Tag Archives: faith journey

Humble Decorations

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Oh, beloveds! It’s already mid morning on Tuesday and I am just now sitting down to blog. Not that I had anything better to do. I’ve been up for hours already. We had a slow weekend visiting with friends and family. I could have sat down to write yesterday, (or the days before) but I made turkey soup instead. We hauled out the Christmas decorations and my new farmhouse looks like Santa vomited in the living room. I’ve no idea where things are going to go. New house and all. They say life is like that here in the country. You are allowed to take things slower. Revel in the quiet and observe the world around you. You are allowed to have stuff everywhere. People are okay with that. I guess we have come to the right place.

Right now, the world around me is windy. I can hear it howling through our cedar trees outside. I see them bend and sway. The front porch rocking chairs have been rocking on their own all morning like they’ve been taken over by the Ghost of Christmas past. It’s cool, but I suspect winter will bring worse. It’s dark and cloudy out there… which makes the day seem so much heavier, and my mood even more moodier. I wanna snuggle back under the covers. Everything looks the same bleak brown and grey colour under the cloud cover. I’m hoping the sun peaks out later and brightens my day… and my outlook.

So. Let’s curl up together here on the couch and have a chat, shall we? What shall be our muse for the week? I was contemplating Christmas decorations. Country, rustic, Christmas decorations to be specific. We had all the kids over on Sunday to “help” decorate. We didn’t get very far – we ended up visiting and eating and socializing and playing with the dogs and taking a walk up the hill. Hence the still present Santa vomit.

I was hoping my girls would help string together my citrus garland. I also made a cedar swag and “foraged” some dogwood and birch tree twigs. My Pinterest dreams for my front porch and farmhouse windows are going to be Instagram worthy this year! (If I ever get them up!) Keep following along on my social feeds for stories and updates for when those actually happen. I’m not going to post how to’s here as there are much more talented folks out there of which I am learning. I’ll just show you those attempts and you can judge accordingly.

Let’s get back to the muse. I have discovered that the “country chic Christmas vibe” is in fact, one of nostalgia. The red pick up truck with pine tree loaded in the truck bed. The pick up is a working vehicle out here. Everyone has one. Except us city slickers. Citrus garlands -because oranges were rare treats to cherish on Christmas morning. Barn board. Cedar swags, red berries, pine cones, birch bark twigs…. all readily available from the land this time of year. Which pains me greatly to see them in the store with hefty price tags! I made the poor hubby drag those birch branches outta the wood a few weeks back. His fall coat covered in burrs and muddy gloves was worth the price. Slight diversion in thought here… but seriously people, these things are free with a little searching and a willing husband. I love country vibe. It’s good for my frugal mindset.

Happy Poinsettia Day! Photo by Mark Stebnicki on Pexels.com

Today is apparently poinsettia day. I’m sure many of you know the flower originated in Mexico. There are a sprinkling of legends and stories that tell of how the plant became associated with Christmas – taken to evening mass on Christmas Eve and presented to baby Jesus as an offering. Late in 1828, Joel Roberts Poinsett was an American on a diplomatic trip to Mexico when he came across the plant known locally as “Cuetlaxochitl.” Another avid plant guy cultivated the flower and the two made it what we know today as an international Christmas icon. But. It started out as a weed. A Mexican weed whose pretty red “petals” are actually leaves. It’s not even a real “flower”.

As I think and ponder and look back on these “festive decorations” that I have just described, I am struck by the beauty in the everyday. I am again reminded that the howling wind through my cedars can become an icy pot of greens that sparkle and shine when the sun finally does come out. Our Saviour was born in a stable. I now have some experience with hay, straw and barnyard smells. I wonder if Mary cursed the flies and persistent lady bugs. Maybe Bethlehem has other bugs. I bet the shepherds smelled like campfire and urine. Did they hear the coyotes and worry about their pets too?

And so I have come to the realization that Christmas, perhaps, isn’t all Mariah Carey glitz and glamour. It’s humble beginnings, quiet, windy mornings, and seeing the beauty in nature and the everyday. It’s celebrating stinky stables, and being grateful for oranges and warm beds with tattered quilts. It’s seeing the value of hard working machines and pick up trucks and the simplicity of making a living from the bounty God has given us. It’s taking a simple weed and seeing it as a symbol of beauty.

