It hangs on the wall just inside the front door at the ranch. A small, framed photograph of my parents, close to the decorative plaque that says “Home”. There they are, smiling happily in front of Sturminster Mill, a short walk from their home in Dorset, just around the corner and across the stone bridge.

I love seeing them up there on the wall. It’s as if they greet us when we arrive and are waiting there to wish us farewell as we leave. This picture is our way of bringing them to Whispering Oaks Ridge, a place I so wish they had experienced for themselves. Oh, how they would have loved the groves of oak trees, the open meadows with deer grazing, the surprise visits from foxes, possums and armadillos, and perhaps most of all they would have savored the peacefulness of the surroundings.

Do I have a real sense of their presence here? Yes! After all, what they left for us made our little ranch getaway possible. The proceeds from their home became an integral part of this ranch we now treasure. I see it as their endowment transformed into beauty, nature, joy, and unforgettable memories still being forged.

Their legacy lives on in other ways too. Our three children recently constructed a lovely new house, intended for a short-term AirBNB rental.  It is just one of several real estate investments they’ve made since my dad left us 8 years ago. It warms my heart that the second generation has grown something beautiful from what was entrusted to them by their grandparents. They have named this property “Beecroft Hideaway” in honor of the Australian suburb where my parents resided for 32 years.

I was delighted to paint a watercolor painting for them to hang in this dwelling, and in it I incorporated little reminders of their grandparents’ Australian home.

With all that said, the resources provided to acquire these properties are only a small fraction of what Mum and Dad left behind.

There are paintings on our walls, pieces of pottery, porcelain dolls, recipes and detailed letters. We have stories of the WWII years and glimpses into their lives, preserved in their own words and handwriting. Expressions that reveal a range of emotions; their love, hopes and fears. Their belongings have found their way not only into our home but into those of our children and grandchildren. What a treasure trove we all inherited. Gratitude does not begin to describe our depth of appreciation.

Lately, as I reflect on their lives, I find myself moved by something much deeper than the possessions they left or even the wonderful opportunities their generosity made possible. My parents lived humbly, but beautifully. They found joy in life’s simple pleasures, shared adventures and laughter. Their enthusiasm for living fully each day was undeniable, and rightly so, they cherished the life they built together. Their devotion to each other, to their family, and the sacrifices they willingly made for those they loved, were tightly woven into their relationship.

My parents didn’t simply leave us the monetary means for a beautiful place to enjoy; they demonstrated how to live a beautiful life wherever we are.  Perhaps that is the most precious inheritance of all.

The older I become, the more I understand that legacy isn’t only what we leave for others. It is what we leave in them.

My mother taught me so much about unconditional love, loyalty, optimism, and trust. One small piece of wisdom has remained with me for decades. It was passed down by her father.

“Anthea,” she once told me, “My father said if you’re ever tempted to share an entrusted secret with someone, walk out into the middle of a large field and whisper it to the wildflowers. Your secret will be safe with them.”

I have carried that image with me ever since. I imagine a young woman sitting alone in a field, whispering words to delicate wildflowers gently wafting in the sunlight. Words expressed in confidence. A secret revealed that would stay in the field and go no further. Certainly, my grandfather could never have known how far his wise words would reach. He shared them with his daughter, who passed them on to me, and his wisdom was taken to heart by each of us.

What someone entrusts to you is precious.

From my paternal grandfather came another inheritance. It wasn’t money or valuable possessions, although I do safeguard his WW1 military medals and I am blessed by a few letters he wrote to my dad who served in WWII. Simple words of kindness and hopefulness. Grandad was a gentle soul of limited financial means but he was a godly man who lived humbly and joyfully. His influence on my faith was priceless. Then there’s the gift he gave me many years ago, a small bible bound in black leather. I treasure this bible which rests on my bedside table within easy reach. In addition to God’s word are a few words from Grandad, just inside the front cover. Inscribed in his own longhand writing:

 “Dear Anthea, Happy Easter 1952.” Then he wrote out the scripture verse Job 11:17 (see below)  and he signed it simply “Grandad”.

