Happy Go Stuckey

Tethering Grace & Togetherness

What I Learned & Loved in the Summer

by 4 Comments

“A life without love is like a year without summer.”  — Swedish Proverb

Every season I look forward to the quarterly practice of paying attention with Emily, who encourages us to notice and share what we learned. This rhythm of truly seeing the things I learn and learning from the things I see– it helps me to notice the gifts all around and to learn from my life. In the four (!) years I’ve been taking part, sharing what we learned has become a favorite thing.

What I Learned this Summer: 

  • David Letterman introduced himself to an audience and I’m still thinking about it. One night after we tucked the kids in, we watched a show called, My Next Guest Needs No Introduction. David Letterman is the actual host of the show, but still he takes the stage, waves at the crowd and says– “Hi, I’m Dave.” Now maybe this isn’t all that uncommon, but it felt significant to me to hear someone like that introduce himself to a crowd, someone who has a universally recognized face (with or without the Saint Nick beard.) It made an impression on me and I still can’t put my finger on why. But I LOVE it when famous people introduce themselves as though they are not famous. It’s as though they recognize how normal they are– and we’re the ones who don’t see them as regular people. Perhaps they remember how small they truly are, and we simply, forget that.

 

  • I found a new favorite podcast! Hashtag Authentic with Sara Tasker is a practical and lovely podcast for creatives. It’s packed with helpful info, and if you’re an anglophile like me– you’ll just enjoy listening to Sara and her guests.

 

  • I finally found the dress. You know the one, that little dress that you can just throw on for a billion different occasions? I’ve been searching for a dress that would be a good capsule summer piece that I could wear with boots and a jacket in Autumn. But after three failed attempts, I found my dress soul mate– not in the arms of Stitchfix but with Elegantees. Elegantees offers great staple pieces, all ethically made in Nepal by women who are paid a fair, livable wage.

 

  • I learned exactly what it means to be hands-free in Georgia. We have a new law, and there’s been a bit of controversy over it. Because of this I cannot leave the house without earbuds and it’s kind of been a good transition for me.

 

  • I should not assume it isn’t helpful to someone else, just because it comes easy to me. I shared my own personal non-fancy method for meal planning this summer and can I tell you something? The entire time I was writing the post, I was trying to talk myself out of posting it. In my own head I felt as though my tips were so simple, so easy to put into practice– that you probably didn’t need them anyway. Once I hit publish, I actually heard from several people right away that needed the reminder I was offering, that needed the simplistic method I used. Of course they did. Because we all have different strengths and gifts and ideas. I need fresh inspiration from people who see things differently than I do; I’m sure you do too. We truly are better together. Like one of those last minute bring whatever you have and lay it out on the kitchen table, dinners.

 

What I Read this Summer: 

The Secret Keeper. Kate Morton (5 stars. Because, lengthy Kate Morton books are my cup of chai.)

A Wrinkle in Time. Madeleine L’engle (Brace yourself. I had never read this before. I know. I’ll include the address of my middle school below so you can send them a letter. Because believe me, I wanted to.)

A Wind in the Door. Madeleine L’engle (I appreciate her non-fiction so much more now that I’ve read her fiction.)

Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand. Helen Simonson (3 stars. I liked this quirky, unexpected book.)

The Lake House. Kate Morton (5 stars. Yep.)

Love & Gelato. Jenna Welch (4 stars. Such a sweet summer book.)

…and about a billion other books in process.

My Favorite Moments this Summer: 

Standing at the beach with a long time best friend watching our passel of kids squeal and run in and out of the waves.

Surviving my first Whole30 and kinda loving it.

Collaborating with not one, but two members of my family. I was able to design a logo for my mom’s business, which was just fun and whimsical. Then my brother and I published a book together. We’ve been working on it for almost three years and we’re both completely pleased with how it turned out.

Our little family tubing slowly down the Toccoa River with my in-laws on our eleventh wedding anniversary. Blue Ridge has become one of our favorite special places to visit together.

Pool dates. Library Runs. Long mornings.

Summer wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t always what we might have wanted it to be– but as I look back over the last few months– there is nothing but a slow, smiling gratefulness that rises to the surface.

On Gratitude & Bruschetta

by Leave a Comment

 

I was the one who forgot the mozzarella.

At a family barbecue in the swelter of early July I stared down at ingredients for bruschetta. Crusty baguette, heirloom tomatoes, and sprigs of basil lay before us like the wells of an artist’s pallet. But no cheese.

