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Discrepancies

· February 1, 2011

It’s February, and the month invariably seems to bring our attention to love. It’s inescapable. And while I don’t always buy into the hearts and flowers mentality this time of year, I want my heart to be committed to pursuing and grasping a life characterized by love. A life centered in real and genuine love. A life that rejects the imitations. A life that acts out all the discrepancies love reveals. A life that loves in little things and big things, regardless of distractions.

One of the realities about love I’m continuing to learn as I travel this road toward paying attention is that to love is always to risk. It’s true. Having my children has taught me that lesson more than any other experience, for sometimes even the simple act of letting them out of my sight is an assault on my heart. There is no love without risking myself — risking damage to that core of who I really am, where I live and breathe. Real love always involves opening and exposing myself. Giving myself. Acting outside of myself. And in the face of all the discrepancies inherent in pursuing a life of love, I find myself committed to that openness.

I made a decision in my life a long time ago that having an open heart was important to me. That remaining open despite circumstances was valuable. That exposing my heart to the full weight life (and love) have to offer was the only way to really infuse that life with true meaning, certainly the only way to really see and be moved by the people around me. The only way to distinguish true love from its pale comparisons. Yes, it’s a risky endeavor. Inspite of the risk and even my own disappointments, the opportunity to love is everywhere.

But, love can be a struggle. I don’t know about you, but I’ve experienced those times when the simple opportunities to love those around me were lost in a sea of roles. A sea of expectations — many of which I place on myself. In the day-to-day of life, I’m a parent, a designer, a cook, an organizer, a cleaner, the all-knowing finder of favorite toys and lost clothing, the ever-present referee for playtime games and stories, and the obligatory standard for kind and “loving” behavior. In the pursuit of love, at times I’ve been a trophy. I’ve been somewhere down someone’s list. I’ve been the caretaker, the mother, the unheard voice of reason. I’ve been the assumption, the provider and the significant “other.” It’s hard not to see myself only as a reflection of those things. And certainly of my choices to continue in whatever roles may stifle me, and even inhibit my ability to love. It’s hard to continually pull myself out of those roles and be generous or giving or creative or whatever else is required to live that open life I mentioned. It’s hard to keep my heart open when it means being able to feel the brunt of those roles and positions head-on. The discrepancies of life and love can be staggering.

Here’s the thing. Love is finding joy. Love is a place of peace and acceptance. Love is hoping and blessing. Love is giving away. And, love is hurting and being disappointed. Love is misunderstanding. Love is trying and sometimes failing. Love is discrepancy.

I want to run from the discrepancy. My soul wants to fly from it as fast as it can go and never look back. My heart wants to close itself up tight and pull the covers over its head. But, it doesn’t. It won’t. For love is far too important a vehicle for experiencing the world. And love is far too important a lifestyle to teach. Real life and real love are about those discrepancies. They are about slippage and imperfections. About disorder and unpredictability. And at the end of the day, they are about hope and faith. The assurances that a life of love is worth it — whatever it takes. Whatever letting go, whatever grasping, whatever denying or embracing, whatever ending or beginning, whatever exposure of myself. A life of love is worth it. It’s worth the full measure of all that I have.

In keeping with that realization, this month’s desktop wallpaper takes its lesson from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The encouragement is to love both to the full “depth and breadth and height” my soul can achieve as well as back to the simple response of “everyday’s most quiet need.” Yes, that’s a life worthy of pursuing.

[Click the desktop wallpaper version above to download and enjoy with your technology and grab this iphone wallpaper version as well. Happy February!]

Categories : free art + printables, on faith

Courage to Dream

Posted by haley montgomery

· January 17, 2011

Of the many profiles in courage available in our time, the example of Martin Luther King, Jr. is shining. As we commemorate his life on this national holiday, I’ve been thinking about the type of courage he possessed and wondering about the lessons it still offers for my own pursuit in 2011.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a man of controversy to be sure. At least he entered our stage at a season of controversy, a season a long time in the making. He was a catalyst, an instigator in his sheer and unwaivering pursuit of freedom AND peace–at the same time. This man who was so hated and reviled by some, but deemed leader and even savior by many ignited the actions of others like few men in recent history. This man with the ear of pastors and presidents and poll workers and paupers alike demonstrated the life-changing quality of being willing to lend his ear and the power that results when we lend our words and actions to what we see as necessary and right. He was indeed a courageous man.

As I think about the legacy of Dr. King, many lessons emerge, but of all the teachings of courage available in this man’s exemplary life, this one rises:

“I have a dream.”