He was indeed a joyful man of faith who would often hum, whistle tunes, or sing hymns to me. When I was about 8 years old, in bed with the measles, and miserably itching all over, I found some relief when I asked, “Grandad, will you tickle my feet?” His gentle fingers felt like feathers stroking the soles of my feet. Barley felt, but enough to distract me from the incessant itch. Faith and tenderness were intertwined in those ordinary moments. Surprisingly, even at that young age, I absorbed far more than I could possibly have understood at the time.

My parents provided another example. They were devoted to each other through 71 years of marriage. When I was growing up, I watched my mother lovingly care for my father’s needs, then later in life I saw my father faithfully care for her through eight long years of dementia. Their love was certainly evident in the happy years, but perhaps even more profoundly in those difficult seasons when devotion became an act of daily care.

They didn’t need to explain devotion to me. They lived it. I witnessed it.

Maybe some of life’s most enduring lessons are learned not because someone deliberately sets out to teach us, but because we notice the way they live. This thought suddenly struck me. What if the life we live is more powerful than the words we speak? Perhaps the example of how we live outlasts what we say?

I do know that my parents’ example of devotion has influenced my own marriage. Chuck and I have received the heartwarming gift of hearing from our children and grandchildren that our relationship, our faith, and the way we live our life, have helped guide their own lives. And so, it continues. One life touches another, something of value is passed forward; a few wise words, an act of kindness, an example of unconditional love. And we might never know how far its influence reaches.

I tend to believe that legacy doesn’t begin when life ends. What if it’s being created right now, in encounters so ordinary that we may not recognize their significance? I learned that in a way I have never forgotten.

Years ago, I had a customer who lived alone. She was retired and lonely, and when she called to place her Shaklee order, the conversation rarely ended with the order. Sometimes the order came at the conclusion of a long exchange where she would share her troubles, her fears, her regrets, her painful loneliness. Mostly, I just listened. Those conversations could be long and repetitive, and there were times when they came at inconvenient moments. I would listen, sympathize and encourage her as best I could, and over the years the calls continued.

One day, her name flashed onto my phone. She caught me on the way to an important meeting, and I was already concerned about being late. Knowing how long the calls could last, my heart sank a little, and I almost didn’t answer. Thankfully I did. This time she wasn’t phoning in an order, nor was she struggling with another problem. She was calling to say thank you.

She confessed something I had never known. There had been times when she felt so overwhelmed and without hope that she had considered ending her life. On some of those occasions she had seemingly called me to place an order, when what she really needed was a listening ear and reassurance that someone cared. She told me that our conversations had prevented her from acting on those thoughts.

I was humbled beyond words. What I had regarded as simply listening, she had experienced as hope. The hope to carry on. I have never forgotten that. The realization had a profound effect on me.

How often might we underestimate the significance of the small things we give to those who cross our path? A smile, a hug, a few words of encouragement, keeping a secret, sitting beside someone who is hurting, answering the telephone when we’d rather not, or giving our time when it isn’t particularly convenient.

Sometimes we are graced by knowing we have made a difference. Sometimes we discover it later. Sometimes we may never know our impact in this lifetime.

Perhaps that is part of the mystery of legacy. Day by day we leave something in other people. Our children watch how we love. Our grandchildren see what we value. Others observe how we respond to disappointment, how we resolve conflict and how we treat someone who has nothing to offer us in return. They notice whether the way we live is congruent with the things we say we believe.

In a way we become living examples, and what others absorb from watching us may travel farther than anything we deliberately set out to teach.

Whenever I walk through the front door at Whispering Oaks Ridge and see that photograph of Mum and Dad, I am reminded of how much of their lives continue to unfold in ours. Their generosity helped make our serene getaway possible, just as it has helped another generation create something valuable of its own. My parents’ paintings, letters and treasured possessions keep their memories alive.  

But what moves me the most is the life behind those gifts. The years of love and sacrifice, the joy they found in being together, and the example they gave us of how to live life to the fullest. 

Those are inheritances that cannot be measured in dollars or divided among heirs. They become part of who we are. They shape the choices we make, the people we love, and the way we treat others whose paths cross ours. Sometimes, long after those who initially gave them to us have passed away, their influence continues in generations yet to come, and even in lives they never dreamed of touching.

Perhaps these are questions worth asking while we are still here: Who am I because of those who came before me? And what might someone else carry within them because my life touched theirs?

What we leave behind is not simply what remains after we’re gone. It is what continues to grow because we were here.

We are living our legacy while we are living our lives.