Enter Courtney.
My kindred spirit friend has always had a particular gift. She can take what looks like less to everyone else and magic it into more. For our entire friendship, I’ve seen that she’s not just resourceful. Her talents are more akin to perspective with a dash of whimsy.

In college she used to make us both bowls of oatmeal with brown sugar. We sat cross-legged on her couch and I watched the pat of butter melt pools of yellow into swirls of cinnamon. The first warm bite always tasted like home. Indirectly, she taught me to hold whatever I had in a view that made it become enough. More than enough though, it always became… plenty.

On this particular day, we had eighteen collective members of family waiting for an appetizer. Neither of us wanted to put on shoes and run to Winn Dixie. But after a quick deep dive into my mom’s fridge, Courtney turned around with a block of cream cheese and a smile. A brief wait produced a platter full of summer. In twelve minutes, that platter held only crumbs and a stray ribbon of basil. Everyone raved and my Dad asked for “Courtney’s Bruschetta” at every family gathering for the next few years. That summer was years ago, and I don’t even order bruschetta at restaurants anymore. The usual recipe is null and void. All I want is this bruschetta. For life.

What I remember in crystal clarity isn’t the way everyone loved it, but the way not one single person asked where the mozzarella was. They all accepted this novel southern twist and took it as a gift.
Glad for what was there, no one missed what wasn’t.

The more I know about my search for contentment, I realize how mystifying it can be. Contentment isn’t something we can produce like a forgotten block of cheese. True contentment is harder won. It is a nook where we choose to live, a more spacious place of gratitude and eyes that choose to see.

Still— seeing what we have as plenty is never easy, is it? What we hold in our hands can seem fearfully small. The beginning of a week, a month, or a year is all hopeful vision and optimism, until actual life cuts in on our dance of making things happen. Often we just have less. Less time, less energy, less resources, less of all that we feel we need in order to do the next thing, and to do it well. Having what we think we need and knowing what we have— has never been the same thing.

We cannot always choose to arrive instantly at contentment, but we can choose gratitude. In my own heart, it is the daily steps of gratefulness that move me in the direction of contentment. If contentment is the destination, then perhaps daily gratitude becomes the set of map points along the way.

We can do so much for one another as we struggle toward contentment. I know that when I am surrounded by people who help me to see what God has done, I am far more likely to start seeing it myself. We need each other. And I want to be that friend— the friend that illustrates the plentiful way of gratitude; the perspective shift that shows not what I have— but Who my God is.

It is also true that when I am not comparing my lack to someone else’s plenty— I am more at peace with my own path.
And my own path is exactly where I truly want to be.
Not just because I know that God is sovereign like I know that summer tomatoes are sweetest. But because I can trust that what He gives me to hold is more than enough, it is plenty.

Even when what He gives, hurts.
Even when I wish He would heal and He doesn’t (yet.)
When I would love to see Him act on behalf of someone and He hasn’t (yet.)

Because even when the world is aching, falling apart at the seams, groaning with the weight of all the waiting for Him to make all things new– He gives us the reminder that He has, He will, and it will be better than we ever thought.

Even then.
We get to choose to count our gifts, one by one until the pages turn and the pen scratches bleed through and we have page after page of all that He has done and is doing.

Let us be the ones who choose gift counting over kid shaming, husband ranting, and self-deprecating humor. Let us be the ones who choose to see even in the dark. Not from a fake place of plastered smiles—

—but from hearts who choose to count the plenty in the midst of the lack.

 

And now for a recipe– this is so simple to pull together. Maybe call a few friends and soak up one of these last few summer nights together?


Print
Courtney's Bruschetta
Author: 
Recipe type: Appetizer
Prep time: 
Cook time: 
Total time: 
 
Simple classic bruschetta with a southern twist. The tomato portion can be made ahead of time but assemble just before serving.
Ingredients
  • 8 oz. cream cheese, softened
  • 2 cloves of minced garlic, separated
  • 1 fresh baguette, sliced thinly and painted lightly with olive oil
  • fresh tomatoes, diced and well drained
  • 2 tbsp. diced red onion
  • Salt & Pepper
  • fresh basil, cut into a thin chiffonade or sliced
  • 2-3 Tbsp. of balsamic glaze
Method
  1. Add one clove of garlic to the cream cheese. Add a dash of salt and cracked pepper.
  2. In a small bowl, mix the drained tomatoes, the other clove of garlic and basil together.
  3. Add salt and pepper as needed.
  4. Toast the baguette slices at 400'F for 5-8 minutes until lightly toasted
  5. Spread slices with a thin layer of cream cheese.
  6. Top with tomato mixture.
  7. Drizzle with balsamic glaze and serve immediately.

