A Grown-Up Highland Romance

I just finished reading Blood on the Tartan by Chris Holmes and thought I'd share my review:

Chris Holmes weaves a bittersweet tale worthy of a clan storyteller against the backdrop of the Highlands of Scotland. The year is 1854 and the economy of the Highlands is shifting -- from tenant crop farming to sheep farming. And sheep need room to graze. Landlords all over Scotland are "clearing" their tenants in place of four-footed clansmen, and the lord of Strath Carron is no different.

Catherine Ross is no stranger to the Clearances. Displaced from her childhood home, she made a life with her husband in the village of Greenyards. Now a widow, she has only her son and her home in the valley of Strath Carron, for generations her family's place.

Ian Macgregor is a constable newly stationed in Strath Carron. Idealistic and full of faith in Victorian justice, he acquaints himself with the villagers of Greenyards, and the attractive young widow Catherine.

Their growing sweet romance will be put to the test when the Clearances come to Greenyards. Catherine urges her neighbours to resist the unjust evictions, while Ian is trapped between his love for her and his duty to uphold the law.

I thoroughly enjoyed this read -- the characters are vibrant, bringing to life all the emotions and motivations behind the tumultuous period of the Highland Clearances. Chris Holmes has a true bard's voice.

The Sacrosanct Marriage Bed

We just got a new bed recently, to replace the birch tree bed Kevin made for us when we got married. It was a special bed -- Kevin had carved our initials into it and each of our children's. It was a good bed, just falling apart. Thinking about our bed has reminded me of a few things. We made a resolution very early on in our parenting lives that we were going to keep our bed for just the two of us.

It's not that we don't love our kids or want to exclude them. In fact, it's quite the opposite. We want to give our children the kind of confidence that comes from knowing that their parents have a secure marriage that will act as a safety net for the whole family. We also want them to be able to go into their later childhood, teen and adult years comfortable with their own space and able to fall asleep on their own without fear.

It started right from the beginning. Aside from the first night in bed with us as an adjustment period from hospital to home, we decided our children would not sleep in the bed with us. After the first night, our babies moved into a bassinet in our room for a week or two until they were used to that. Then, usually when we couldn't take waking up to every little noise, we moved the babies into their own rooms. Of course, we still have the odd Saturday morning snuggle with the kids, but it is always on our own terms.

There are other ways we try to keep our bed (and room) a special place for just us. The kids don't play in there or bring toys in. I make the bed daily and keep the room tidy, attractive, and peaceful. And if we have an argument in the evening, we resolve it before we get into bed to avoid lingering hostility.

There's a powerful association with place that begins for human beings right from the start of life, and it works with this, too. That's why the bible specifically says to "keep the marriage bed holy". It speaks symbolically, but I think it also has a point literally, too. You'd be surprised how much paying a little attention to keeping your bed special and set apart will do for your marriage.

Paul, Barnabas, and Timothy

I once heard it said that everyone should have a Paul, a Barnabas, and a Timothy. "Huh?" you say.

Paul was a first century Christian who became a missionary to many regions of Greece, and eventually to Rome. But he didn't do it alone. He went with various partners who stuck with him through imprisonments and beatings. One of these was a man named Barnabas, which incidentally means "Son of Encouragement". Starting to make sense now?

Then Paul trained a young man to take over from him, a man named Timothy. He wrote two letters to him, full of wisdom about how to lead and care for people in ministry. Everything Paul knew, he passed on to this young man in a mentorship setting.

So, if we are each to have a Paul, Barnabas, and a Timothy, that means we each need a mentor (like Paul was to Timothy), a partner (like Barnabas was to Paul), and a successor (like Timothy was to Paul). In order to live an effective life, we need to learn from someone wiser than we are, have one or more friends who can encourage and work with us, and to pass on our wisdom to someone else who can continue our life's work long after we're gone.

So who's your Paul, your Barnabas, your Timothy? Are you well grounded in this concept? The Paul-Timothy relationship is like a lake with a river flowing in and a river flowing out. If you don't have an inlet, your lake dries up. If you don't have an outlet, it gets stagnant. Maybe you have one of these, or neither. Maybe you've isolated yourself, as I have done in the past. Just remember, God never meant for us to do this thing alone -- He made us to be a team! So find yourself a Paul, a Barnabas, and a Timothy!

