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

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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.

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“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. 

On Being Settled & Apple Crisp

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When we moved to Georgia several years ago, we left North Carolina at the height of a colorful Fall. Admittedly, I was afraid that the classic Autumn patchwork I loved would not show up in the South.

But I was completely wrong.

Three days after we moved into our new home, a parking lot made me cry. In my new favorite spot at my brand new Target, I shut off the car and looked up– straight into a row of fiery red trees. Hot, happy tears brimmed my eyes. Because as crazy as it is, I thought we were moving away from a proper Fall — and I was more than happy to be surprised.

In seven Autumns, I have been educated on all the things that surprised me about that first season. I know that our house requires sweaters and cozy socks beginning in early November. I now know what shade of blue an October sky is. I know that Halloween is often balmy and warm. And by the time I stand in the kitchen amidst pumpkin pies and cranberry sauce– our backyard is ten thousand show-offs of a finally realized Autumn.

With every single October that starts steamy and ends crisp & colorful– I am home all over again.

In all this slow realization that I am more settled with each season, I find the deep desire to relish my today. To know that I mustn’t cling where I haven’t been grounded. To remember that God is good, no matter how I feel.

Do you know how it is to be caught between a once home and a not-quite? I do. I’m not in that place of change anymore, but I might find myself there again one day. That knowledge makes me want to be the one who speaks into the places you’re feeling green, and new, and not yet comfortable. I want to tell you it’s ok even if it isn’t easy yet.

Because it takes time to make a place in a new location. Our hearts need room to settle slowly, one new memory at a time.

We do different things now than we did back then. Our Sundays are different. Our Saturday mornings, too. Our coffee shop has changed and changed again. But in the years that we’ve learned the song of our opening kitchen door, we have found it– the familiarity of place-making. Still, I feel like home is more an act of surrender than it is an address on our electric bill.

You might feel that– at least the painful part of the surrender. You know it doesn’t always come easily. Sometimes the work is in the love that we choose for the place we are given. We make accidental memories and then return to them again like a child in a twirl. Sometimes we build it with conscious decisions to celebrate the present. Other times it is built in us despite our desire to run away, back to what was familiar.

But I know that even when we are not yet comfortable, God is good. I know that when we would choose to change a thousand things, He is doing a thousand things deep within us. In that place that is only uncovered in the uncomfortable, He is at work. And He can be trusted.

*******

One of our family’s accidental traditions has grown into a brief, yearly trip to the Georgia Mountains. This year we picked apples in late summer and hiked and rested and laughed until the very last minute was over. My sweet mother in law made this delicious Cinnamon Apple Crisp and we’ve made it three times since then. See what I did there? Accidental tradition. It’s warm and simple and spiced and delicious. Make it. You won’t regret it.

Print
Apple Crisp
Author: 
Prep time: 
Cook time: 
Total time: 
Serves: 8-10 servings
 
Ingredients
  • ⅔ cup melted butter
  • 7 cups sliced, peeled, cored apples
  • 2 tbsp lemon juice
  • 1 cup chopped pecans
  • ⅔ cup All purpose flour
  • 1 cup light brown sugar
  • 1 tbsp white or raw sugar
  • 2 cups rolled oats
  • 1 tsp salt
  • 2 tsp ground cinnamon plus ½ tsp cinnamon
Method
  1. Preheat oven to 375' F
  2. Butter or spray a 13x9 Glass Baking Dish
  3. Layer apples in the bottom of the dish, sprinkle with lemon juice, tbsp of sugar and ½ tsp cinnamon
  4. In a large bowl, combine flour, pecans, brown sugar, salt, oats, melted butter, and cinnamon. Mix.
  5. Sprinkle topping evenly over apples
  6. Bake for 30-35 minutes until light brown.
  7. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

 

Peaches & Cream Scones

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Every scorching summer, I buy a ton of ripe but not yet soft peaches and bring them home gingerly as though they are made of blown glass. They cover our wooden table like a polka-dot pattern of pink and orange and we wait a few days until they begin to soften.

Also with annual regularity, I plan to make these peaches into jam but nearly every year we end up eating them just as they are, chasing sweet juice down our chins with a paper towel.

There are many great recipes that highlight peaches, this one being one of my favorites. I also love to add sliced peaches and grilled chicken to arugula or spinach for a smashing summer salad. My friend Kristin Schell shared a fabulous Bacon, Peach, & Arugula Sandwich recently and I confess I made it twice. Two days. In a row. (It’s that good. And yes, I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. Because Summer comes but once a year.)

When peaches are at their peachiest peak, the best way to eat them is fresh and not baked into something. I only tend to bake with them if they are softening faster than we can eat them. But last week I noticed I had several peaches ripe and ready at once, so I toyed around with my basic scone recipe to make Peaches & Cream Scones. These were both flaky and dense like true scones should be.