 

Simple Meal Planning (without losing your mind.)

by 2 Comments

I have this pink notebook chocked full of page protectors stuffed with printed recipes. There’s the cake I made for my 26th birthday ( lime chiffon layers with whipped cream and fresh blueberries,) Mary’s lemon pie (Lance’s Grandmother,) and about a hundred others– not to mention the page with Rachael Ray’s Sloppy Joe’s which we made once a week in our first year of marriage. Though I don’t often cook from my little Pinterest board before Pinterest, it’s fun to look through. It murmurs of our early years of cooking and baking together in a tiny seminary apartment that boasted plenty of sunlight, but no dishwasher.

I’ve always had a love of cooking; still even something you enjoy can become work. There are days I grow weary of this daily task. And for those days, there is always grace… & breakfast for dinner. Amen.

Lately I’ve received a couple of questions on meal planning, so I thought I would share my method. My own way of meal planning is not incredibly intricate, it’s just a matter of doing it.

I’ve tried multiple meal delivery systems and PrepDish, but have found that the main way we eat better and within our budget is simply to plan ahead. The more full our life becomes, the more necessary a good meal planning system is. On the weeks that I am intentional in planning ahead, we eat and feel better and spend less.

So here’s my simple (not fancy) method of meal planning. 

  1. Check our Schedule. I grab my planner and check our daytime activities, but especially the evenings. This is an obvious beginning, but in the past I’ve planned a full week of dinners and then realized we need to eat on the go three different nights.
  2. Check our Inventory. We probably keep more food on hand in our deep freezer than we need to, and it can get overwhelming. My first goal in meal planning, is always cooking from what we already have. This one simple thing, paying attention, cuts down on waste and takes some of the guess work out.
  3. Find Inspiration. Because we try to eat most of our meals at home, I can get in a cooking rut– fast. As much as I love Pinterest, I’m choosing my cookbooks first these days, though I usually have to limit myself to one at a time per week. My current favorite thing? Checking cookbooks out at the library. So many fun options.
  4. Buy It and then Stick to it. (as much as possible.) Once I make a list of what we need and it’s in the kitchen, I try not to deviate from the plan. I write our meals on this— and though it certainly isn’t necessary, it’s pretty and helps me remember what I planned.
  5. Take Time for Prep. Any prep work I can do ahead of time is HUGE. Many people spend time on Sunday doing this, but honestly I don’t. A slice of Sunday is always for planning for the week, meals included– so prep work comes later, more organically. One single thing that helps me greatly, is just having the produce prepped. I will eat 100% more vegetables, 100% of the time if they are prepped.

Bonus Sanity-Saving Tip. You will notice I do not start with Pinterest, or even cookbooks. Inspiration isn’t until #3 on my little list up there. Otherwise I tend to plan six different meals that look amazing and require all brand new ingredients, instead of the four pounds of ground turkey in the freezer which I bought last week when it was on sale. (#eyeroll.)

As with anything else, it’s not so much that there’s one genius way– but that you find what works for you. Want to share what works for you? Whatever method or tricks you use, I’d love to hear them!

Writing a Summer Story (with free printable.)

by 1 Comment

If you’re anything like me, you fall headlong into summer with all the love and plans and sunscreen your tote can carry. Every new season brings high hopes, but my summer hopes are usually astronomical.

If you’re also like me, you may get to August and have a mental list of all the things you didn’t accomplish in your home, your work, your art, in anything. For many of us, that can sour a summer before we transition to fall.

I believe in having a summer list of things that mean the most. I also believe in having a list of things I won’t do this summer. Last year I scrawled out a few markers for the slice of time between May and August.

This year, I revisited my list. It helps me to have a heart guide for what can be the most carefree time of year. Do you make lists like this? I hope this will be a kind reminder for you as it already has been for me. Not a list of rules, but of the kind of boundaries that give us more spontaneity and freedom.

Writing a Summer Story

I will open my hands to the swelter of June and July and collect its’ slower gifts.

I will breathe in summer, not hold it up against seasons of greater productivity.

I will create when I can; be happily content with the art made in the quiet cracks between summer adventures. 

I will smile at these days of fluidity and fun, instead of scoff at their limited productivity. 

I will invite my children into the creative fun and remember that messy makes good memories. 

I will not stop trying to balance both the good rest & the good work.

I will see beauty in a period of less and embrace the knowledge that if rest is offered me, rest is where I am most needed.

I will eat popsicles with my children, and know again the drippy, sticky, happiness of being nine years old.

