Love Came Down

 

Love came down at Christmas,
love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas;
star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
worship we our Jesus,
but wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token;
love be yours and love be mine;
love to God and others,
love for plea and gift and sign.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_Came_Down_at_Christmas

Written by a beautiful poet, Christina Rossetti (1830-1894), this piece is evidence of a heart devoted to what truly mattered the most. At a young age, health became an issue for Christina. Educated by her parents, and with artist siblings, Christina allowed her words to speak the deepest parts of her. In her later decades, Rossetti suffered from a type of Graveโ€™s disease diagnosed in 1872, suffering a near-fatal attack in the early 1870s. In 1893, she developed breast cancer. The tumour was removed, but there was a recurrence in September 1894. She died on December 29th, 1894 and was buried on New Year’s Day, 1895 in the family grave. (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christina_Rossetti)

When itโ€™s all up in the air ~health, wealth, attitudes, belongings, uncertainties, misunderstandings, doubts, worries, and unknowns ~love comes down. Itโ€™s the true Spirit of the season that gives all year. ๐Ÿ’š
Finley and I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and a happy new year from our home to yours! ๐ŸŽ„๐Ÿ’š

Humor, Holidays, & Health
A missing mailbox (only to be discovered โ€œstuckโ€ on an Amazon driverโ€™s lift gate), wrong pronunciation at a procedure, a tasty and interesting side sauce only to be called, โ€œgravyโ€โ€ฆperhaps I need to get out more? Holiday seasons, health, mishaps, and circumstances might drain the spirit, wallet, and humor. Iโ€™m so thankful for laughter and reasons to smile. Being human is the easiest thing to do. Doing the hard things~loving and laughing in the worst of it~requires a much greater power than me.
An update to my newsletter ~Last week I had the opportunity to meet a fellow NET patient by phone. For the first time I talked with someone who speaks the same โ€œlanguageโ€ and had a similar health path. She was diagnosed at 54, 6 years ago. She was shocked at how many tumors I have and where they are (distant metastasis). She was fortunate to have surgery for removal of the tumor, but sadly, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She has many battles. Unfortunately she could only complete one radiation like the one Iโ€™m receiving (many blood transfusions were required and she was sick from February to summer). Will you pray for my new friend, Ingrid? Thank you, Jane, for introducing us.

Have faith๐Ÿ’š


My December Newsletter sent last week! ๐Ÿ’š๐ŸŽ„

Humble Home

It had been snowy for a couple of days. Freezing temperatures prompted me to fill my freshwater tank, shut off the water supply, and ensure my black tank was completely drained. The R.V. life had become routine. I knew the ins and outs of making sure I could stay as comfortable as possible in my tiny home of 335 square feet. There was something about the coziness, although a challenge at times, which made me feel safe. One year prior I genuinely thought Iโ€™d own a different R.V. (a Class C). There was a campground in Alaska, near my son and his family, which needed a workcamper. It would be a 5 month experience I knew I would enjoy. The thought of being on the “side of the world” closest to my sons and their families gave me joy, too as I had found a campground near my youngest son and his family in which I could workcamp possibly that fall or the following summer. My blogging had started and I dreamed of writing on the road, moving from place to place based on weather and places other campground friends were staying. And thenโ€ฆa pandemic progressed, and the country was shut down. I had decisions to make. Around a fire, or at game night with friends, and most importantly around my parentsโ€™ family table, my tiny life proved groundbreaking.

K.L. Hale

It was snowy when I moved into my house. Much like the tiny home I desired and had designed at one time, this new home was perfect. The foundation was old but everything in it was brand new. One year ago today, with leftover snow sprinkled around, I took over ownership and walked into my front door. โ€œGod, thank you for bringing me home. Thank you for allowing me to clearly hear your voice and clear the clutter of clinging; clinging to that which was no longer your plan. No matter what, wheels or rock below me, you have me.โ€  Within the first month my heat was not working properly, my water heater had issues, another appliance needed replaced, and an adjustment period paused my pace. Iโ€™d hear, โ€œThatโ€™s part of being a homeowner!โ€ Stoicism steered my stranglehold.

