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We Are Here

· November 17, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: Day Six

We are here. At the farm for a week. The kids have been very excited. A week and a half ago they were ready to pack, and I had to apply some Mommy logic to convince them that we might actually need to wear our clothes in that time span before we reached our Thanksgiving holiday destination. They agreed, but each night this week we’ve been in the countdown to arrival. And now, we are here.

There is nothing that blesses me quite like their excitement, particularly in this stage of our lives. Their bodies jumping with anticipation. Their voices talking all at once. Their giggles and spontaneous hugs. The little “thank yous” I get mingled with “I love yous” as their eyes are finally closing.

It’s healing to the soul. Salve to my weary spirit. Because I find myself effortlessly sucked into the excitement. I find myself giggling and jumping and talking along with them. It happens without thought, like all good excitement does. And it’s like a breath of fresh air.

I’m so thankful for those moments of inhibition. It’s joy peeking it’s head out of my heart for a look around. And it lets me know we are coming to life again. The brunt of death doesn’t stand a chance against the unexpected impact of life.

I’m resting in that this evening.

Categories : mother's heart, twelve days

The Wrong Color

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 15, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY FIVE

I have a picture hanging in my office. Let’s face it; I’m the mommy of three young children. I have a LOT of pictures hanging in my office. This particular one is a pencil drawing of a fish bowl. The bowl is nicely outfitted with three houses. One petite fish swims above them. There is a sun shining in a partly cloudy sky above the bowl, and a tiny carton of fish food stands beside it.

The picture makes me smile. It’s one of many the kids have made in school that are peppered throughout the house. They’ve grown to have a preference for hanging them in my office. I think it’s because they know that’s where I am during the day while they’re gone to school. And I tell them I miss them so much during those times.

So, it makes me smile. Little Drummer Boy made the picture last year in first grade art class. It’s punctuated with spots of watercolor. Purple and green and yellow and orange houses. An orange goldfish. A yellow sun and fish food jar. I smile because he made it. And it’s a great drawing. And a reminder of him as a first-grader. And I smile because of how he presented it.

LDB went searching for it in his backpack after school. He wanted to show me. He was fairly bursting to talk about everything depicted there. The crux of which seemed to be…

“Mrs. Pugh said we could color things the wrong color if we wanted to.”

The wrong color. It took me a minute to notice it. And my Drummer Boy was quick to fill in the gaps. It was the bubbles. He chose to make the bubbles red. And, I guess it’s true; bubbles in a fish bowl aren’t supposed to be red.

Little Drummer Boy was quite proud of himself for taking Mrs. Pugh up on her generous offer to use the wrong color. And I was too. It was just a small bucking of the expected coloration, but I could see the freedom it gave him to express himself. To color his own picture. His own storyline.

Sometimes to experience a small freedom from our circumstances, we just need permission to color it differently. And if we are unable to find someone to offer that permission, we give it to ourselves. The permission to color our own day, our own lives, independent of the things that may have bound us or been expected of us yesterday.

In times of transition, stroke by stroke, we re-color our lives. As I look at the fish bowl, I’m thankful for the small reminders that each day is new. Each moment is new. And ready to be colored anew. And it’s ok to use the “wrong” color.

Categories : mother's heart, twelve days

Good.

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 14, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY FOUR

“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.”

When we visited the beach this summer, we searched for shells. We waited as the waves moved in with their endless rhythm. And then as the wateer moved back out, we searched for glimpses of color or glimmering white. We tried to capture the tiny shells with our feet or our hands while it seemed each one was seeking to be buried by the sand or carried out again in the swirling water. They were elusive, but we managed to make it home with a bucket full.

Sometimes I feel like I’m searching for God’s goodness in that same way. I know it’s bound to be there in abundance, but the murky moments of life make it hard to grasp. Still I search for it. To find that glimmer of truth and faith I can hold on to. And keep. And look upon to remember the moments when His goodness made itself known in the face of hard circumstances.