I will focus on the faces in front of me. I will notice new constellations of freckles on her nose. I will see the way his eyes reflect the pool blue of the deep end. 

I will remember that cultivating an atmosphere of simple fun and unabashed joy— means as much as creating a magical masterpiece of a summer. 

I will choose wave skipping and a seashell search over chasing someone else’s goal.

I will stay in my own lane and swim happily in it.

I will take this summer, however it looks, with my whole heart and I will not make it smaller by comparison.  

We will remember that this summer, our summer, is a gift wrapped in beach towels and tied with a jump rope bow— and we will love every minute of it. 

****

And because many of you, like myself– enjoy a reminder made pretty, here is a printable version of just a few of these lines.

To get your own copy, click here and download the PDF version.

Happy Summering, friends.

What I Learned & Loved in the Spring

by Leave a Comment

“Today has been a day dropped out of June into April.” –L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars

Every single season has colorful differences that cause me to stop where I am, and soak it in. For each stage of life, there are varied reasons to love one season over another.

But grateful for the change of pace and of purpose, I’m happy to be staring at another June.

Many of our deadlines and much of our travel both together and separately, happens in the first few months of the year–front loading it with busy. When summer finally arrives, we all sigh the sigh of those who have needed a breather for quite some time.

Does your summer feel that way? It’s still full, but different. Before we jump into the deep end of summer, let’s remember what we learned in the Spring. Thanks to Emily Freeman for the practice and exercise in remembering.

One Thing That is Rescuing My Productivity Online. 

A once- annoying computer glitch has actually been a bit of a gift. At some point in early Spring, my laptop stopped receiving my text messages. A break in connectivity or something, but eventually I realized how much I was actually getting done without that little notification. Amazing how this one small thing, which wasn’t intentional– is keeping me focused.

Taking notes is easier than we think. I use Evernote, the notes app on my phone, and a bullet journal. It may seem excessive but each system has a purpose. However, one of my favorite spring game-changers was to really start utilizing the ‘save post’ feature on Instagram. For a long time I took screen shots of everything I wanted to remember, but that only goes so far when I want to go back and find further details. To take it one step further, I recently started building ‘collections’ within my saved posts on Instagram, like this.

Of course, the goal of all this note-taking is to streamline and also to continue to be a life-long learner. If I take notes along the way, it’s 100 times easier to quickly grab a book list when I happen to run in the used book store or remember that quick salad dressing recipe I wanted to try. This simple thing I learned in the spring has been so helpful. 

 

Spring Highlights.

Unexpectedly, we visited the Masters this year! It was green and breezy and absolutely everything I hoped it would be. The Pimento cheese sandwiches and Arnold Palmers are exactly what Augusta should taste like in the spring. If you’ve never been I hope you get the chance one day– it was certainly a treat for us.

Sidenote: I wish more places would require we leave our cell phones in the car. But then, I guess we could be adults and just make that decision on our own, right?

Our children discovered The Muppets. No, really. We’ve been over here watching all the Muppet movies and singing their songs. It’s been fun for them and possibly even more fun for us because, Life’s a Happy Song. 

We took a long awaited family vacation, just the four of us. We had an amazing time with non-stop togetherness and play for a week.

My Favorite Podcast Episodes of the Spring. 

#60 of The Lazy Genius Podcast The Lazy Genius Cleaning Routine (Kendra Adachi is the ninja of so many smart solutions from salad making to TV watching.)

I enjoy her podcast and make sure to listen to the particular episodes that speak to my season, this — the cleaning one was super helpful. One of my favorite parts of this particular episode is that it isn’t just about systems and tools, but reframing your mindset about cleaning.)

#62-65 also of The Lazy Genius: Summer Strategy. Kendra covers the summer mindset, routine, time, and food. It’s packed with fun and helpful tips, no matter what your summer looks like.

 

What I Read.
This was definitely a season of starting many books and only finishing a few. But again, hooray for summer! 

The Women in the Castle. Jessica Shattuck (Overall a story of resilience, but still sad.)

The Warden and The Wolf King This final book in The Wingfeather Saga by Andrew Peterson was satisfying and full of resolution for the first books in the series. I wholeheartedly enjoyed it.

The Secret Keeper. Kate Morton is one of my favorite authors for one main reason; she writes luxuriously, never in a hurry to tell the story. This particular book was 588 pages long and honestly, it took me about 150 pages to really be invested in the characters. But I am so glad I read it in its entirety. The Lake House was always my favorite of Morton’s but I’m just not sure now. Did you know she has a new novel coming out in October?