This is my fourth scone recipe published here and it likely won’t be the last. Scones are definitely my thing; both from the love of my English Grandmother and my kindred spirit friend who taught me the joy of chocolate chip scones. You don’t mind more scone recipes, do you?

They are the single most requested weekend breakfast treat in the Blue House, and I’m pretty happy being the scone girl. I hope you not only love them, but love how easy they are– and how much they cause you to realize what a baking rockstar you are.

 

Print
Peaches & Cream Scones
Author: 
Prep time: 
Cook time: 
Total time: 
Serves: 8 or 16
 
Delicate Flaky Scones studded with tiny pieces of summer peaches. Note: if your peaches are very ripe and juicy, toss them in flour before adding to the scone dough, and don't over-mix.  These, being cream scones are made with heavy cream instead of egg, butter, and half and half.
Ingredients
  • 2 cups All Purpose Flour
  • ⅔ cup of Rolled Oats
  • 1 tbsp. Baking Powder
  • ½ tsp. Salt
  • ¼ tsp. Ground Cinnamon
  • ⅓ cup of Sugar, my preference is raw sugar.
  • 1 large peach, diced (peeled or unpeeled.)
  • 1½ cups Heavy Cream
  • 1 tsp. vanilla
Method
  1. In the large bowl of a food processor, blend together the dry ingredients (flour through sugar.)
  2. Pulse until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
  3. Add peaches and then pulse quickly once or twice or mix with a fork.
  4. Add the heavy cream and then pulse 2-4 times.
  5. Take care not to over-mix. You can do this step by hand with a fork or spatula.
  6. Invert the food processor bowl onto a lightly floured surface.
  7. Work dough lightly into a rough circle. It may be slightly shaggy, but just lightly pull it together with your hands.
  8. Once the circle is formed, cut into 8 large or 16 small wedges.
  9. Place wedges onto a sheet of parchment paper on a cookie sheet.
  10. Just before baking, brush the tops with a smidge more cream and a sprinkling of raw sugar.
  11. Bake at 425' for 12-14 minutes. They should be light brown on the bottom, and even lighter on top. These scones freeze very well, but freeze them the same day for best results.

A Table with Leaves at Incourage (on making space for others.)

Fancy China And Tiny Guests at GraceTable (on hospitality and children.)

To the Dads Who Carry Plenty at ForEveryMom

Living a Redeemed Life Podcast Episode 70 with Holly Barrett

The Real Work at Raising Generations Today (hope in the good, hard work of Motherhood.)

On Being Known at Raising Generations Today

The Sabbath for Servants at ForEveryMom

It Matters at ForEveryMom (encouragement for mothers)

Loving Disney World with Little Ones Part 1 at The Homemade Fig

Loving Disney World with Little Ones Part 2 at The Homemade Fig

 

https://happygostuckey.com/7822-2/

A Summer of Rhythm & Absence

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The sun is rising higher, earlier, every day and the birdsong is drowning in the noise of a hundred frogs. We’ve plowed through dozens of sticky popsicles and my library card is practically glowing from being swiped and handed back to me.

The peaches are in, the tomatoes are ripe— we are building meals around both. Because in our southern corner, July is a lot like visiting a farmer’s market… which happens to be located on the surface of the sun. The upside is all the amazing produce. The downside is the way your legs, in shorts, meld to the front seat of your car.

Hot, steamy weather aside, I know the seasonal gifts are among the best.

This is what it is to truly summer. To delight in what we hold, knowing we won’t hold it for much longer. To embrace long mornings and loose schedules. These brief months have a pace all their own— more laissez-faire, less get it done. Summer is rest.

For the second summer in a row, I took an accidental writing break. I didn’t mean to do it. What I *meant to do was have a summer full of words written. Sentences strung together into paragraphs for you. But maybe you needed to hear less from me this summer. I needed to write less, and listen more.

Often even as we savor summer, a break can feel like an indulgence– especially when all our roles are mashed up together. I like to choose my absence, but welcoming the effect of it is often harder. Maybe it’s hard for you too?

Maybe you’ve spent your whole summer feeling torn between what you thought your summer should be and what it is. Maybe you thought you would spend these months playing catch up, but instead you’re playing UNO and monopoly and camp director.

Maybe you had an amazing week away or day with your people only to scroll through your phone at ten pm and feel completely defeated— as though you failed miserably at a to-do list that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

Maybe you feel completely at peace with where you have been placed– until you notice the dreamers and doers all around you who seem to have excess time for both dreaming and doing. The internet isn’t much help in this one I’m afraid– even in summertime.