This is the scripture my grandfather wrote in the bible he gave me:
And thine age shall be clearer than the noonday; thou shalt shine forth, thou shalt be as the morning.
Job 11:17

Of all the trees in God’s creation the oak is my absolute favorite.

While I genuinely love all trees, it is the oak that captured my heart, even as a little girl long ago. Perhaps it is because one oak tree in particular lives in some of my earliest and fondest memories.

As a child growing up in post WWII England, life was simple and precious. It was a treat after a Sunday dinner, to wander through the beautiful countryside. From the top of Shotover Hill, we could enjoy lovely views of Oxford, the city where we lived.

Along one of the pathways grew a huge oak tree. Towering high into the sky it seemed to stretch for miles above my head. I would gaze upward into its branches as the leaves rustled in the breeze, stirring my vivid imagination until I was certain I could hear whisperings.

What are you saying to me? I wondered.  

One Sunday, to our dismay, we discovered woodcutters gathered around the tree. With their crosscut saw and axes, they were felling that mighty oak.

Perhaps I will never know why the tree had to come down, but what happened next became part of our family story.

My father, an avid tree lover, spoke with the men, and I later discovered that he had purchased planks of wood from the old oak. He carefully seasoned the wood in our shed, and in due course, lovingly created a collection of useful things from it.

And so, the tree took on new life!

One especially memorable item was a dollhouse he made for me one Christmas. There were also casual tables, stools, and other pieces his hands crafted from that beautiful English oak─some of which have escaped my memory over the years.

Many decades later, after the passing of my elderly parents, Chuck and I faced the bittersweet task of settling their estate and sorting through a lifetime of possessions, deciding what should remain in the family. Among them were Dad’s oak tables and stools. Today, our children each have a piece of their grandfather’s craftsmanship in their homes, and I have several pieces in mine here in Texas.

Imagine that. Wood from one old English oak tree now rests in homes in Texas, California and Mississippi. I couldn’t help but think:

Some trees never really leave us. They simply change the way they stand beside us.

Perhaps that lifelong affection for oak trees explains why Chuck and I spent months searching for just the right second property in the heart of the Texas Hill Country. We knew what we wanted: a few acres of beautiful land with an abundance of mature oak trees. Eventually we found our five acres, and it only made sense to name it Whispering Oaks Ridge.

It is there, immersed in God’s creation, where I find a deep sense of belonging and peace. As I wander beneath the many groves and varieties of oak trees, I marvel at their majestic beauty. I notice how deeply rooted they are, how no two grow in quite the same way. How each develops at its own pace and into its own unique configuration. They never seem to hurry. They simply keep growing.

They withstand heat, cold, drought, wind and winter storms. Their branches offer shade and shelter to countless forms of wildlife. Their acorns fall to the earth holding the promise of another generation. And even when an oak’s own season of standing finally ends, its usefulness may live on. It may provide warmth for a fire. Its wood may become something of practical use or a thing of beauty. Or, left where it falls, it slowly returns to the earth, enriching the soil from which new life eventually emerges.

Nothing needs to be wasted. Perhaps that is one of the oak’s quietest lessons.

The longer I wander among these trees, the more I realize that what I once imagined as a little girl may not have been so fanciful after all.

The oaks are whispering. Not with words of course, but with the example of their lives. Perhaps they are saying: grow slowly and put down deep roots. Stand firm through the changing seasons. Provide shelter where you can. Scatter seeds for what will come after you. And, when your season changes, find another way to give.

Perhaps the oak’s lesson becomes a lesson about our own lives. There is a time when we understand that a meaningful life is not measured merely by what we accomplish in our lifetime. Perhaps it is also measured by what happens because we were here—the difference we made in the lives of those we touched. 

My father’s hands gave that English oak another life. Decades later, his daughter and grandchildren still use and treasure what he created. And now, here I sit among Texas oaks, writing words I hope someday will nourish my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren ─ and perhaps generations I will never meet this side of heaven.

Maybe that is what legacy really is.

Not necessarily something grand with our name engraved on it. Perhaps legacy is simply the good we plant, build, teach, model, love, and leave behind. A piece of furniture, fashioned by a father’s hand. A story passed from one generation to another. Faith, lived strongly enough that someone else wants to carry forward, a kindness remembered, or wisdom shared. Seeds planted whose shade we may never sit beneath.