Re-Reads: The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. The Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder, (we listened to this one read by Cherry Jones and it was such a delight.) Lucy and I are almost finished reading The Green Ember and it’s been enjoyable too.

 

Lately in the Blue House Kitchen.

One Pan Sweet Potato Toast

The Best Brussels Sprouts, ever.

Coconut Cashew Bars. Kind of like a homemade Larabar, but I add Cinnamon.

 

Onward to Summer.

(Of course, you know I’m always happy to hear from you. If you would like, share what you learned this spring either in the comments, or by email.)

What I’m Loving Lately

by 1 Comment

It’s Masters Week here in Augusta. Everything is green, busy, and beautified. Spring is finally on our doorstep (literally– our BlueHouse front porch is covered in a light dusting of pollen.)

I know many of you live in places where the cold is still hanging on with frosty fingertips, so I wanted to bring you a dose of my current spring favorites.


Books I’m Excited About: 

A Place to Land by Kate Motaung. Kate and I share a similar love of South Africa (except she’s been fortunate to live there, and I’ve only visited,) so when I saw that her globe-stretching memoir was being released, I instantly made a spot on my bookshelf at home. This book already seems like a soul-warming hope-filled treat.

A Million Little Ways by Emily P. Freeman (audio edition) I read this book several years ago and am now listening to it on audible. All over again, it’s pouring fresh hope over my quietly creative heart. If you’re in a stage where you feel your art is happening less and less, may I suggest you start here? It will remind you why it’s worth the fight. (PS, this book is NOT just for those who proudly wear the artist stamp. It’s for creatives of all colorful kinds.) If you’ve read this, her podcast “The Next Right Thing” is possibly your next right step.

Magnolia Journal: Spring Edition Ok so it’s more of a Journal than a book, but I’ve been holding this aside as my carrot for finishing all of our Masters Week Prep. And now we’re done and I can finally open it!

Recipes on Repeat: 

Green Jacket Salad. I know, I keep on with the salad. But it’s THAT good– especially when Augusta is all in a happy tizzy about the Masters. Try it. You’ll love it.

Iced Coffee. Because it’s finally Spring! Big glass, lots of ice– yum.

Loving Lately. 

This Gorgeous Watercolor State Art from my friend Kimberly. The BlueHouse definitely needs one of these.

The brand new, Turquoise Table Podcast with Kristin Schell. Lovely, inviting, and so fun! She always encourages me to Gather and Love right where I am.

Having a clean house. Seriously. All at once, once a year, our house has to be clean for our renters. I mean. I don’t know about you, but we rarely have every room, space, and closet clean at once. This week is that time. So while they enjoy the BlueHouse for a few days, we are heading off on a much needed vacation… to visit our old pal, Mickey Mouse!

I would love for you to follow along on Instagram this week as we share our florida fun. It’s been two years since we last visited the Mouse, and the excitement in our family is higher than Rapunzel’s Tower.

 

Happy Weekending, Friends. Whether you plan to be inside with books and all the cozy– or outside remembering what the sunshine feels like on your upturned face, I pray hope and joy for you in every ordinary moment.

 

Motherhood, Missions, & the Problem with Arm’s Length

by 8 Comments

“Welcome Home, Ma’am.”
The stone faced customs agent slides my passport back across the desk and politely nods me back into the country. It only takes one long hug on the other side of baggage claim to know that I am indeed, home. This is my place.

Almost two weeks later I’ve remembered how to cook my own meals. Without the water restrictions we faced in South Africa, I’m back to taking regularly timed showers and immersing my entire head at once. But each time someone asks me if I’m back to normal— I hesitate. Reentry is such a strange thing; getting back to normal is an odd combination of moving on but not forgetting. I still find myself holding all the things I held there– balancing the beauty, holding the hardness, and allowing certain things to slip through my fingers with the quiet reminder that I am not in charge.

The day we left for Africa, I kissed two tiny shampoo scented heads and his freshly shaven face and said goodbye. A suitcase that was barely under weight added to all that I carried inside. Anticipation. Joy. Remembrance. And a fear of not being able to hold it all well.

Because, to be honest? Last February I lost it. I lasted three whole days before I fell crazy sobbing wet-faced apart. A complete and total embarrassing mess of body-shaking sobs. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t look at those babies who had walked through things I’d never known myself and stand there as anything but— a Mother.
I cannot divorce my identity as a mother from the girl that travels there in my shoes. I kiss my people and go, holding what I think is only courage and resolution. But somewhere in my carryon is my motherhood and it gets in the way of my bravery.

