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The Easiest Day

· November 21, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY ELEVEN

I felt my own eyes light up.

I was trying to follow some story Bug was telling this afternoon. A bear and a baby bear were the key players, and I believe he was differentiating these bears from panda bears in terms of how long they stay small or learn to climb or something. Obviously, I didn’t get the full gist of it. I was trying to get the photo above to commemorate this day. And then I was distracted by looking in his eyes. Watching him tell the tale (which I now believe was grounded in some books from his K5 classroom). His face was pure pride and joy over the facts and the opportunity to convey them to me. And I felt my own eyes light up. I love how just listening to Bug lets me take so much delight. Just putting aside the other tasks or the need to hurry the story along or the impulse to answer every other distraction looming. I’m always amazed by the quietness it brings to my spirit to listen carefully to all that chatter.

It’s one of the lessons I continue to learn from Bug. I learn it from the others too, but it always seems more powerful from Bug. I imagine it’s because the other two don’t speak with nearly the passion and excitement that Bug does — at least not every single time. Bug is rarely indifferent. No, he has strong opinions, strong likes and dislikes, a strong sense of injustice, strong emotions, and a strong laugh. And yet, as the middle child, Bug so often finds himself in the position of compromise. Compromise and great passion don’t always easily co-exist, but I see him navigate those waters with grace. And I’m afraid his greatest bargaining place is often MY attention.

Bug daily teaches me the simple joy of listening. Because he listens. To everything and thinks about so much of it. And presents it back to me in his own ways of understanding. He teaches me about power of undivided attention. Because he needs it. Like we all do. Being that middle child, even I recognize that he sometimes finds himself on the short end of undivided attention where mommy-time is concerned — stuck between the baby sister and the older, more knowledgeable brother. He lets me know he needs more through constant questions, a healthy decibel level and by quietly sitting as close as humanly possible by my side. When I’m tempted to give in to the frustration of being in constant demand from my three-ring circus, I just have to look at Bug to be set aright.

Whatever story he is waiting to tell is poised in a very tightly reined exuberance that I know is just about to burst forth into something extremely important. At least extremely important to Bug. His stories are long and winding. He often starts over when he forgets his word or train of thought. He usually stops to ask, “can you please listen to all of this?” And then he starts again. It’s not necessarily an easy process to follow from start to finish. At least not while in the perpetually losing battle of multi-tasking. So, on a day like today I give up.

I give up and give him everything. All the attention I have. Listening just as passionately as he is speaking. With the same urgency as his need to share the information. And I feel the power of that concentrated listening as my own eyes light up to match the sparkle in his.

I’m reminded that one of the greatest gifts I can give — and the greatest blessing I can receive — is to listen. For as long as it takes.

Today is by far the easiest day to be thankful. Six years ago, my Bug entered this world and has been leaving his mark on my life every day since. Happy birthday, love. You never cease to fill my heart with joy.

Categories : mother's heart, twelve days

The Hardest Day

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 20, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY TEN

Mike.

I’m thankful for Mike.

I never imagined how painful it would be to write that. How much it seems to tear my mind apart. He hurt me so deeply on the day he died. In taking his own life. Abandoning life.
The lives of the children God gave us. He hurt me so deeply for years before that when I began losing him little by little each day. In many ways I felt like I lost myself in trying to be what was needed to help us all survive this situation. In the end, Mike didn’t survive.

It’s hard to push my thinking past that fact. You would think being thankful for my husband would be an easy one. I am and I have been. I AM thankful for Mike. His life. His character. His presence. But, I’m robbed of the joy of appreciating that blessing. At least for now. I’m robbed in the way depression and emotional struggles seemed to rob us of so many things. It blinds me sometimes with disappointment. Still, Mike was a blessing. To me. To our children. To so many people.

I’ve wanted to show the world some picture of the man I knew. The man I loved for so many years. Beyond his choice on this day two months ago. The day in September that makes THIS day the hardest in my 12-day journey toward Thanksgiving. I’ve wanted to see the man I knew as more of what he was. Beyond that defining moment. Before all this. Before the deep emotional issues plaguing him robbed me. Before I lost so much of him. A picture of the man I think he wanted to be. It’s a view of him that has been so obscured at times through our darkest days of dealing with mental illness and it’s warping of personalities.

Today, this is so hard to write, but necessary. One of my greatest prayers is that, in time, I will be able to think of Mike and speak of him with greater joy. That the flood of sorrow and disappointment brought by his death will be eclipsed by the joy that he lived.

Mike WAS a survivor.
The path of his childhood was a difficult one. He faced more struggles than I can imagine. Through the early evidences of depression — even as a young child, I believe — he developed his own personal ways of coping that amazed me. The resolve of his character allowed him to persevere and to emerge a gentle man.

Mike was kind.
It’s the attribute I think most describes him. He rarely raised his voice. He often had the ability to put himself in another’s shoes, showing empathy and sharing a compassionate word. I recognized through the years the great struggle it was for him to reign in his own thoughts and lay them aside to consider someone else. And yet, he set his mind to do it.

