Heather Holleman's Blog, page 219

Finding a Secret Winter Skating Pond

My friend and I walk in the woods and then along a trail by farmland. As we journey onward, we see something sparkling and nearly hidden by trees and brush. We approach to find an almost frozen pond. We’ve lived in this town nearly a decade and have never seen this pond. How can it be? How did we miss this?

We press our way in through tangled vines, dry branches, and decaying logs till we reach the water. We test out the surface with our sneakers and hear the crush and crackle of breaking ice.

We’ll return when it’s colder. I recall winters on the banks of the Potomac River and finding a winter wonderland of little frozen pools of water by the shore. It felt magical to sit on the frozen river with snow falling that made the tiniest whisper of sound, like bells from a far off country.

Now I know this pond freezes just behind my house. Just knowing it’s there brings me new joy today.

A Big Silence

Today my friend and I walked along the reservoir at Bald Eagle State Park, just a 30 minute drive from our neighborhood. She noted the silence. She asked me to listen to the silence. “Hear! Stop! Listen to it!”

We absorbed the particular silence of a body of water in winter.

I heard nothing.

We stood, listening to silence.

All afternoon, I consider the benefits of silence and how, in those moments with my friend, my mind felt so peaceful. Later, we talked about how noisy our little town had become with traffic and construction. We talked about students who listen to music all day long and hear so much noise.

The refreshment I felt from the silence reminded me of another powerful way to live with flair: I go into nature in silence for refreshment and joy with God.

An Eight Year Reminder

On this night in 2010, we invited a stranger into our house. We almost didn’t, but we did. On this night, in 2011, we learned about thundersnow. On this night in 2012, I was posting final grades and discussing the concept of the best worst grade. On this night in 2013, I learned about my smartest but ugliest tree. On this very night in 2014, I learned what a child most wanted to be when she grew up.  It was a great friend.

2015? I wrote the blog above about ordinary reminders on ordinary days. I wrote this:

As I reminisce about these ordinary days as a family, I’m amazed that our best memories don’t involve material objects, elaborate holiday experiences, or expensive treats. When we were really living and recording what mattered most, it was hospitality, nature, God’s purposes, and friendship.

I needed that reminder tonight.

What about 2016? I hosted an Italian Mamas luncheon and felt so proud of myself for all I’d learned. I thought about becoming a true Italian Mama and teaching younger mothers the way they taught me.

And today? I’m making my children’s favorite rigatoni recipe with Grandma Kitty’s spaghetti sauce. I’ll walk with neighbors and maybe have a few over for tea and cookies. On this day, I’m doing laundry, writing my new book on my new verb, and learning about living in spiritual realities when my emotions and circumstances bring me down. Today, I will act in truth, not in emotions.

I’m not sure what 2018 will bring, but I know this: It will be gloriously ordinary.

 

Parenting Teens: Vigilant Waiting

Today my dear friend–one of the Italian Mamas–calls to remind me of my primary task as a parent of teens.

She calls it “vigilant waiting.”

She instructs me about the fine of art of waiting with careful attention to dangers or difficulties in the life of a teen and remaining fully available when the time comes for conversation, assistance, or comforting measures.

“Now is not the time for more work away from your family. Your work is here now in the form of vigilant waiting.”

We talk about how it feels like wasted time and so unproductive to stay available in the house (near but not too near) for whatever needs arise. You simply cannot predict when and how you’ll be needed by teenagers.

For years, the original Italian Mama told me this truth. She told me I’d be tempted to fill all the time freed up by independent and self-reliant teens with new activity and new career development. But resisting that urge and making the choice to stay vigilantly available represents the wisdom of mothers who have gone before me.

So I hang around the kitchen. I’m preparing dinner. I’m writing a blog. I’m here. 

They move in and out like sea creatures, like anemones sometimes open and sometimes closed. I’m here, as constant as the ocean, embracing whatever needs to happen within this space.

I’m thankful for Italian Mamas who shine a light on the parenting path ahead.

Around the World Menu

Although my older daughters have grown beyond the days of dinner menus designed to entertain and educate, I still see them as those little girls. This week, I announce the Around the World weekly menu.

They don’t seem interested, but by Indian Shrimp Curry night, they love it. They can’t wait for Swedish Meatball night, Italian Rigatoni, and African Stew.

I think they’ll always be little girls to me.

Intended for Good

This morning I read a quote from historian Charles Beard who said this stunning little statement:

The bee fertilizes the flower it robs. 

Perhaps others consider a better meaning, but I think about the bee stealing from the flower who, in that very action, fosters eventual growth and well-being in that gentle flower.

I think of our lives: I consider all those harmful sad things and those experiences or people we feel have been robbed from us. I think of those experiences as a stealing that fertilized the soil of my heart to create the conditions for God to do His most incredible work.

How can one live this triumphantly?

I think of Joseph–robbed of family and freedom and comfort–who proclaims in Genesis 50:20: “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”

How absolutely glorious that a man can say that! How wonderful to live a life where we know God intends our hardships for good–a fertilizing in the stealing–to accomplish His purposes that go far beyond our small lives.

Or, think about the theological truth so often quoted in Romans 8:28  “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

When a stinging agent comes against me to steal anything, I see it as fertilizer. 

Evergreens Holding Up the Snow

I love walking past the evergreen trees in my neighborhood and in the woods behind my house. The branches extend like wide open arms to receive whatever heaven sends down. I walk in the snow, under a darkening sky, and tell God I’ll receive what He sends.

Into the Little Town

I drive on snowy roads from State College for twelve miles until I meander into the little town of Bellefonte to meet my friend for lunch at a darling restaurant called Blonde Bistro. Bellefonte, if you don’t know, will invite you to feel painted into a Christmas calendar or written into Charles Dickens or built into Victorian architecture. With the fresh snow, Bellefonte’s charm fills me with new joy.

In the smallness, I remember how vast the world is and all I have not yet experienced. Just twelve miles away, a snow globe village sits with new friends waiting. Yesterday, I didn’t know what I know now:

She’s there among the Victorian houses, where sleigh bells ring at night–a friend in a tiny, snowy town. And here, in this little place, I think of walking down the little streets with my husband one night when we think our own town feels too small. We’ll drive over here and see what this place might offer.

I drive away back to my own place. I leave the little town, and I’m larger.

God Daily Bears Our Burdens

Today I recall Psalm 68:19: “Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.”

How marvelous! How extraordinary! Our God daily bears our burdens. 

I think about my burdens–large and small–and ask God to carry them once again for me. I don’t have to worry about tomorrow. I think about today and God’s gracious, powerful, loving, and totally comprehensive care for whatever burdens I bear. I bear them no longer. He does.

If We Spoke in Haiku

I occasionally read Haiku and absolutely love it. I love the precision of all poetry, especially Haiku and how it manages and promotes a certain emotional response. It takes this task seriously, and uses not one careless word. It’s an exercise in recognizing a precious, fleeting moment. I read these today:

Over the wintry

forest, winds howl in rage

with no leaves to blow.

by Soseki (1275-1351)

and this one:

The lamp once out

Cool stars enter

The window frame.

– Natsume Soseki

What if we were as careful as this with our language?