It’s true, the stories we take within us can make it difficult to hold the stories we learn along the way. The children are the hardest for me. Mine, theirs, and the ones in between. The babies who only belong to their Creator– the forgotten ones He will never forget. I simply can’t hold it all well with grit alone. I have to be broken. I have to feel for them as my life as a mother causes me to — completely.
I cannot see them and not see my own little lookalikes. I cannot watch them walk alone together, and not wonder who is tucking them in at night. Do they have a safe place to sleep? Does anyone tie their shoes? Button their coat? Does anyone?
I’m
The
Very
Worst
At
Arms
Length.
Often I learn a piece of the story and then want to know every single detail ends in a pretty, eventually happy package.
And it’s hard not to see a hard story turn into a pretty package before my unhardened eyes.

This year I steeled myself for the wave of helplessness. For the staggering paradox of turquoise water and dry hot sand being too clear a picture of the opposite extremes of South Africa. I braced myself.
Be strong this time. You’ve seen this before. Pull it together.
But deep inside, I hear a whisper and it calls me back to a place of dependence, not resilience. Strong is not the goal.
Compassion is the goal.

The goal is absolutely to be affected by the pain all around us because, friend?
Pain. is. all. around. us.
The moment we stop feeling their pain is the moment we lose the benefit of our humanity and our motherhood.

So instead we take the deep breath we need and we quietly ask, if only in an uncertain whisper,
Break our hearts for what breaks Yours, God.

Knowing that strong is not the goal, I chose a hunt for hope instead.
In the deep dark, I want to hear hope like birdsong ringing.
And in His mercy that was there before the South African sunrise broke the horizon, He showed me so much hope.
He showed me redemption around so many corners.
A church that keeps going back. That keeps showing up in hard and beautiful places.
A people that thank God for a handful of raindrops when what they need is a deluge.
He showed me a glimpse into a township we couldn’t even enter and in it a boy about eight, dancing in obstinate joy against all that surrounded his steps.
He showed me an organization that has changed the landscape of the orphan in Cape Town.
We saw the no longer motherless in loving arms of belonging.
And big sisters caring for little brothers; both living in safety and smiles.
There were children who know who Jesus is. And eyes that light up to hold a Bible in their own language.
We saw a sweeping narrative of HOPE; and stories that aren’t even close to over.
He showed me that last year’s disbelief was necessary for this year’s amazement.
He showed me He is still at work.

It’s not any easier to bear sad things as a mother; I believe it may be just a bit harder. But now I know my inability to stay at arms length is a gift and not a curse.
I won’t lay my motherhood aside when I drive by places I wish didn’t exist. I will lean into the questions. I want to walk bravely without seeing how the story ends— willing to be a small part of what God is doing.
As much as we might want to, we cannot remove the mantle of who we are.
Even when the threads of our past seem to be a tangled knot that keeps us from helping, they are sewn together in a puzzle we must not discount.

We can still hold an aching kind of bravery. We can be broken hearted without despair. Even when the hurt is too heavy to hold and the pain slices through what we thought the world looked like. Stopping our ears doesn’t help them, and it doesn’t help us. Seeing brings empathy and empathy brings hurt. And hurt brings us to that spacious place of asking with open hands,
“Here we are; use us?”

 

Scattered Unripe Lemons: A Year In Review

by Leave a Comment

It’s 2006 in early spring, and I’m back from college on Easter break. I spend the week at my parent’s house and soak up time with them like soup in a bread bowl. The bookends of our days are long cups of coffee and late night movies. It’s been a year filled with change and I just need to be known for awhile.

One afternoon, my Dad digs a hole in the front yard for a Meyer lemon tree. My brother and my nephew Ben lower the new plant into the hole. Ben wears his own garden hat and his five year old knees stick out of black rubber boots.

In the ground, the lemon tree is two feet tall.

A few days later, I hug my parents twice and back out of the driveway to return to school. The rocks scatter under my tires as I throw a hopeful glance in the direction of the tiny tree. Hope for growth and health. Hope for change for me and for it. Hope seems to be all I am at the moment— but at the moment, it’s exactly enough.
*****

It’s been eleven years since that week. I survived college; that season of crazy uncertainty gave way to surprising joys. Now when my tires spin those same rocks, it is with a car full of loves. My tiny nephew is now much taller than me, while the lemon tree towers over him.

Every November, the branches of the tree weigh heavy with bright yellow fruit. Between stirring cranberry sauce and baking pumpkin pie, dashing outside to pick lemons has become a part of our Thanksgiving tradition.