Mike was a seeker.
He challenged the popular phrases of religion. Simply because he had never heard them. But, he wanted to know. He wasn’t ashamed to say “what does this mean?” He committed himself over the years to be willing to ask questions.

Mike was disciplined.
I don’t know that there was ever anything for Mike that really came free and easy. Rather, he was so deliberate. About everything. This brought about a tremendous consistency. When he set his mind to form habits, he did.

Mike loved to play.
It’s one reason I think children loved him. He just enjoyed playing, and his playground was usually outdoors. He was a fisherman. And he rarely required tall tales to adequately describe his fishing trips. But, for Mike, he really didn’t need activity to enjoy Creation. He could sit and see and derive the peace he needed from it.

Mike could make you laugh.
He wasn’t gregarious by any means, and most people considered him to be quite shy. That’s probably what made him funny. His humor would sneak up on you. Dead-pan sincerity. Most people were shocked to learn he had great Elvis and John Wayne impersonations. They were funnier because they came from someone so quiet.

Mike was a helper.
He had a desire to serve. To lend a helping hand. We developed great memories in the early years of our marriage as he helped renovate our farm house. His help was always humble and filled with a willingness to do whatever was necessary.

Mike believed in Jesus.
His desire was to be the man God wanted him to be. It eclipsed every other pursuit in his life. And although he didn’t always succeed (none of us do), Mike worked hard to apply whatever admonishment came across his thinking. Mike’s faith was a simple one. A sincere one. He devoted himself to trusting God. I’ve said that he put all the faith he could muster into all he could understand about God. His was a true childlike faith, as God’s word describes.

Mike was a Daddy.
This in itself is remarkable because Mike never really had a father. His heart belonged to our three children, and he showed it through games and hugs and instruction and prayers and giving his time and attention. For as long as he could.

There are some things that must be said about Mike’s choice on September 20, 2012. Important, but hard truths that I won’t allow to become glossy in this tragedy of a life ended so young leaving a wife with three small children. But, those things are better left for another post. For this one, it is enough to say that Mike lived. And this is some of who he was. In these things, I have been blessed to share some of that life. And to have loved him at his best.

Categories : twelve days, widow's tale

Pretty Things

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 19, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY NINE

We’ve taken walks on the gravel roads around our farm house each of the days we’ve been here so far. It’s one of the things we look forward to. Yesterday’s adventure was a trip to the hay yard where all the round bales of hay are stored. It has the added bonus of a pretty cool obstacle course on top of the bales. Today’s trip was a walk to the gate that closes off our road to public traffic.

It’s been my habit through the years we’ve made these treks to take my camera along — my iPhone with the Hipstamatic app and often my Canon too. The kids recognize it as my habit, and they sometimes comment on it. “You like to take pictures of pretty things.” Yes, that about covers it. After many trips, our walks now include them scouting out pretty things and helping me take photos. Or, suggesting photos, I should say. It’s neat to hear their mixture of wonder at the beauty of nature around them and their attempts to guess at what I might think is pretty.

Of course, the most exquisite sights for me on these walks are my companions. Their mixture of comments and delight and curiosity. Their questions. And answers. Their movement. THEIR view of God’s creation, particularly during the changing seasons. Many “pretty things” here on these walks are wonders they are seeing for the first time. Or, recognizing for the first time. Together, we are learning to notice the joy and beauty around us in simple things. I’m so thankful for these times with them. It is balm for all our souls.

For Day Nine, I decided to share a few of the Hipstamatic shots taken at the request of my kiddos. And some shots of them that crossed my lens as well. Enjoy.

Categories : my South, twelve days

The List

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 18, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: Day Eight

“One lesson I’ve been reminded of each year in this now 4-year tradition is that the List is best kept daily. Not yearly. In fact, it’s best kept moment by moment, recognizing all the small things that add up to a big, wide, deep life filled with blessing. For life is invariably filled with blessing.”

I wrote that statement last year during my 12 Days of Thanksgiving and I still believe it. In spite of the frustrations and difficulties and now sorrows of this year, I still believe it. Because it’s true. Life is invariably filled with blessing. Little ones and big ones every single day. This year, I’m literally overwhelmed by what we have to be thankful for. By the overwhelming love and support of so many people. By the abundance of so many ordinary things. Facing death and loss in these early months has made ordinary things difficult and overwhelming at times. But, it has also heightened my awareness of just how precious those ordinary experiences are, how indicative they are of real life. The playwrite, Thornton Wilder, described it poignantly, “We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”

Today, I’ve made an effort to be conscious of my treasures and of the ordinary experiences of this particular day that are actually pretty extraordinary.