Mainstream is not my measure. Buckling down, I committed to the classes I needed, the coaching (a wonderful investment), and the foundation to further my faith and pursue a dream. Finding my purpose, aside from motherhood and one occupation, was no longer fastened to how it looked to others. Energy could not be drained due to unrealistic expectations. It was accepting a huge truth in my life-a feeling of abandonment that had tried to overtake my self-worth and sabotage my spirit. You may have been there or are experiencing it now-an empty nest feeling or reeling with the reality of what you THOUGHT your life would look like. Grief can grab you when you least expect it. Grief over loss or grief over what you feel you are missing. Back away, Satan. Youโ€™re a liar.

Twelve months. What has changed for you? Weโ€™d all be in denial to think that this world has not changed us in the last twenty-four months; much less, twelve. To โ€œnormalizeโ€ we can:

  • Manifest mania in the madness
  • Magnify the make-believe world of social media
  • Stay hidden without hope
  • Paralyze ourselves with paranoia
  • Explode in unrealistic expectations
  • Numb or neglect others with negativity
  • Create a reality unaligned with our Creator
  • Fuel our faith with foundational truth, family, and friends.

Which do you find can happen? At one time or another Iโ€™ve done all. But I’ll continue to choose the last one. We all need stress reducers. But at some point, we must stop ruminating over what we feel is ruined. You and I are not defined by where we live, who we are, what weโ€™ve gained, what weโ€™ve lost, or any other โ€œmeasureโ€ that the world uses to define โ€œnormal.โ€  As we approach the end of this year, I hope you remember this: no amount of presents under the tree, the titles to that which you own, the certificates with your name, how you look, your years spent in a contract or on a job, or any other worldly measure will change your worth in the eyes of a Savior. In one week celebrations will occur. Some may have a hard time with the holiday seasons; we must be mindful and caring. ๐Ÿ’š

As I stood staring at the stars last night outside my home, I could feel the wonder. Flashbacks of past Christmasโ€™s flooded my memory-traditions with my sons (oh, how I love them so)- hearing their laughter and seeing their joy! How blessed am I that I remember caroling to strangers, services at church, driving in the car to see lights, and enjoying โ€œold-fashionedโ€ Christmasโ€™s?

On Christmas Day, in my small home without wheels, and with my pup, Iโ€™ll await the opportunity to โ€œseeโ€ my kids and grandkids via technology. Iโ€™ll hear the giggles of the grandkids and see the wonder in their tiny eyes. Iโ€™ll smile in gratitude and plug into peace. My mind will marinate in the magnificence of our Maker. Iโ€™ll read the Christmas story in my Bible, watch an old black and white movie, sip hot coffee and cocoa, and cherish the new memories around my tree. Oh, what a day that will be! The snow may or may not be falling. I wonโ€™t be worried about a black tank or heat (hopefully ๐Ÿ˜‰). I will count myself blessed beyond measure.

Two years ago, I began a blog, โ€œLiving Large in my Tiny World.โ€ Things changed. My flannel and faith were two constants in my tiny world. Thus, Flannel with Faith was born. Iโ€™ll never forget the tiny way in which Jesus came-lowly and humbled in a small space. I think of the small group, particularly the animals, which gathered around him. He needed little, gave so much, and left his mark with the most ultimate gift. It’s a gift for us all. I hope you open it.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.โ€

Luke 2:11-12

Have faith๐Ÿ’š

Therefore,Thanksgiving

Memories of past Thanksgivings swirl my soul and marinate in my mind. When I was young I never thought dressing as Pilgrims and Native Americans was wrong. Learning of all cultures, and the time of celebration together, only grew my respect and appreciation. Although some may consider early learning incorrect (morally, politically, or historically) I am grounded in the belief we are all created equal; nothing will change that. Four hundred years have passed since that first gathering of thanks and praise for an Autumn bounty. How did this day become a permanent place on our calendars? There’s a woman we can thank-and her last name happens to be Hale.


A love story began between a man and a woman-it was 1811. Two years later they wed. Sarah, so beautifully, described she and David’s home life as this:

โ€œWe commenced, soon after our marriage, a system of study and reading which we pursued while he lived. The hours allowed were from eight oโ€™clock in the evening till ten; two hours in the twenty-four: how I enjoyed those hours! In all our mental pursuits, it seemed the aim of my husband to enlighten my reason, strengthen my judgment, and give me confidence in my own powers of mind, which he estimated much higher than I. But this approbation which he bestowed on my talents has been of great encouragement to me in attempting the duties that have since become my portion.โ€

Their next nine years of marriage welcomed five children. Sadly, David died from complications of pneumonia just two weeks before the fifth child was born. Single at 34, with five children, Sarah used the encouragement she had received from her husband to continue her career in writing (she wore black for the remainder of her life).