But if the internet in summer is the ocean— I’d choose to be the beach at sunset rather than the cruise ship port. It is okay for us to choose to be where everyone is not for a season. 
Because if I’m not out there, it is because my place is in here. When less is what I’m called to, less is better. Less is the quiet path of more.

As I’ve been praying and considering what this season means for me, I’ve written a short manifesto for last few melting days of summer.
Perhaps you need it too?

A Summer Manifesto of Rhythm & Absence

I will breathe in summer and not hold it up against seasons of greater productivity.
I will not scrunch up my nose when I think of all that August will bring; I will open my hands to July and enjoy its’ slower gifts.
I will seek to integrate. I will create when I can, and be happily content with it.
I will smile and not sneer at these days of fluidity and fun.
I will not roll my eyes at the audacity of myself, thinking I could do it all.
I will not stop trying to balance both the good rest and the good work.
I will see the 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, not always hand them one and use that ten minutes to get something done.
I will stop thinking about what I haven’t accomplished to focus my whole face on their whole face.
I will remember that cultivating an atmosphere of simple fun and joy, means as much as creating a masterpiece.
I will take this break with my whole heart & see it as a gift wrapped in beach towels and tied with a jump rope bow.
I will choose wave skipping and seashell searches over chasing someone else’s goal.
I will stay in my own lane and swim happily in it.
I will remember that though summer is a gift, it is brief– and August is already on its’ way.

 

 

Rainshine. (Why hope & grief are not adversaries.)

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Our Georgia summer is hot and steamy but often includes ample rain storms.
Some days they chase us from the pool with thunder and quilted skies. Other days the clouds pour buckets while the sun shines brightly. Yellow light beams down. Drops Fall.
Sun and Rain. Rain and Sun.
This is my favorite variety of storm; the unexpected.

The air is heavy and humid and standing in the rainshine seems completely ridiculous. But for me, it’s an exercise in remembrance. A happy reminder that the sun and rain don’t always step aside for one another. As if the sun missed the part about the rain’s solo— and refuses to wait in the wings.

I need to be reminded of this very thing the rainshine teaches me. Because there was a time not so long ago, that I realized the truth of the “and.” It was some months after I lost a baby. And then again three years later I lost another. In between the two griefs I became someone with a lap completely full. We danced around filling sippy cups and dodging cheerio landmines and there was nothing lacking from our joy.
Nothing at all.
But. There was a tiny piece of pain. Toddler fingers held out weed bouquets and soothed things I couldn’t touch. Still the ache took time to fade into a soft memory. For a long time there was both laughter, and pangs of remembering.

Do you know how it feels to hold both?
Maybe you are now holding both joy and grief in your two uncertain hands.
Or perhaps you swallow lumps of grief— but joy is still on the way.
We know that they often take up residence on the same block. Pain does not always overshadow joy; neither can joy completely squash pain.

The hope that “it will not always be so” is a great one. But even that bright glittering hope, does not remove the ache.
And we can often forget that joy and grief are not enemies.
We expect that if we are strong enough, Christian enough, brave enough— we can elect to feel only the joy and not the pain.
But the essence of our true hope is not that. It is a both/ and hope.
The joy that hopes in what will be — but feels the sting of what is still on the way.

It is a gift. This joy of the both/and. Both hardness and blessing. Both fear and courage. Both happiness that bubbles over in belly-laughs and sobriety that sees evil. Evil that threatens to choke the hope out of us all.

We may be incandescent in our joy. Light may spill from every corner of our day. Or we may have to stand in the pouring rain to look up and find the light. Rarely is it one or the other.
We know so great a hope in Christ and still we will feel the cares of the world. They wind up around our feet as we walk. They snatch and grab at us, like the Devil’s Snare plant in Harry Potter. Devil’s Snare hated the light too, remember? Keeping pain in dark places of shame feeds it.

Friend, might we walk with one another in this?
When we hide our grief, we buy the lie that pain is greater than joy.
We cannot expect ourselves to fully feel one, without some shards of the other.
There is a fulfillment of hope which is still waiting in the wings.

You can grieve. You can grieve right alongside glory.
Acknowledging pain will not remove the joy of what is, and what is to come.
But it has not come fully yet.
And so we wait in the weight of waiting.
And we love greatly and keep our eyes open for hope.
We tip our chins up to the light, even if it means a few raindrops on our cheeks.
We can bravely hold what is too much for us to hold alone.

Because it will not always be both. Someday we will only know the hope that did not disappoint. Not the hope that we got exactly what we wanted; the reality of the hope that was worth waiting well.

The hope that we are promised— we will know He only gave us truth.
And that when we waited, we never waited alone.

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