“If you have not done it recently, try getting out somewhere into the fields or woods, even country lanes, or on hard packed sand running along a shore … discover a bit of moss still green as it sheds its snow and seems to hint of spring to come, clinging to the base of a tree.
Walk for an hour … along tiny paths, up steep hills, following a stream bed.
It is in nature, among the things which God has created designed and brought forth Himself,
that we are in the most natural atmosphere to be inspired.
Creative ideas are apt to flow in the midst of the creativity expressed in God’s creation…”
-The Hidden Art of Homemaking
The once spring warm air has slowly changed into a cool misty May morning. Older girls were settled around the kitchen table, working away steadily to finish their book work before the warm weather arrived again, tempting them to explore the great outdoors, leaving their stubby pencils, well-worn erasers and rabbit-eared books neglected.
The three little ones were tromping through the yard, finding new, inviting places to discover and explore on this drizzly morning. Their small rubber boots were coated with fresh mud and their faces were shining. The fields around our home recently became alive with the signs and sounds of spring – including the amazing, wonderful calls of newly awakened frogs and toads alike. It was just awaiting the discovery of the three small ones.
While the baby slept, I quickly carried out the large laundry basket, overflowing with wet, clean laundry. Spring muddy season certainly increases the laundry loads, not to mention the potty training of our resident young man of the house. I remembered seeing the Amish hang their laundry on misty wet mornings, when we visited Pennsylvania quite a few years ago … I suppose it will still dry …
“A little drizzle won’t harm anything,” I thought to myself as I pegged up the articles of clothing, skirts and blouses, little boy overalls and many, many socks {mostly mismatched}. I recalled my grandmother calling a little rain “an extra rinse” for the laundry.
My just turned six year old daughter was down in the long grasses at the corner by the field, eyeing up the new frogs that had suddenly appeared for springtime. Her giggles and splashing were so abundant I was surprised when she leaped up, slimy frog in hand, and proudly pronounced…
“I got it! I got the big momma one, mommy!” she squealed with excitement.
Bringing the poorly-handly frog to me, she raised him (or her?) up to my eye level.
“This one’s the mommy,” she firmly stated, pointing to the squishy, frightened frog. “The mommas are bigger. See …? And look at her eyes… they have GOLD!”
“There’s HUNDREDS of them, mommy,” my little girl said, pointing back to her little pond-ish spot. “And they’re all making babies.”
I oohed and ahhed over the spotty frog and looked into the eyes of the little girl who was so excited to be catching such creatures on this misty morning.
It is in these moments, these dirty, normal every day moments, that my heart just bursts with thankfulness to be a mother … it means so much to be at home with these children … to see them growing, tromping through the mud, freckles slowly sprinkling out on their noses after a few days of spring-like sunshine … seeing new every-day, yet exciting details … the regular happenings of a normal, regular day … I know it all could missed in a blink of an eye … I know it is a gift from my Creator … I know He has blessed our family with these children … with a life of laundry and baking and messes and noisy dinners and muddy mornings … I wouldn’t trade it for any other creative career or tempting travel.
The God who created, names and numbers the stars in the heavens
also numbers the stars of my head. He pays attention to very big things and to very small ones.
What matters to me matters to Him, and that changes my life.
– Elisabeth Elliot
by Gigi
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