I know God was with Mike in those darkest moments. Those final moments. Even in the betrayal of his own mind. In the cloudiness of his preparations. In the literal final step. I’m grateful for that. I’m comforted by that.

But I can’t help but ask why? And how? How could You let this happen? How could You let that one day happen? How could You let the last few years of my life happen as they did? To this end? And where? Where was my miracle? Where was the miracle for Mike? Where was the miracle for my children that would have allowed them to grow up with a father?

I struggle with the belief that in His ultimate providence, God’s best will prevail. How can this be better for us? How can this be best? All those people in Your recorded history. All those people who saw the unbelievable materialize before their eyes. Was our faith not strong enough? Was our sin too great? Did I not ask or reason or beg or try hard enough? Were the cries of our souls not loud enough? Was our sincerest hope too limited? Did you look on our faith and see not quite the mustard seed required? Was the innocence of my babies not worth preserving? Was my heart just too ripe for crushing?

Where was our miracle?

Even in the wrestling of these almost blasphemous questions, I can see a small glimspe — a shadow really — of an even more difficult truth.

That this WAS best. I can barely even write that sentence. Maybe this was and is God’s best. His best and most perfect allowance in such a flawed and broken situation, in the midst of such flawed and broken hearts. That somehow this DID preserve their innocence, as only God’s providential hand can. That in these times — like now, and like then — we reach and grasp for a faith that is just enough for this moment. And it is enough. Maybe no more, but certainly no less. And that the crushing of my heart can result in a deeper and more complete healing.

I believe this: In spite of the despair and horror of those few moments on September 20th, heaped upon the despair of so many months and years before, Mike never got anything less than the very best of God. I never got anything less than the very best of God. The best of God far exceeds anything my feeble mind can comprehend.

I’m reminded today that God does not make His decisions based on me — what I’m strong enough to withstand or what I’m too weak to handle. His decisions come from His perfect understanding and sovereignty in what was, what is and whatever will be. To accept WHATEVER comes from His hand is to accept my own greatest good.

For, He is good.

Categories : twelve days

Just a Tuesday

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 13, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY THREE

Smiles when I see them. “Maybe we should make a fire tonight.” Excitement from the day. Really wanting to play more with their friends. “Let me see if it’s cold outside. It’s cold!” All three talking at once as we climb into the car. Trying to buckle up on their on but it’s too dark. Choosing the CD track to play. Organizing the fire-building activity as we drive. “Can I have two pieces of candy?” The great unpiling of backpacks and papers and artwork and leftover snacks. Sifting through folders and hanging bags on hooks. A parade of excitement down the steps and to the wood pile. Instructions from Little Drummer Boy. Always. Big logs, medium logs and little sticks. Fire starters and long matches. Each with a turn to add a piece of wood. “It’s burning!” “Can I tell you about my picture now?” “My tummy hurts.”

Upset stomachs. Cleaning up. Damp clothes. Soothing words. “Is Baby Girl ok?” Curious George. A picture of the Mayflower. In a giant storm. “And then I found the gray crayon!” “Can I sit in the green chair?” Cheesy dogs. No, plain hot dogs. And tater tots. And leftovers from the fridge. More soothing words and rubs on her back. “Look at our fire!” Pumpkin paper plates. Ketchup. Putting her in bed. The laptop. Robin Hood. Boys stretched out on couch and bean bag. Their day’s work done. Email newsletters and Google Analytics. The sign for “I love you.” Changing socks. Finding Lamb. Tucking in this way and that. A Fly Went By. “Tomorrow I’m coming to lunch with you.” “I want you to.” “This is the funniest part.” “Will you pray for me?” A sigh. And a smile as I close the door.

One thousand little things that add up to a normal evening. Just a Tuesday. As the dust of our upheaval settles, it’s a blessing to recognize the signs of just a normal Tuesday evening in late Fall. Even with stomach bugs and tired spirits and full work loads that are somehow just normal. One thousand little things. That are so big.

