Blooming Amidst the Thorns

Currently Reading: Dubliners by James Joyce

Well, today was not the day I was hoping for. I hoped I would be sitting in Panera, eating a delicious quiche, and suddenly get a phone call from my husband telling me he got the job- the teaching job he has been waiting for and worked so hard for and gone through two rounds of interviews for. And then I would scream in the middle of this crowded restaurant while everyone looked at me like I was insane but I wouldn't care because our prayers would finally be answered and my husband would finally be a teacher.

But no. I am sitting in a Panera with a caramel latte and a bagel, trying to squash the big tumor of disappointment and sadness that grew in my stomach in the two seconds it took for my husband to check his email this morning and tell me, "I didn't get it." In those two seconds, the sun got darker and the doors in our figurative hallway seemed to slam shut.

We have dealt with disappointment before. In this economy, with the teaching profession difficult to break into, we have gone through three years of applications, resumes, hoping, praying, waiting, only to end in a helpless sadness that barges in like an unwelcome houseguest. And while we trust in God's plan and always feel better in the morning, that initial disappointment never gets easier to bear.

But life goes on and we smile and pick ourselves up and remind each other of all the things we have and everything we are looking forward to: growing herbs on our balcony, going to Ireland, watching Shakespeare plays, making a summer reading list, going to Madison's Dairy Expo. You know, the things that really count.
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In the midst of reading Eden's Outcasts (which I finished and loved and even wept over... stay tuned for another blog post on that one... it was too good not to discuss it more), a certain book came in the mail that I had ordered several months ago: a memoir called Bloom: Finding Beauty in the Unexpected. Discussing it today is just the medicine I need right now- just another example that God truly pulls the perfect book off of the shelf right when we need it.



I have been following Kelle Hampton's blog, "Enjoying the Small Things" for almost a year now. Kelle writes honestly and openly about her life- raising two girls, discovering her purpose, enjoying life. She is a phenomenal writer, as well as an amazingly talented photographer and her passions find full release through her lovely blog. I have found inspiration, laughs, and a great read every time I visit. Two years ago, Kelle gave birth to her second daughter, a beautiful, perfect girl who happened to have Down Syndrome. This came as a blow to Kelle and her family, who had never known or expected it. Lying in her hospital bed, Kelle saw all of the plans and hopes she had envisioned for her life and her girls disappear. The next year was a whirlwind of emotions and anxieties for Kelle, but also a time of personal growth and the blossoming of a deep love affair between Kelle and her baby Nella. It was also a learning experience, as Kelle wrestled with her life's expectations and coming to terms with the changes she now had to embrace. Bloom documents this life-changing year as Kelle honestly shares her thoughts and worries, and explores how this once shocking diagnosis changed her outlook on her expectations and taught her how to bloom where you are planted. Coupled with her amazing photographs, this book really is like opening a door into her life and discovering an amazing woman, mother, wife, and friend.

Kelle's blog has always inspired me to relish the little things in my life and encouraged my "glass half full" mentality. But this book truly took me inside her struggles as a mother who only wants the best for her little girls. Her open honesty made me cry multiple times as I read, but much of her writing made me laugh out loud, for not only is she freakin' hilarious, but she writes as though she is sitting there with you, with pajamas on and tea in hand at the world's best slumber party. I may not be a mother yet, but my soul ached for her and cheered with her as she discovered the new and unexpected, but no less beautiful, life that she has been blessed with.

Today, Nella is a beautiful two-year-old, talking and walking, and cute as a button. Kelle's new life experiences has turned into a crusade for educating others on DS and raising money for the National Down Syndrome Society, in order to promote the wellbeing of all individuals with DS. Her work is inspiring and her attitude toward life even more so. I find it amazing to see how Kelle turned an unexpected twist in life into something so positive; we can all take a leaf out of her book.


Photo courtesy of Kelle HamptonNo matter where we are in life, disappointment and unplanned surprises will rock our world. Ironically enough, I am struggling with a big mug of disappointment even today. But these instances test our character and reveal who we truly are. Sure, I often get stressed over unimportant details in life. But I like to think that when my boat is rocked, I handle it with more grace than I knew I had. It is a great reassurance to hear how others handle adversity and find that no one is alone in their struggles. I truly realized, through Kelle's story, that if life is too comfortable, we tend to take it for granted. Instead, it's the struggles which make the triumphs sweeter. The perfect life does exist, but it is all in our perspective. A good reminder for me today... and every day, for that matter.
If you need an inspiring, thought-provoking, and lovely read, please buy Bloom. It is too good to pass up.
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It's amazing how much better I feel after writing it all out. Forget therapy- this blog is the perfect therapist, complete with couch and tissues. That felt good.