Sarah Josepha Hale was born on October 24th, 1788, in Newport, New Hampshire. Having a family that believed in education, Sarah was supported in all endeavors. She turned to writing as a form of income when she was widowed. In 1827 her first novel was published in the U.S., Northwood: Life North and South. In London it was titled A New England Tale. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Josepha_Hale, n.d.)

Her book was praised by a pastor that asked Hale to move to Boston to serve as an editor of his journal, Ladies Magazine. As the first female editor of a magazine in the United States, she applied scrupulous standards (https://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2012/04/sarah-josepha-hale.html, n.d.). During this time, she even published an anthology of poems (Poems for Our Children)-included was โ€œMary Had a Little Lambโ€ (1830). Originally written from her teaching days which began at age 18 (unheard of at that time) it was titled โ€œMaryโ€™s Lamb.โ€ Later in the 1830โ€™s, Lowell Mason set the nursery rhyme to a melody adding repetition in the verses.

MARYโ€™S LAMB.

Mary had a little lamb,
   Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
   The lamb was sure to go ;
He followed her to school one dayโ€”
   That was against the rule,
It made the children laugh and play,
   To see a lamb at school.

And so the teacher turned him out,
   But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
   Till Mary did appear ;
And then he ran to her, and laid
   His head upon her arm,
As if he saidโ€”โ€˜ Iโ€™m not afraidโ€”
   Youโ€™ll keep me from all harm.โ€™

What makes the lamb love Mary so ?โ€™
   The eager children cryโ€”
 O, Mary loves the lamb, you know,โ€™
   The Teacher did reply ;โ€”
And you each gentle animal
   In confidence may bind,
And make them follow at your call,
   If you are always kind.โ€™
-Sarah Josepha Hale
On a sidenote: In many hours of research and reading for this piece I became intrigued at the controversy surrounding this poem. At 70 years old Mary Tyler (in 1876) claimed she was โ€œMaryโ€ from the poem. She did indeed keep a lamb. Mary remembered a Reverendโ€™s nephew, John Roulstone, writing about the incident of the lamb. The Redstone School where Mary attended now sits in Sudbury, Massachusetts. Without making you travel further down the lambโ€™s hole with me feel free to research more if you wish! ๐Ÿ˜Š

In 1841 Sarah moved to Philadelphia and made Godeyโ€™s Ladyโ€™s Book (named after a Philadelphia publisher who bought out her original magazine, combined the two magazines, and hired her as his editor). Itโ€™s reported that many feminists scorned her for not being more involved in politics. For four decades she worked to promote educational opportunities for women, just as males. Hale wrote at least seventeen articles and editorials about womenโ€™s education. She was awarded a medal in 1860 from the Baltimore Female College. She also used her position to promote American writers. She made major contributions in choosing to publish works by Edgar Allen Poe, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, just to name a few. Morally, she wished for uplifting novels and work. She raised money for various historic sites-helping to preserve George Washingtonโ€™s home and financially supporting the construction of the Bunker Hill Monument.

Using her persuasive writing skills (and MUCH patience) Sarah spent seventeen years writing to leading U.S. presidents and politicians to push for a national celebration of Thanksgiving. Hundreds of letters went to governors, ministers, and editors as well.

It was 1863. The country was torn in half by war and dissention. A time of Thanksgiving was needed-just as in 1621 when the Plymouth colonists and the Wampanoagย shared a meal to celebrate the Autumn harvest. One letter ended up in President Lincoln’s hand. He liked Hale’s idea. On October 3, 1863, he issued a proclamation declaring the last Thursday of November to be National Day of Thanksgiving and Praise. He ordered all government offices in Washington closed on that day. Sarah’s efforts earned her the nickname “Mother of Thanksgiving”. Hale enjoyed many Thanksgiving celebrations after that. She died on April 30, 1879, at the age of 90.

This day of unification was established to ease the stress of the country.