Photo by Jessica Lewis on Pexels.com

Thank you, Lord, for helping me learn these lessons with my reader friends today. Our journey has again reminded me to see the Glory of You in our everyday. I pray that you will help us focus on the Peace that you bring on this second week of Advent. There is so much going on in the world that is so opposite to Peace, that I am grateful for the reminders. Help us to see it. Help us to cherish the little things. To see the weeds as beautiful. To be thankful for our blessings. To take time to listen to the wind and know that you whisper through it. To slow down and be quiet. To remember the humility of a stable. May you send blessings on the readers touched by my words, Lord. May I remember to be thankful for the ability and the freedom to write them. Amen.

Hope and a Rock

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Welcome back, my beloveds! You’ll forgive me for missing last week… it was a crazy time and I just couldn’t get there. Or here. Or wherever, whatever. I’m back now. We had a few first world crises which made my momma’s heart heavy and the words didn’t want to translate on the page. This week, however, that heavy heart reminded me of a story about when we first moved in to “Itsnotta” farm. So, let’s have a go, shall we?

It was mid summer and I was excited about the new property and all its potential. We may have been here about six weeks or so. The previous owner had finished the back patio as part of our final agreements, and it lacked a little lustre. The property has a big front garden and I knew I didn’t want to get in over my head just yet with a bunch of new planting in the middle of summer, but I had splurged on a couple of chicks and hens and needed a spot to put them. So I dug out a little diagonal spot next to the patio, adjacent to the back porch. We had been finding a lot of little toads hanging out back there and in the spring of this year, the youngest and I are going to make a “toad abode” so they don’t end up in our window well. (Have you ever had to rescue a toad? … they are cute but not so fun to handle).

Photo by Kolin Smith via thisoldhouse.com

It’s a tiny spot of garden so I am not super invested – but decided it needed a rock. Now imagine with me our new property, a tiny garden spot and us city slickers with little cash and next to nothing in the way of large garden tools. We didn’t even have a wheelbarrow at that time. We did, however, have a large boulder with pretty red streaks of some mineral running through it, roundish and seemingly the perfect shape to put next to a toad house and some succulents. Only issue — it was on the other side of the pool, on the opposite side of the farm field from said tiny garden plot.

No problem. I am country woman now. I can do it. So, as my hubby and fully capable children sunned themselves in the newly discovered pool, I hauled that 60-70 pound rock! I had to toss it several times like a wanna be lumber jack learning log toss to avoid dropping it on my bare feet, but it made it through my “rests”. I plunked it down on a patch of dirt where it currently sits awaiting spring and the emerging toad friends.

Why do I tell you this? The memory came to me as I was fretting over the hard weekend last week. It seems appropriate that this, the first week of Advent, was the Sunday we light the Hope candle. I needed the reminder that life is hard sometimes. Even so, there is Hope. We struggle and push through with determination – often because we are stuck between a “rock and a hard place”. God gives us challenges to help us grow. Not that that thought makes it any easier. Rocks (and our burdens) are heavy. Sometimes we have a vision in mind of the final picturesque garden with spring flowers and where warty toads have their own spaces and don’t get in your way. Yet, the rock is there to remind us, that yes, we can do hard things. The rock provides our shade for growth. Our security and stability to plant roots deep and protected.

Overcoming challenges provides us with a reminder of the Hope Christ gives us. We anticipate it and push through the hard stuff because we have it. Given to us in a little baby whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. Still, Christmas brings its own set of “hard things” for many of us. Memories can be both joyful and sad… sometimes at the same time. Here’s praying you see and feel the Hope more than the heartache this season. I am looking forward to digging through the old decorations – and adding more this year as we decorate our country porch and the barn. Maybe I should stick a poinsettia out next to my garden rock and bring a little pretty to the hard stuff. A decoration for the sleeping toads.

…I will show mercy and compassion to anyone I choose… stand near Me on this rock. As my glorious presence passes by, I will hide you in the crevice of the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by…”

adapted from Exodus 33

Land Ho!

