a Decade

The silky dogwood sapling that Sarah brought home from school in 1st grade found a home in the back of the garden. It grew for a decade. This morning, my husband calls out from the kitchen that this dogwood tree has finally blossomed. Finally! What a lesson in waiting!

Notice Why

Normally, when things begin to go wrong, something prompts the off-course thinking or behavior. It’s often one tiny thing: a comment that hurt your feelings, a false belief you began to think, an image you saw that reminded you of something you wanted to forget, or simply a smell that sent you into the past.

When we go back to the beginning and find that spark that began it all, it’s as if we decoded the mystery or solved some great puzzle. Instead of living in whatever bad mood we find ourselves in–whether anger or jealousy or regret–we can instead seek out the inciting event.

It positions you as a curious, outside observer. And, as my friend Hannah taught me, it’s impossible to be curious and angry at the same time. We step aside for a moment and we enter into curiosity. Why do I feel this way? When did it begin? What am I like when I feel this way? What now?

Curiosity brings peace and a sense of order when we feel out of control.

Fog and Dew in the Backyard Berry Farm

Expecting Good Things

After all this time, I know to wake up and expect good things. It’s the most profound shift in mindset. I’m so thankful for daily blogging to train the mind to look for the wonderful thing, the joyful thing, and the meaningful thing every single day.

Living with joyful expectancy changed me to the core.

It’s never been that difficult, either. I realize now that living with flair was a hunt and a chase. It was knowing the good is always there in plain view if I learn to see differently.

The good is here because the Good One is here.

His goodness might come in the form of a moment of resonance during a Sunday sermon or in meeting a new friend who knows the particular joy that comes only through devastating loss.

When my new friend tells me that not one but two of her children have died before her at young ages, we talk about the intimacy she knows of Jesus Christ that’s reserved for those who suffer like this. It’s a beautiful thing unknown to the rest of us, and she agrees. We held each other’s hands while we said this. We looked into each other’s eyes. There’s a truth too deep for words here.

Or, the good might come through a moment of connection with a daughter while shopping or cooking linguini with clam sauce. It might come while stringing little twinkle lights atop her new built in closet desk.

It might come while watching the rain fall.

It might come as you drive along the road under a canopy of pink and red and white and blue tree blossoms. The parade of nature cheers you on, but it’s not your name they shout. It’s His. And you find yourself worshiping. It takes you all the way home.