I can’t believe I get to walk through this life with the three young human beings here. They teach me every day that real life is in the small things. And that it’s big. We face huge hurdles. Long-lasting hurdles. But it is such a blessing to teach them that life is a gift.

I’m blessed. And thankful to teach them. And learn from them. That through hurt and sorrow and the painstaking onslaught of normal, the simple joy emerges. That living is big. That living is worth it. That no matter the cost and depth of endurance, living is a gift worth treasuring. And each day we choose LIVING, we triumph.

Categories : twelve days

Change

Posted by haley montgomery

· November 12, 2012

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY TWO

We lost another tooth last month. This time I found out about it in an “oh yeah” moment. These teeth seem to be getting fewer and fewer “breaking” news flashes. Now, we’re equally on the watch for the NEW teeth coming in. And, although it can be somewhat disconcerting to get the latest (with demonstration) at the dinner table, I’m finding a distinct comfort in these little milestones of life.

We’ve gotten progressively more confident. With the tooth thing. The last time it happened at the skating rink. Apparently. I wasn’t there for that big event. Again. After the exodus of four — now five — baby teeth, my little snaggletooth Drummer Boy is an expert. I don’t think I even know the location of big event number five. That’s quite a jump in confidence from tooth number one.

When Little Drummer Boy’s first loose tooth started to make its imminent departure known, he woke me at 3am. He was afraid and worried and unsure of everything. He knew from books and conversations that this happened to every child. Losing teeth was just one of those growing things. But on that day (way back in kindergarten) it was totally different. It was happening to him. When we’re faced with that newness — that change — for the first time, it’s always bigger than we thought.

There was his concern at the breakfast table. His resistance to go to school. His wanting his teachers to know — and wanting me to tell them. His look of worry. His covering smile. His desire for someone to know. Maybe everyone to know. To be aware of this very personal change.

I know that feeling.

I remember so clearly wanting to hold him. Wishing I could hold him all day. And shelter him from the brunt of this change — a change I knew he would get past. In time and when the sting of that first loss was gone.

Change is part of life — the most consistent part. Life changes. Accepting that change is a lesson I hope as I can continue to teach my babies. As I try to accept the change in our lives myself. And my own inability to shield them from it.

My children push me forward. There’s no way around it. They are incapable of existing without joy and smiles and play. So they pull me along. They are incapable of making themselves stop growing. They can’t help but press on — at break-neck speeds sometimes. And while it’s often hard for me to keep up during this season, I’m so thankful for their continued and insistent steps forward. Toward change. And the acceptance of change.

You hear that kids are resilient. I wonder if it’s more that they just accept change more easily. After all, their whole existence is change — compacted, magnified and over-arching change. Little Drummer Boy is seven now and I don’t know if even once in those seven years has he gained his stride for more than a minute before the upheaval of another stage, another lesson, another change began its churning. Yes, he’s an expert at tooth-losing, but what of the latest and greatest lessons of every other kind? All the normal lessons, and the not-so normal ones. Such is the process of ever-learning. Such is life when you are so young. Change.

When I think about the resilience of Little Drummer Boy and his ever-revolving stages, I wonder if it comes from this: He hasn’t yet realized he knows everything. He is full of the never ending process of recognizing curiosity and trying to satisfy it. He hasn’t reached the moment when he feels certain he knows what needs to be known — when he has arrived at some defining moment of understanding. No, I think he is somehow cognizant of the vast sea of knowledge or understanding he does NOT possess. And that’s completely acceptable to him. So, perhaps facing the unknown isn’t quite so jarring. When you face the unknown so regularly.

The trouble with growing up sometimes is that we lose sight of all that we DON’T know. We are wooed by the idea that we have arrived at knowing everything we need to know. In that love affair with understanding, the unknown and the unexpected are unwelcomed, but insistent guests. And when we are confronted with change that comes from what may be the UNknowable, the blow is even greater.

As I’m pressing through my own growth spurts in this 12-day series, I’m thankful for the example from my children that life does indeed keep moving. It changes. But those changes get easier as we go.

Categories : mother's heart, 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.