This Thursday, as I sit around the family table with my precious family (and in spirit with all who wonโ€™t be seated with us), Iโ€™ll be reminded that our freedom wasnโ€™t without a fight of faith. Yes, our freedom from our sacrificial Lamb was given at no cost to us. We donโ€™t have to fight that fight. For a country that seems torn by opposite opinions and acts of aggression, I pray that assaults will cease. Not just on the Day of Thanksgiving and Praise, but every day.

Not long ago a new tradition began on social media. Friendsgiving is a wonderful thing. As thankful as I am for family, Iโ€™m grateful for friends too. To those here, in this space, that have supported my writing and beginning a new career-for becoming like family to me-thank you. You are loved.

๐Ÿค May gratitude and grace ground us all.๐Ÿค

Have faith๐Ÿ’š


The Peterson’s here in Branson, Missouri ๐Ÿค ’tis an honor to live in the Ozark’s!
Bibliography

(2021.). Retrieved from https://www.womenhistoryblog.com/2012/04/sarah-josepha-hale.html.

(2021). Retrieved from National Women’s History Museum: https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/sarah-hale

(2021). Retrieved from https://www.almanac.com/sarah-josepha-hale-godmother-thanksgiving: https://www.almanac.com/sarah-josepha-hale-godmother-thanksgiving

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Josepha_Hale. (2021).

The history of Thanksgiving prior to our National Day:
During the American Revolution, the Continental Congress designated one or more days of thanksgiving a year, and in 1789 George Washington issued the first Thanksgiving proclamation by the national government of the United States; in it, he called upon Americans to express their gratitude for the happy conclusion to the countryโ€™s war of independence and the successful ratification of the U.S. Constitution. His successors John Adams and James Madison also designated days of thanks during their presidencies. New York even had a designated day of Thanksgiving. But much of the country, including the South, remained unfamiliar with this day. https://www.history.com/topics/thanksgiving/history-of-thanksgiving


Flash Floods

It was rapidly rising. Like a dream I watched a wave of water defeat the dry ground. Is this real? Will it stop? For a moment I just froze. In a blink of the eye things got serious. Fast. A river formed in my front yard. Momma said, “You always wanted to live by the river.”

Rivers have left their mark in my life. Memories flood and gush over me. Oh, the days of floating on old tires and cheap โ€œfloatiesโ€. The cool waves were refreshing on hot and humid summer sun-filled days. Cautiously, we’d keep our eyes peeled for dangers lurking in or near the water.

๐Ÿ“ธ-all photos-K.L. Hale

It was 1990 something. We (my family of 4 and my sister-in-law’s family of 4) perched our canoes on a gravel bar for tasty snacks. Afterward, it was time to frolic and play in the water. I’ll not forget how the sun’s rays created magic along the top of the crystal-clear waters. Suddenly I felt something slip off my finger under the water.   Oh no.  This ring had been gifted to me by my parents at college graduation.  The boys, and their cousins, halted their high jinks to help search.  Instead of going limp in the swiftness, like most times, I used all my strength to search in small circles around me.   My grit grounded me, and my sandals held solid.  Some in the group shared I was fighting a losing battle.  โ€œHow can I tell them I lost it?”

Some might call it luck. Not me. Glancing in the water a glimpse of glimmer caught my eye.  Could it be?  My face was slapped with cold water as I extended my hand to the golden gleam. Tucked ever so perfectly, between the rocks, was my ring.    Despite the choppy and speedy waters at my thigh, a steady and serene section rallied for my ring at the rock bottom near my ankles. Iโ€™m sure my shouts could be heard up and down the channel!  I wear that ring to this day. These are the water memories that flood my heart with faith.

Iโ€™ve lost, and found, precious things navigating the river of life.   Seek strength to withstand a swift โ€œsweep me off my feet” moment. You can’t layout on the gravel bar forever. We all must clear the currents in certain conditions.  Find balance without babbling and back down from the battle.  Be bold.  Become buoyant.

Flash Flood 4/28/21-K.L. Hale-The house, Finley, and I are fine. ๐Ÿค

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; …Isaiah 43:2

I wrote “A River and Honey” last year. Memories of times at the river, with the Wilson side of my family, will be forever etched in my heart. This post today is dedicated to Lloyd Wilson, Jr.~Uncle Junior. ๐Ÿค You were loved by many.