But in September of this year, Hurricane Irma blew through the south. My parents’ house was without damage but the slowly ripening lemons had nowhere to hide.
The next morning the drippy, cloudy, sun rose on the house and tree still standing and the front yard scattered with green lemons.
My mom brought a paper bag full of them and I laid them out on my dining room table, hoping for the best. They were green, battered, and imperfect.

Days later I walked past the table to see huge dots of sunshine all over its’ top.  They all ripened, every last one. According to experts, lemons need their tree to ripen fully; instead of being picked gently at the proper time, these were hurtled across the yard in gale force winds.
Though every single one bears scars of a bad beginning; they taste like streamed sunshine.
Each time I make lemon zucchini bread or squeeze juice over my water, I know that the lesson is a gift to me.
Perhaps it’s just fruit— but I think it is more.

Because matters of growth and waiting and progress can be much like this. Sometimes we plant a tree and wait for fruit to come and it appears beautifully. Except when a storm comes hurtling from the ocean and scatters more than half of a not-quite-yet harvest all over the ground.

If you’ve ever found yourself kneeling in the midst of scattered disappointments, then you know the feeling of not wanting to try again.
It may appear that the planning season was an utter waste. It may look like the harvest has been cut in half because of circumstances beyond your control. It may feel like no matter what you do you will never get above a certain result.
But it’s just not true.
When we say it is God who gives the increase, what we mean is that the results are never up to us. We mean that results are not the currency of faithfulness. Faithfulness is measured by itself. What ripens and what is blown off the tree months before its’ time– that is not our business.

Still I know how hard this is, standing with my hands full and fit to dropping all the ways in which I need Him to be the increase. My marriage. My mothering. My service. My work.
I can labour every hour of every day in hopes to be the difference that only, ever God can be. I need Him— more than I need to see the fruit of progress.
I, too, am standing at the end of a year and though it is full of so much grace, its also labored with a few things I didn’t get to. Routines I didn’t master. Goals that are still in process, always in process. There are a even a few places where I feel I went three steps back. Discouraging is an understatement for that kind of inventory.
Perhaps we both need to be reminded— what God can do in a torrential downpour is far and away more than what we can accomplish in the glittering light of a sun-splashed day.
What He can do with a tiny offering of gifts, time, and talents— that is the true increase.

So if you’re here at the almost-end of a year with so much less progress than you hoped, take heart. If you’re dreading the ball drop because it means you didn’t accomplish what you hoped you would, or your progress favors slow, cactus- like growth— have courage. Not courage that we will all of sudden be super human in our results; not courage that says this will be the year that I finally… But instead the courage that knows we are not alone. The courage to trust God with the outcome. The courage that smiles with open hands at the future and the past.

In the midst of all our plans and goals, He’s the only One who recovers what has been scattered. He is the only One who brings the increase. And He often makes beautiful growth where all we have is scattered, unripened fruit.

A Thrill of Hope (& a printable for you.)

by 2 Comments

If ever there were a weary world, it is this one.

It would seem that if ever there were a world in need of Christmas, it is the one we walk through now.

But truly? The first world waiting on Christmas had to be the weariest. They had been waiting for Him for so long. Though we are weary now; they were wearier still. When would He come? How long would the wait be?

But still I see the ache of weariness in faces reflecting the glow of a stoplight. I feel it in my tensing shoulders when I dare to open the news. Much of social media is a black hole of more hardness than we can bear.

Our wild world is certainly a weary one.

And it’s tempting to give into the weary way. Our only defense against pervasive fatigue– is joy. Our only hope is to choose to remember the thrill of hope. Not a brave fortune cookie hope that all will turn out okay in the end— but the hope that many around us are scraping for.

It is the thrill of hope that makes the weary world rejoice.
The thrill of the hope that only ever comes in Him– it is the thrill that we know well. A thrill like that of Christmas morning, but better.

I want to live in that hope when the world seems bleak. I want to shine like twinkle lights; not in false happiness but in real, warmness of joy.

I need the whispered liturgy that comes from the church of my quiet car, my bedroom chair, my kitchen sink. Let every harried and hallowed place be a place where He is worshipped.

Even when the hope is mashed up beside the hard, we can know– there is nothing we will ever lose by hoping in our True Hope.

And to know that whatever it takes, even when the waiting seems long, my weary soul can still rejoice.

In thinking on this very thing, I made a little something for you and I, using a line from the beautiful Christmas Carol, O Holy Night. The lyrics are so lovely.

A reminder that even in the bleakest of times, our weary hearts can rejoice. I hope this gift brings that reminder close to you.