Before I go, I want to give a shout-out to a new blog I have discovered that I think you all will enjoy. Jillian is my new blogger friend and name twin who shares my love of literature and writing about her reading journey. Her writing is beautiful and her posts range from funny to inspiring. Check her out!

What are some of the simple things that make life sweeter for you? I'd love to hear about it! Have a great week!

Louisa and I

Currently Reading: Eden's Outcasts: The Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Father by John Matteson

During our wanderings through life, we inevitably run into people we admire. People who inspire us because of their passions, their successes, or their perspective on life. Like anyone else, I have my heroes- my parents and my sister, my grandparents, my husband. I also have a world of heroes that exist beyond the flesh-and-blood world, ones that exist only as characters in novels. Jane Eyre is my ultimate literary heroine, closely followed by Jo March, Anne Shirley, Hermione Granger, and Liadan, while their male counterparts include Pa Ingalls and Sydney Carton.

It wasn't until I started reading Eden's Outcasts that I realized that historical personages don't figure among my heroes. There are many that I admire, certainly, men such as MLK Jr. or John Muir, women like Abigail Adams or Emily Dickinson, but none that I could truly count as heroes. My definition of a hero is a person whom I find is similar to myself, yet possesses qualities that I strive to emulate in my own life. A soul friend, an inspiration. Surprisingly for a historian, I never truly found that person in the annals of the past- until now.



I should have known, with my affinity for Jo March, that I would have been just as enchanted with Jo's creator, Louisa May Alcott. But I have found, while reading this biography, that I love Louisa May even more. With every journal entry or letter, I draw closer to her, realizing we share many of the same characteristics- good and bad. Unlike a literary hero, Louisa is human, and far from perfect. As someone who struggles to overcome my faults, I find in her a reassurance that we are all imperfect in some way and that it is part of who we are.

We are both passionate and creative; we are also both irritable, moody, and strong-tempered. As children, we tore voraciously into books, and stimulated our imaginations out of doors. We share strong bonds with our sisters and we find inspiration in nature and fellow intellectuals. We both grew up trying to please our parents, even in the midst of upheaval and strife. My excitement over the discovery of this new bosom friend reached its ultimate pinnacle when I read that Louisa even listed one of her favorite books as Jane Eyre, the novel I have prized since the age of 11. I couldn't help leaping off of the couch and doing a happy dance in my living room when I read that.

Yet there is still so much more about her that I admire- her drive and determination, even her struggles. I love her faults and imperfections just as much as I love our similarities. As I read, I imagine the questions I wish I could ask her or the conversations we could have had. I feel as if I understand her, and that is something I have never found with a character outside of a novel. It is refreshing and exhilarating. It is inspiring.



I still have several chapters to go before I finish this wonderful biography; this summer, I plan on diving into some primary sources- journals and the like, going straight for the woman past the analyses of others. I cannot wait.

I hope everyone had a happy Easter! Here are some of my favorite moments from my weekend.


Loving on my niece Lena


The bridge, overlooking the creek


Oma, the master chef

My lovely sister and I... and a tree which I then fell in love with


Oma, playing with her great-grandbaby


Newspaper reading is serious business


Dancing to "Let's Go Fly a Kite" :)

GRASS!!(Thank you, Lisa, for your amazing photography skills).
Have a great week!