At this stage of life, I think about these things more often than I once did. I cannot know which of my words will be remembered, which lessons will take root, or which small acts of love might ripple through generations. None of us knows that.

Our part is to simply keep planting.

Perhaps that’s why the acorn fascinates me almost as much as the mighty oak. Everything that towering tree may become someday is concealed inside something tiny enough to rest in the palm of my hand. What a powerful reminder of the potential contained in the small things we leave behind ─ a word of encouragement, an example lived, a family tradition, a story, a prayer, a seed of hope.

I think again of that little girl standing beneath the great oak on Shotover Hill, gazing upward and wondering what the rustling leaves were whispering to her. All these years later, standing beneath different oaks on a ridge half a world away, I am finally beginning to understand.

Root yourself deeply in what matters. Keep growing. Give generously. Weather the seasons. Plant something that will outlive you. And trust God with what grows after you are gone.

Perhaps that is the whisper of the oaks.

Perhaps that is a life well lived.

But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. ─ Jeremiah 17:7-8

 

 

 

I was recently listening to a stirring song written by a country singer. The lyrics were heartfelt, expressing the importance of teaching our children about matters of the soul. Not just to instruct them on how to achieve success in the world but to notice their surroundings, to learn from nature—the river, the mountains, the sunset, and the morning light.

The thought lingered with me.

As I wandered around Whispering Oaks Ridge one evening, watching long shadows stretch across the meadow and listening to birds settling in for the night, I found myself reflecting on all that we strive so diligently to teach our children.

We teach them how to read and write.
How to exercise and stay healthy.
How to work hard and to manage money.
How to solve problems and become independent.
How to succeed in an increasingly complicated world. Continue reading →

Occasionally people ask me why I write.

The short response is “Because I must!” But the real answer is surprisingly simple too and deserves a longer explanation. I write when my thoughts compel me to express what I am thinking and feeling.

Most of the time, writing doesn’t begin with me asking, “What shall I write about today?” Instead it begins with a thought that simply won’t leave me alone.

An observation.
A question.
A memory.
A lesson life has quietly taught me. Continue reading →

The oak trees are calling, and I must go.

I hear them whispering my name, strumming the strings of my heart and beckoning me to return to the beauty of stately oaks, rolling green pastures, and the wonders of nature.

The ranch is a safe place to nourish my soul—a place where the distractions, worldly noise, and daily demands of life begin to fade with the first deep exhale.

My mind slows.

My soul sings.

Whispering Oaks Ridge is a dream come true. An inheritance gift from my parents made it possible for us to purchase this little slice of paradise. We remodeled, built a deck, and made other improvements to transform it into what we consider a welcoming retreat.

We truly love this property, and the words feeling thankful fall short of expressing the depth of gratitude we owe my parents. Their gift blessed us beyond measure.

This is our sanctuary.

Caring for the land brings a special kind of joy. Stunning views of meadows dotted with wildflowers and grazing deer stretch beyond every window, bringing the beauty and vibrancy of nature indoors. What a privilege it is to walk among these ancient oaks, wondering about the generations that came before us while savoring the blessings of today.

Although we love our Austin home and it remains our primary residence, we appreciate meaningful stretches of time at Whispering Oaks Ridge. For me, every moment immersed in nature heightens my senses, draws me closer to God, and restores my soul.

It is here that peacefulness and beauty inspire me to think, to remember, to realign my priorities, to reflect on life, and to write.

Welcome to Reflections from Whispering Oaks Ridge.

These essays are inspired by life on our ranch, the beauty of God’s creation, and the lessons gathered over a lifetime of faith, family, service, and learning.

My hope is that these reflections encourage you to slow down, notice wonder, and live well.

Perhaps my writing will invite you into a quiet space where you can sit for a while.

Here you will find stories, observations, questions, and wisdom gathered over a lifetime. Faith, nature, purpose, gratitude, and wonder naturally intertwine.

If you are hurried, perhaps you will slow down.

If you are discouraged, perhaps you will find hope.

And perhaps readers of all ages—even the next generation—will discover a few signposts from someone who has walked a little farther down the road.

So pull up a chair.

Take a deep breath.

Listen to the wind in the oaks.

And welcome to Whispering Oaks Ridge.

He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.
— Psalm 23:2-3