For me, this courage–the courage to dream–offers a poignant lesson and challenge. Delivered in one of the most profound and memorable speeches in our modern rhetoric, Dr. King spoke not only of life as it was on that day in 1963–as it had been for many years before–but of the reality he envisioned standing in stark contrast to it. Dr. King possessed the courage to look into the face of a dark and hopeless reality and pull from it a new vision of how life could be. A dream. And dreams require courage. Dreams require the courage to look past what seems immovable, to look beyond what has become normal and dare to see it as abnormal. To reject the notion that life as we know it is acceptable when, at our very core, we know it is not. This ability to see and voice the desire for that changed existence brings hope. And often makes a path of action possible.

Several months ago, Little Drummer Boy’s school conducted a book fair. I, of course, went to the school library to peruse the books and find the selections on LDB’s wishlist. I’m always looking for books that make science and history fun, and as I looked through the educational section, I came across one called A Value Tales Treasury by Dr. Spencer Johnson. It was a book that combined an introduction to several American historical figures with lessons in character building. Right up my alley! It used a unique approach to storytelling that highlighted how each memorable person listened to their “true voice” to make the right choices and to demonstrate the character of their best selves. I brought it home to the kids to a decidedly uneventful reaction compared to the Marvel Heroes treasury I also purchased. So, I put it on their bookshelf for later days.

A few weeks ago, that later day came. Little Drummer Boy found the book and became interested in the stories. Louis Pasteur taught us the value of believing in yourself. Helen Keller taught us the value of determination. Will Rogers taught us the value of humor. And, although Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn’t included, we came to a story about Harriet Tubman–another profile in courage worth exploring, to be sure. Harriet listened to her “true voice” to demostrate the value of helping–helping other slaves find freedom in the underground railroad, as she had been helped herself. It was a lesson in paying it forward, so to speak. And, for Little Drummer Boy, a lesson in a new idea. The idea that someone might be treated unfairly because of the color of their skin.

After we finished the story, he wanted to turn back the pages to examine a few points he didn’t understand. The first was the concept of slavery where one person could be owned by another. Then, he turned to the page where Harriet had to ride home after the Civil War in the baggage compartment of the train. And how Harriet told her story. How it shocked many who read it and prompted them to work to change how others were treated. Little Drummer Boy was curious about this. He asked me, “why did Harriet have to ride with her suitcases?”

Realities.

I explained that at one time people were not allowed to go places or do things because they had dark skin. It was a powerful moment for me in realizing that this thought had never occurred to him. Thank God. I further explained to him how very important it was that Harriet let others know about her experience so that people could learn how they needed to be different. “In fact,” I told him, “we enjoy the results of what Harriet shared today.” His face told me another “why?” was coming. (LDB is nothing if not inquisitive.) “Well,” I asked him. “Who is your best friend?”

A smile broke across his face. And a light of understanding. “E,” he admitted in recognition. “E” is a 6-year-old African American classmate of several years and LDB’s best friend. It was his first recognition that E’s dark skin might be anything more than an interesting cosmetic feature that took a back seat to E’s amazing ability to kick and catch the ball or discuss the continuing saga of Transformers. And while in many ways it pained me to introduce the reality that there was a time when people might not have seen “E” this way, I was thankful for the opportunity to teach him that fairness is important for everyone. It’s important so that we are free to see friends near and far for the wonders they really are.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.”

As important as this lesson in racial equality was, the lesson in courage is even more powerful for me at this moment. You see, in my bedtime reading with Little Drummer Boy, I saw the reality of Dr. King’s dream realized in the most innocent and uncontrived circumstances. I saw a young boy who took no thought of the color of his friend’s skin. And, while I certainly don’t take full credit for that reality as his mother, I am grateful for it. And while I can’t claim that this reality is true for all in our nation, I’m thankful for the collective actions and experiences with others in Little Drummer Boy’s life that made it possible for us.

Dr. King never saw the fruition of his dream. But, the courage to dream that dream did, in fact, move what seemed immovable. I’m spurred toward his courage in my own day-to-day struggles, no matter how they pale in comparison. The courage to conceive of a life that is more than the one I see before me. The courage to believe in the best version of myself to make that life possible. Inspite of fear. Inspite of detractors. Inspite of the incredibly overwhelming “normal.” The courage to dream.

Categories : on social justice

Courage: Where Am I?

Posted by haley montgomery

· January 12, 2011

Ever have one of those days when you look around you and say, “where am I?” I don’t even recognize this place. I don’t recognize MYSELF in this place. HOW did I get here?