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This year has been one of change for the Mitton crew. Transition. Everything got up ended and turned around. I’m not complaining, just making an observation. It continued this week when I finally dyed my hair with that streak of purple. My family hates it. I don’t care though, because it was for me and not for them. We come to a point in our lives where we get old enough to not care anymore what people may think. As long as you and God are good, and your choices are wise and Biblical… a little colour in your hair is not a big deal. Right?! Check out this post if you want to here the back story on the purple hair thing, though.

Throw back to 2019 and my midlife crisis and the plan for purple hair! See the link!

Anyway, purple hair was not my muse this week. A lot has been swirling around in my head, and some family stuff has been going on, and I’m throwing out resumes in hopes for some employment. Christmas will be here soon and it is supposed to snow today. I still have a few boxes to do and my plans for the house have fallen into disarray as old habits and boredom creep back in with the cooler weather. However – I am pushing forward – slowly – and trying to keep my days full and meaningful.

I got the chance to catch up with an old friend this week. We met halfway between us, in a little town’s main street diner for lunch and a good, long chat! Something about greasy onion rings and good company can fill my heart. Yet, it was the drive home that struck the muse for this week. It’s about a half hour trek home from the diner along the country roads, which are now mostly barren of autumn colour. The last of the harvests are happening and there seems to be endless fields of browns and dull yellows with the occasional green forests. Even the farmhouses along the route seem dull, their whitewashed barn board sidings and dried up gardens blend in with the horizon.

Still, one of the remarkable landscape features I have discovered since moving east are the rolling hills. In fact, the route from the diner passes a small ski hill and at one point the car peaks at the top and cascades down. The view of the countryside is fabulous – even in its dull estate. I drove this hill a few days before in the utter darkness. And although I am not afraid of country roads in the dark, I am thankful for high beams and my GPS. It’s black out there. And the ski hill does not seem to have a bottom, so you pump the breaks and hope you get to where you want to be. Ice and snow is going to be fabulous.

One of the criteria in moving was “enough land”. We’ve been blessed with a bit more than asking, and I love it. We are hedged in by mature cedars and our view from the front porch captivates everyone who visits. However, the land means work. It means maintenance and upkeep and planning. For us, it is a change from our postage stamp sized lot in the city. I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it’s different. We have to drive more. We travel through the rolling hills and wonder who’s land belongs to who? Is this open space or property? What lies behind that group of trees? Even our little century home is visible now from the turn — our lonely streetlight illuminating our wrap around porch through the now barren trees along the roadside. It looks like a postcard – and I am grateful.

Our country stretches almost 6000 km east to west. It’s huge, but did you know that about 80% of Canada is uninhabited. Okay, we got snow and ice up north, which is why most of us are along the U.S/Canadian boarder, but 80% of barren land is phenomenal. My rolling hills are nothing. I wonder if that statistic includes owned land without housing – like farmer fields and the like, or if it is truly “empty”? Just ice floats in the frozen north?

We were discussing the story of Abraham and Sarah on Sunday and I began to wonder about Genesis chapter 12. God tells Abram to leave everything he knows and go to “the land that I will show you”. Adam and Eve were given the garden to look after, too. How many times do we see and hear God saying go here or there? Even in Revelation do we hear about a new earth. The Bible is full of discussions about land. God made this earth and its vast pockets of land for us to enjoy. In fact, He promised it to most of us. It’s work. I wonder how we will fair at clearing our brush and maintaining our gardens next year. Then there’s Abraham and Lot who got promised a whole nation!

Photo via Canadian Cycling Magazine

How we have failed to take care of our blessings. We’ve poisoned so much of our good land. Not only with pollution and environmental disasters, but our human nature has ravished Earth with war and destruction. Winter makes my neighbourhood dull. I cannot imagine raising my children in bombed out buildings and charred streets scattered with broken glass. Or cesspools of filth where poverty is so evident. I don’t think it’s the way God designed it to be. No, not at all.

And so, as I make my daily drives from here to there along the rolling hills of countryside, I must take time to pray for those whose view is not so pretty. The ones who have been given land and abused it. Or those who are trying to brighten it with gardens and wildflowers. Or those who work tirelessly to provide my food. Have you ever stopped to think about the land beneath your toes? Mine is about to be covered with a layer of snow. Whitewashed clean to make me think: “How pretty!” Until I curse the pile and pull out the new snowblower to give it a test run.