Little Hands

Sometimes as a mom of young kids I can get so frustrated by the little things around the house. Cleaning seems like a revolving door -- it's literally never finished. I'm sure many of you can relate to that, you know, the rumpled rugs, the toothpaste on the counter, the sand dumped on the floor, the food under the highchair. Now that we're officially done having kids, I tend to remind myself -- two more years and no more diapers, or in three more years all the kids will be in school, or one day I won't have to worry about doing up everyone's seatbelts for them anymore.

Truth is, I tell myself those things to keep away the temptation to have more kids. For a mom who's been so wrapped up in caring for babies for the past 6 years, I can foresee it will be hard to let go -- to let those last little ones go off to school one day. So I remind myself of all the positive aspects of growing up. Yes, I'll have a lot more freedom and time for me. That's a nice thing to look forward to.

But then I have to balance myself, and remember to really enjoy the moments I have right now. Most of you have probably heard the song Cinderella by Steven Curtis Chapman -- I've been listening to that song and taking it to heart. My kids are growing so fast, and I need to slow down, take time to show them love while they're with me because I won't have them forever. That message really hit home when I heard the news that Steven Curtis Chapman's five year old daughter was killed recently. We can't take anything for granted, especially with these precious gifts-on-loan we call our children.

So when I see a little handprint on my clean window, I'll remind myself those won't be there forever, and I'll think about how that little hand feels nestled into mine.

Where did you come from?

As a writer, I often get asked about my books and stories -- "where did that come from?" It's a question I've pondered many a time. Characters are an interesting phenomenon that I'm not sure anyone understands.

To a certain point, they do come from the author's imagination and experiences. I often start with a drawing of a character and build a story around that one image. But there is something about characters that is external to the author, always some element the writer can't control. It may sound bizzare to say, but my characters are constantly doing and saying things I never expected of them. Yes, it's true! The words come out and I think "I wouldn't have thought of that, but it's exactly what X would have done!" Characters take on a life of their own, and everything they do and say is a function of that complex personality. I find the more I fight against the inevitable actions of a particular character, the less inspired my writing becomes.

And that opens up the question of inspiration. Does writing come from another source, outside the author? It's a common enough idea -- think of the Muses of ancient Greece. As a Christian I believe in inspiration implicitly. I know that God breathes His ideas into me on a daily basis.

So what do I say when people ask "Where does this come from?" -- not from me, that's for sure!

Inheritance

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago about the impact that our ancestors have on us -- not just the genetic stamp they pass on, but also the marks they leave on our spiritual journey without ever knowing us.

James' colour and Mary's skin
Through three generations have come to me
James' eyes and Ann's fine hair
Passed down before I came to be
Gordon's stature and Katie's shape
Move in a great genetic dance
Alec's smile and Susan's hands
This is my inheritance

Christopher's faithfulness, Rachel's love
Survived throughout a century
Meg's perserverance and George's hope
My ancestors: alive in me
Samuel's vision and Margaret's heart
Not left to fate or happenchance
Jennie's courage and William's faith
This is my inheritance

So I hope this encourages all of you to look into the things your family may have passed on to you. Some of you might have had a pretty negative family experience -- but you might be surprised what you can find in your history. The other thing to remember is that no matter what kind of legacy your family has passed to each other, it is possible to break the cycle of hurt at your generation and start a new family tree.

The Extra Mile

Remember those housewives of the fifties? June Cleaver springs to mind. Okay, I know, I know -- none of us are June Cleaver, and a lot of us don't want to be.

But in June's defense, she did have a point. How often do we bend over backward for neighbours, or people at work, or help out a stranger at the store? Well, I hope we can say sometimes. You know, those random acts of kindness that make the world go round, pay it forward and all that. But then we get home and the sweet tone becomes a harsh yell, the willingness to help goes out the window and we shriek "I'm busy -- do it yourself!" I'm guilty of it as much as anyone.

I want to be a little more Cleaverish. I'd like to remember that my husband and children are a blessing. After all, if we can treat people we barely know with kindness, can't we do that much for our nearest and dearest? I am constantly reminding myself that my family and I are a team, not enemies. Whenever I feel my ire rising at my husband, I stop and think -- why don't I want to help him? Is there any good reason not to iron his shirts or take out the teeny bag of trash when it's full? The only reason that comes to mind is pride, really, and that makes me feel pretty low.

So I iron the shirts, not because he asked me to, but because I want to. Martha Peace, in her book The Excellent Wife calls it going the extra mile. I choose to do deliberate acts of kindness to those I can have the most impact on. And who knows just how far that will go.