2010 was filled with lots of those days for me.

For the last couple of years, I’ve chosen a “theme word” for myself in January rather than laboring over the typical new year’s resolutions. The goal was to adopt a single word (a concept) I wanted to explore and magnify in my life for the coming year. The word represented something I needed or wanted to develop, a new area of growth for myself sought out in words and action.

The theme word for 2010 was Courage. As soon as I began the process of choosing a word–as soon as I even had the thought, really–I knew that Courage was the one for 2010. I had reached a point of intersection in several areas of my life. An intersection where the day-to-day realities of living didn’t match the hopes and dreams I was banking on. An intersection where I saw a Haley I never wanted to be, a Haley I felt sold myself short, a Haley uncomfortable in her own skin and yet oddly complacent in that covering. An intersection of which I had become undeniably aware. And, no matter the level of distraction I infused in my life, that awareness couldn’t be denied. And, it seemed that every action and every thought begged the question, “where am I?”

So, Courage jumped to the forefront of my mind. If those life realities weren’t the authentic life of meaning I needed–demanded–for myself, then something had to change. I had to learn confidence and courage. I had to develop the courage to make changes, to take actions, to form new habits, to move. Away from this intersection in a new direction.

Easier said than done sometimes. For we are indelibly mired in our own skin and the trappings of our own making and choosing.

I thought 2010 would be about action. About brave acts of throwing off the bindings. About rejecting foolishness. About having the courage to stand up for myself and my gifts, the courage to create that life of meaning in concrete ways. About the courage to act. And it was to a degree. Still, I reached December with a decidedly uninspired mindset. For all the blessings and accomplishments of 2010, I saw the year as one of failure in many ways. I surveyed the landscape of my life and found the same intersection. The same frustration with the self I saw in the mirror. The same discrepancies between all that looming potential and the nut and bolts realities. What had happened to my courage?

I couldn’t even begin to think about a theme word for 2011. But then, as the evaluations of last year began to sink in, I started to realize something. 2010 WAS a year of courage for me. Perhaps not the “charging the hill” type of bravery the term immediately calls to mind, but courage none-the-less. Last year’s courage involved counting costs. It involved the sometimes painful commitment to look at myself squarely in the face and recognize that I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. It involved an undaunted gaze at my own life situations, recognizing the areas where I had willingly given over control and wisdom and compliance where it shouldn’t be. It was a courage of realization. The courage to recognize and accept. And it isn’t always fun.

Counting the cost takes courage. Taking stock of what your choices are costing you, what they are costing what is most precious to you, is not for the faint of heart. And admitting I’ve been more than willing to pay for everything that cost me dearly has been downright debilitating at times. Taking a close look at my own part in the hard situations I see around me–in that intersection–isn’t easy. But, it’s a necessary first step to having the courage to act.

Having the courage to step forward or step back often begins with accepting that you brought your own self to this unknown place. That courage to look at our own flaws and diminishing tendencies without blinking is a prerequisite to the courage required for change, for action. It’s the kind of courage that throws off distorted views and watered down visions. It’s a clarifying courage, one that puts questions more easily into perspective. It’s a courage that imbues each small step with more as we see that person begin to become more in line with who we know we need to be.

I’m realizing my work in courage isn’t done. It may never be done, but at this intersection, a new measure of courage is certainly required. And I’m ready to see where this new courage can take me. So, I’m continuing my theme of courage for 2011. I imagine some of the essays on the subject will be a little more personal in nature, perhaps a little more raw. Following through with courage tends to do that. I hope you’ll hang in here with me as you seek out areas of courage in your own life this year.

Categories : beautiful ordinary

Sugar and Spice

Posted by haley montgomery

· January 4, 2011

Last night I had the distinct pleasure of having Baby Girl help me cook dinner. It was a rare boy-free few moments when her brothers were engrossed in a movie in the living room, and she only had to share the counter with her juice cup and a pile of potatoes. She talked to me the whole time with brand new sentences and words and questions. She examined several of the spices with only a few spills. She offered suggestions on preparing the french fries. She counted the slices of cheese as we added them to the cheesy dogs. She giggled. She made faces. She “cooked.” It wasn’t the McCormick jars that made this a sugar and spice moment. With all the bittersweet and savory it entails, she’s becoming a little girl.

If you ask Baby Girl what she got for Christmas, she’ll say “truck.” Go figure. I’d like to go on record that no, Baby Girl did NOT get a truck for Christmas. She got a baby doll cradle with a baby doll to lie in it. She got puzzles–Mary Had a Little Lamb-themed, no less. She got a PINK tricycle with a flowery basket to go on it. But, no, not a truck.