A Smattering of Unorganized Thoughts and Impressions

Currently Reading: Eden's Outcasts: The Story of Louisa May Alcott and Her Father by John Matteson

Today is one of those days where I desperately want to write but find myself with nothing to say, or at least no way of pinning it down to paper. Impressions and thoughts continuously wing through my mind and collide with each other, while I chase them around, trying to capture them and make them behave. They won't behave today.
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Louisa May Alcott is looking up at me as I write this, her gaze full of determination and resolution. Her picture graces the cover of the newest book I'm reading and it is sitting on the floor beside me. She stares me down, trying to communicate with eyes that are piercing and knowing, her chin firmly set. Yet she doesn't look angry. She looks like she just finished laughing and that at any moment, the solid line of her mouth will turn upwards into a grin. I think I would have liked to know her.
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I visited my great-aunt at the nursing home yesterday. She is sick and weak but there is nothing wrong with her mind, her memory, or her sense of humor. She had me in stitches more than once last night. Our visit stays with me because last week I read Water for Elephants, a book that I didn't particularly love but contained several scenes that were very powerful and made quite an impression. The intermittent scenes of the narrator as a 93 year old man, stuck inside a nursing home and a wasted body, but with a mind and thoughts as fresh as ever, caused me more heartache than I can even express. Sara Gruen probably never intended her readers to contemplate growing old as a result of reading her novel, but this reader did. I realized that many of the books you find on the bookstore shelf are about the struggles and triumphs of young adulthood or middle-age. Discovering our purpose, finding ourselves, finding true love, or coming to terms with our childhood are some of the major themes of most novels. Not enough books explore how to grow old, the pain and loneliness of it, the contemplation of death, the end of a life. We spend our lives striving for more- more money, more goods, more self-awareness, more happiness. But each of us will one day have to look back, not forward, and reflect on the life we have lived, not the life we want to live. It has given me much to think about this week, especially as I spent time with my beautiful, amazing aunt.
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I wish I could stay home and read all day... my whole being wants nothing more than to delve into 1830s Massachusetts with the Alcott family. Fortunately, a long weekend awaits me; I plan on taking advantage of it. Perhaps a Little Women post will be forthcoming.


Amazing to think of what came from that mind.
Until next time...

A Good Reading Day

Currently Reading: The Flowering of Ireland by Katherine Scherman

It's a good reading day. While it's not as warm as it has been lately, the grass outside is green, my cat is happily claiming his territory on my lap, and the apartment is (relatively) clean. I glance up every now and again; with each glance, I contendely survey a piece of our home. Our quilts, draped over the quilt rack. The ivy, planted by Oma, resting on the end table. The Easter decorations on the coffee table. The colorful sheen of our red teapot on the stove. I love mornings, when potential and possibilities of the day ahead seem reflected in the bright sunshine flooding the room. Anything is possible in the morning.
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After reading months of fiction, it is refreshing to return to a solid history book with The Flowering of Ireland. I am enjoying figuratively tromping through the monastic ruins of Ireland with Scherman, while taking mental notes for the day (in the very near future) when I am physically there. Clonmacnoise, Bangor, Glendalough, Inishmurray.... all places I've only seen in my mind's eye but I am winging my way toward the day when I can explore them with all of my senses.

I have never fully understood what it is about early medieval Ireland that has always been so fascinating for me. I love reading about the early monasteries and saints, getting lost in the hagiographers' stories of miracles and discovering what monastic life was truly like for these penitents. Irish monasticism and Christianity was quite different from that on the Continent for centuries- not until the twelfth century did Irish Catholicism start to adhere to the Roman Catholic tradition. It's utterly fascinating to examine pre-Christian Ireland and see how the pagan lifestyle and tradition influenced Christianity when it came, and also how the make-up of Ireland at the time actually fit well with the monastic life and Christian tenets. It is amazing to see how Christianity meant more than the conversion of souls- it brought education, a written language, and new ideas to a people hungry for it. But it also incorporated much of what Ireland already was, preserving its ancient literature and incorporating its traditions and festivals. It was a compromise- a new culture very much rooted in the old.

There is a romance to it, when I imagine scribes bent over vellum, their words and art an amalgam of old and new ideas, inspired by their faith and by the awesome loveliness of the nature all around them. Yet there is a bleakness and harshness to it as well, when I imagine the wind-swept rain sweeping over a lone monastery, separate from the world and lonely in its beautiful surroundings. Perhaps what I like about this era is that it was a time between and apart, known yet unknown, on the merest fringes of human memory. It is exciting to discover it and I long for the day when I will stand where they stood and look out on what they saw and know that everything I have read about and studied actually happened, right here.



And although many centuries separate us, perhaps I will find that they are still there, somehow. I cannot wait.

I Arise Today...