Just click below, save the PDF file and send it to your local printshop for printing. (I recommend printing it on cardstock.)

Download this free 8 1/2 x 11 artwork here: The Thrill of Hope-2 

 

Please be kind and give proper credit if you share! © Cynthia M. Stuckey. For personal use only, not to be distributed without permission, not to be altered or sold.

What I Learned & Loved in the Fall.

by 2 Comments

“Dear old world’, she murmured, ‘you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.”
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

It’s time again for sharing what we learned. These often range from frivolous to thoughtful with a smidge of random mixed in and this season’s recap is as colorful as fall itself. Stick around for the end and I’ll share what I’m reading, cooking, and a few favorite podcast episodes.

 

One. Leaving leftover soup in the refrigerator or freezer for later is an easy way I can be kind to myself. Admittedly last autumn, soup and I went through a rough patch. Following the release of Simmer, I needed a good long break from the artist formerly known as soup. But I’m pleased to announce, that we are reunited, Soup & I, and it feels so good. And truly, one of the best ways I can take nutritional care of myself in busy seasons is to plan ahead. Making and freezing soup makes that easy.

 

Two. Aunt Agatha (Poldark) was in Return of the Jedi. I have a very strange talent for facial recognition but only amongst actors & actresses. I get giddy when I realize I’ve seen someone before and then remember where before we can look it up. However, I did not realize that Aunt Agatha was Mon Mothma in Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. (Fun Fact: I was one year old when that movie premiered. I’ve seen it more times than I can count. #brothers.)

 

Three. In a natural disaster, the endless stream of media coverage is both a curse and a blessing. After a lifetime of being narrowly missed by hurricanes, we were lightly grazed with Hurricane Irma and lost power for several days. We had minimal damage compared to so many. But before the storm came here, it barreled right up through my home state with most of our loved ones in its’ path. Having power for awhile nearly made me a basket case because of the constant foreboding updates. The event taught me that a little knowledge may be power, but dwelling on all possible outcomes can be debilitating. Sure, comic relief came in the meme of Moana speaking to the eye of the hurricane and the one with Ross Gellar yelling “PIVOT!!!!” over the storm. But the quiet stillness that permeated the air when we did finally lose power was a strange kind of comfort.

 

Four. With every single October here that starts sweltering and ends crisp & colorful– I am home all over again. We celebrated our seventh anniversary of moving to Georgia this fall and each year it seems I learn a new lesson about surrender and finding and making home. This year’s lesson was a quieter one. A more peaceful head nod at how far God has brought us in our place-making, how much more delight I find with every new autumn. I feel more alive in the fall. I just do, and it seems that our initial surrender has deepened into a slow contented sigh.

 

Fall Favorites:

What I’m Loving in the Blue House Kitchen.

  • This Zuppa Toscana Soup (you saw that coming, right?) I add chopped carrots and double the kale.
  • This Apple Crisp, because though it’s technically dessert, I like to cut the sugar and serve it with greek yogurt for breakfast.
  • Kale Salad like the one from Caviar and Bananas in Greenville.
  • And finally, the Plan to Eat website is rocking my world. I have tried several different meal planning/ meal prep helps and this one finally seems like a winner. It’s inexpensive and I can link recipes from anywhere. It’s kind of like a recipe database which I can then drop onto my meal planning calendar and then generate a shopping list. They’re offering a 30-day trial which was more than enough for me to realize I loved it.

Books I Finished in the Fall.

My list is a bit short this time. As it is, I have about ten other books I started in the fall that are still in progress. I can’t commit to just one book at a time. Ask my husband. He has to look at my crazy to-read pile which could be its’ very own end table. Any one else in this club?

Favorite Fall Podcast Episodes.

Wear Better Pants. Episode 11 on The Next Right Thing Podcast with Emily P. Freeman

Faithfulness & Work in the Season of Young Children. Risen Motherhood with guest Ruth Chou Simons

C.S. Lewis on Table, an Oxford Prof and Why Stories Matter with Sally Clarkson, episode 104

 

*** I love this seasonal practice of paying attention that Emily Freeman hosts. Feel free to hop over there and see what others learned also. I would love to hear what you learned this fall. Just write in the comments or in a quick email.

 

As always, amazon links may be referral links but the opinions are 100% my own. 

Miss Something?

Please be kind and give proper credit if you share! © Cynthia M. Stuckey. For personal use only, not to be copied, distributed, altered or sold.

Privacy Policy

Full privacy policy may be found HERE.

Want each post to magically appear in your email box?

Your personal information is safe and will never be shared.

Cynthia@happygostuckey.com
xo Cynthia