It’s funny. Even at almost 2 1/2 years now, the “girl” part of Baby Girl still eludes me sometimes. And, sorry to state the obvious, but I’m a girl. I’m an only child, so I grew up just being a girl. But, admittedly, I’m not that much of a typical girl. I like feminine details on my clothes, I enjoy wearing makeup and perfume and bracelets and earrings, but I’m no fashionista. I love pretty dishes and setting a table with placemats. I like preparing dinner and special things for my kids, but I’m no Martha Stewart. My point, is that sometimes I’m a little challenged in the whole “girl” thing. At least the “girl” thing I see on the princess aisle of Walmart. So I guess Baby Girl gets it honestly.

When I see Baby Girl playing with her brothers, holding her own with the trains and car chases, I joke that “I need to get this girl some bows.” But seriously folks, maybe I need to get this girl some bows. I realize that I could quite possibly be the only woman in America whose 2 1/2 year old daughter has never worn a bow. Well, once. For daycare pictures last fall, her teachers saw a bow mistakenly placed in her cubby and put it in her hair for photos. When I first glanced at the proofs, my first thought wasn’t “Awww,” it was “Who is this child in the bow?” Sigh. “Girl” challenged, I tell you.

The cards are stacked against me in this whole girl thing with Baby Girl. After all, she IS the youngest with two older brothers who probably define the term “boy.” And, being the youngest, she is more than eager to do whatever they are doing as if she somehow needs to catch up. “Whatever they’re doing” usually means some form of banging, car chasing or super hero shenanigans. Outside it means jumping, climbing, digging in the dirt and other lady-like stuff. And it’s not just at home. At “school” she’s been the one girl in a class of nine for quite a while now. Trucks are her life.

Still, Baby Girl is my kind of girl–more so every day. For all the trucks in her life, I see her hands drawn to the beads on my necklace. I see her eyes light up with her baby dolls. I see her tiny arms cradle them and mimic reading bedtime stories to them. I see her putting on her dressy shoes and running in them. I see her examining my jewelry box. I see her sorting spice boxes with that magical blend of sweet and tomboy I love. I see her becoming sugar and spice right before my eyes.

When I wonder about what a little girl should be, when I worry about showing her what little girls do, I see her full of joy and energy. I see her uninhibited by the constraints of what girls wear or play. I see her shout as loud as she can. I see her whisper playfully. I see her comfortable with train tracks or baby blankets. I see her running with the boys as if she can. Because she can. I see her sneaking into my makeup drawer, with eyeliner on her face. And I think, “that’s my girl.”

Categories : mother's heart

Resolved.

Posted by haley montgomery

· December 31, 2010

As the waning days of 2010 slip by, I find myself resolved. A new year often brings with it the pressure of resolutions–that laundry list of things we want to add or subtract or change about our lives. Sometimes the pressure of actually choosing the transformations we want to pursue are just as daunting as carrying out the resolutions themselves. After all, making resolutions requires that painful task of self-evaluation we tend to avoid. It involves taking stock of life and commitments and habits and determining their value or effectiveness. Ick. The self-help mantras usually encourage that the most successful New Year’s resolutions are those that are specific. And, I tend to agree. This year, my resolution is pretty specific.

No resolutions. Simple resolve.

Resolve calls to mind determination. Firmness. Having made up one’s mind. And I have. New Year’s Day ushers in a new year. And this year, newness is a blessing I am prepared to embrace. With all the successes and challenges experienced in 2010, I’m determined to embrace the ripeness of this new turn of the calendar.

A new year.
A new day.
A new attitude.
A new opportunity.
A new look.
A new habit.
A new step.
A new path.
A new start.

Resolve is like a restart for our minds and hearts sometimes. The new year, 2011, is filled with new days and new moments. New moments are just that. New. And new means I’m free to release that moment from past decisions, past mistakes, past habits and even past accomplishments. Embracing that new moment means cultivating a willingness to let go of the constraints of our own old ways and the benchmarks of our own old strides. Whatever past success or failure, THIS new moment deserves that freedom. THIS new moment can thrive in that freedom. THIS new moment is alive in that freedom.

So, in 2011 I’m resolved to let new be new. I’m resolved to let go and hold on tight. I’m resolved to make these new moments mine.

[Click the desktop wallpaper version above to download and enjoy with your technology and grab this iphone wallpaper version as well. Happy New Year!]

Categories : beautiful ordinary, free art + printables

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.