Green beer. Leprechauns. Blarney and pots of gold. All sorts of things come out of the woodwork every March 17^th in the United States as we get ready to celebrate everything Irish for St. Patrick’s Day. This Saturday, I plan on indulging in my favorite St. Patrick’s Day tradition. No, I don’t paint my cheeks with “Erin Go Bragh” or pin a leprechaun button on my shirt. Instead, I pull my copy of The Confession of St. Patrick off of my bookshelf and reacquaint myself with the amazing man whose name has become famous but whose life and legacy are often forgotten. I won’t give you a biography of St. Patrick today, but merely a glimpse of what you can discover through his written work.

Yes, St. Patrick did exist. While exact dates of birth, death, and work in Ireland are hazy at best, the fact remains that he was real and he did spread the word of God in Ireland. He was not the first to do so but he seems to have been the most effective. While other missionaries, namely Palladius, were not familiar with the Irish people they were trying to convert, Patrick had lived in Ireland for many years and had a deep respect and love for the Irish and their culture. Two historical documents have come down to the 21^st century from this holy man of long ago. One is A Letter to Coroticus, Patrick’s response to a Roman general that had been kidnapping Irish people and forcing them into slavery. A former slave himself, Patrick’s ardor and strength of character are evident in every word. The second document is my favorite. The Confession of St. Patrick is an autobiography of sorts, in which Patrick explains the beginning of his own faith and dependence on God, his call to Ireland, and his work there. It reveals a man who was very different from the well-known depictions of an aged, white-haired, stooped man in a cloak. Patrick was tough, he was strong, he was quick-witted. He greatly respected the Irish people; he knew the Irish language. He felt uncomfortable and embarrassed of his lack of learning, especially his Latin. He was adamant and he didn’t back down. He was a force to be reckoned with, but also gentle and caring. He admired women and welcomed them with equal fervor to the fold. He felt grief, he felt doubt, he felt shame for the sins he committed in the past. He embraced the Celtic Irish culture, allowing it to flourish alongside the new Christian religion, thus preserving a language and an oral literature that otherwise would have disappeared. And, most admirably of all (for me), he had a very strong faith, a true faith. Not a faith of recent times, dripping in judgment and hypocrisy. But a true, unwavering faith in a power that loved all man... not because we deserve it, but because grace is stronger than our proclivity to sin. I think I would have liked to have known him- each time I read his work, I feel a little closer to a man I greatly admire and gain a little more inspiration on how to live my own life.

There is a poem attributed to St. Patrick that is fitting for today called “Faed Fiada” in Irish and “The Cry of the Deer” or “St. Patrick’s Breastplate” in English. Simple yet profound, it is a fitting symbol of how the Christian faith and the Celtic culture converged and intertwined, creating a beautiful and powerful new culture. As Katherine Scherman writes in The Flowering of Ireland, “If Patrick did write it...it exhibits not only his glowing imagination but an intuitive appreciation of the pagan background of his adopted country.” When I read it, I picture a man standing on a hilltop, shouting his words to the sun and the wind, celebrating God, celebrating the Earth, celebrating life. It is moving in its imagery and I share it with you today.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through the belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness

Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today

Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,

Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,

Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,

Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today

Through the strength of the love of Cherubim,

In obedience of angels,

In the service of archangels,

In hope of resurrection to meet with reward,

In prayers of patriarchs,

In predictions of prophets,

In preaching of apostles,

In faith of confessors,

In innocence of holy virgins,

In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today

Through the strength of heaven:

Light of sun,

Radiance of moon,

Splendor of fire,

Speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind,

Depth of sea,

Stability of earth,

Firmness of rock.

I arise today

Through God's strength to pilot me:

God's might to uphold me,

God's wisdom to guide me,

God's eye to look before me,

God's ear to hear me,

God's word to speak for me,

God's hand to guard me,

God's way to lie before me,

God's shield to protect me,

God's host to save me

From snares of devils,

From temptations of vices,

From everyone who shall wish me ill,

Afar and anear,

Alone and in multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,

Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,

Against incantations of false prophets,

Against black laws of pagandom

Against false laws of heretics,

Against craft of idolatry,

Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,

Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me today

Against poison, against burning,

Against drowning, against wounding,

So that there may come to me abundance of reward.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,

Through belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness,

Of the Creator of Creation.

Slainte.