Early morning wake up sounds from Baby Girl >> Getting to sleep in the same room with Baby Girl for the week >> Unexpected morning correspondence >> The smell of bacon cooking >> iPad apps >> Random occurrences of the “I love you” signs >> Giggles as I remind them you can turn it over and make Spidey’s webbing motion >> Hearing everyone break out in laughter during a movie >> Snoopy >> The opportunity to fetch juice >> A clear blue sky >> Waking up slowly as the sun makes the bedroom lighter >> Gas heaters >> Long walks >> That Little Drummer Boy wants to defend our honor >> The constant love and support of my parents >> Mild November days >> Afternoon naps >> Having a couch in the kitchen >> That Bug is fearless >> Giving permission to break the rules and jump on the bed >> A work structure that allows me to bring my babies to the farm for a week >> The technology that enables me to be a working mom from anywhere >> Having someone cook for me >> That Baby Girl tells a great story >> Fresh air >> The sun filtering through colored leaves >> Movies >> Being asked to sit by one of my kiddos >> Just how close they get when I do >> Good memories >> The longevity of a single place in my life >> Whispers in the hallway >> Books >> Extra time to read them >> Quiet moments >> Overheard conversations >> The sound of imaginations at work >> Picnics in the living room >> Sitting in a deck swing >> Being with them all day long >> Playing together >> Making traditions >> A starry night >> The privilege of a day spent at rest

Categories : twelve days

A Sincere Faith

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 17, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: Day Seven

In my mind, being thankful seems to be always tied to praise — praising God. I guess it just seems like thanksgiving requires an object, and when it comes to the blessings of life, and indeed the blessing of life itself, those thanks rightfully rests on God.

Praise has been difficult for me lately. Not because I don’t believe God is worthy of praise, or because I don’t recognize His hand on our lives. He is, and I do. I think it’s been difficult because I feel disheartened. Disillusioned. Like my knees have been knocked out from under me. It’s hard to muster the joy and appreciation and celebration that seems to signify praise. Instead, what I feel is more numbness. The praise or thankfulness that I can pull together in my spirit is centered more in survival than in the bounty that so often motivates declarations of thanksgiving.

I feel and know God’s hand in my situation. I see his “fingerprints” in the months leading up to Mike’s death and in the time since. I see them in very concrete ways, and while it’s difficult for me to glean larger purposes right now, I’ve never questioned His presence here. His sovereignty in all things. This fact as the foundation of my tenuous faith.

So, as I’m searching for ways to praise today — ways to apply a thankful heart, this is what I’ve found. God is so large. He has to be. He is larger than my limited faith. He is larger than my weakness and my confusion and my disappointment. He is so large that nothing takes Him by surprise, not even my questions. In fact, He is big enough to hear those questions and honor the most fragile of faiths.

Sometimes I think we operate under the hidden assumptions that claiming a faith in Jesus exempts us from the hardships of life, from the unexpected devastation or the unexplainable sorrow. We think that we trade in our faith or our “right-ness” for an easier life, as if faith were a bargaining chip.

The problem with this view of faith is that it robs us of endurance. It denies us the very grounding and sustaining power of faith — the thing we were seeking in the first place. As we slam head-long into circumstances that are undeniably “wrong” and suspect and questionable and even damaging, faith as currency for a good life just doesn’t cut it.

The faith growing in me today is different than it was two months ago. A year ago. Three years ago. As I struggle to define it in this place I never imagined I would find myself, only one word seems right — sincere. Not strong or unwavering or joyful or even faithful. Just sincere. The events of the last year of my life have opened up an acceptance of an honest faith. A well-intentioned faith in a God who is larger than the what-ifs and but-onlys and what-abouts of life. My heart has reluctantly undergone the stripping away of pretense, of rote, of because I said so, and arrived squarely at doing the best I can to breathe.

I’m oddly thankful to have arrived here. Because it has allowed me
a faith that asks “why?” and “how?” and “what the hell?” At a time when I very certainly would have lost my mind or my faith completely if I could NOT ask those questions.

Just a sincere faith.

Sincere wandering.
Sincere acceptance.
Sincere searching.
Sincere blessing.
Sincere wrestling.
Sincere questions.
Sincere mistakes.
Sincere seeking.
Sincere avoiding.
Sincere joy.
Sincere sorrow.
Sincere compassion.
Sincere anger.
Sincere disappointment.
Sincere disillusionment.
Sincere everything in between.

A sincere faith.
In a sincere God able to remain God through it all.
And today, that’s enough.

Categories : twelve days

Hello & welcome! I’m Haley Montgomery, and I’m the designer and owner of Small Pond Graphics. I sometimes fancy myself a frog kisser— a documentarian coaxing poignant moments from unexpected places. This blog has evolved from those moments.

The small Pond FIELD GUIDE is part diary, part sketchbook, and part wish list – an archive of ordinary wonders. For years, this space has housed my stories – creative ideas, vintage inspiration, our forays into curious places, and the simple artifacts of quiet of conscious living. Through watercolor, photography, and illustrated tales, these pages uncover the blessing of ordinary days and the wonder found in authentic places and pursuits.

I invite you to open the boxes.
Peek into the drawers.
Rustle through the pages.
I’m honored to have you here.