October has arrived with a crisp air, a rustling leaf, and a quiet morning hush. This is the season of gathering, of fruit in baskets, of thoughts into journals, of children into the arms of their routines.

In our home this is when our Beauty & Benediction table becomes most cherished. It is a rhythm of home that happens every Sunday evening, but there is something about autumn that reminds me of how sacred and holy this routine is. Its a simple space where rest and wonder meet. Candles are lit, a hymn is sung, and conversations are had. But in that moment we are spreading a table of rest that offers connection, peace, and space to speak or ask.

A Living Basket of Books for the Mind and Heart

This month’s Echoes of the Feast is an invitation to consider the first fruits of discipleship education. Education is and should be a long-game, but perhaps you are glimpsing some early harvest now. May this month’s basket bring beauty and goodness into your home.

This December, slow down and savor the season with our Advent-centered Christmas mini studies, designed to bring beauty, meaning, and peace to your home. Both studies are shaped around the unfolding rhythm of the Promise, the Story, and the Gift, the heart of Advent, and invite your family into a rich celebration through story, song, and wonder.

In my previous letters I have mentioned who Charlotte Mason was and the importance of her 20 Principles of Education, but what exactly is a Charlotte Mason education?

It is easy to reduce education to a list of subjects, a stack of books, or a daily checklist but a true Charlotte Mason education is something far richer, deeper, and more enduring. It is, first and foremost, a work of formation, that is the shaping of souls, the training of character, the slow and sacred development of virtue in the life of a child.

At its heart is the belief that the child is a person (Principle #1) made in the image of God, with a mind capable of deep thought, and a soul hungry for beauty and truth. Education, then, is not about control or information delivery. It is about discipleship, the opportunity to offer a generous feast of ideas that nourish the whole person.

This is why we practice narration, not worksheets.

Why we copy Scripture and poetry, not random sentences.

Why we read living books—rich with language and thought.

Why we walk in nature with wonder, not just facts.

Why habit training prepares us for both daily school tasks (habit of obedience and attention and best effort) but also daily life (habit of orderliness, diligence, honesty)

All of these practices serve a higher goal: the child’s relationship with knowledge itself.

Charlotte divided that knowledge into three sacred realms:

🔹 Knowledge of God – through Scripture, worship, and reverent thought

🔹 Knowledge of Man – through literature, history, poetry, music, and art

🔹 Knowledge of the Universe – through science, nature study, and geography

This is a wide and worthy education. Not because it is rigorous in the worldly sense, but because it honors the child as a whole person. It trains not only the mind, but the affections. It cultivates attention, delight, humility, and wisdom. And in doing so, it draws the heart of the child, and the teacher, closer to the Author of all knowledge.

James Tissot is our artist this term, and while studying his painting recently, I was struck by its quiet commentary. He titled the piece Holyday, suggesting a sacred day of rest. Yet the scene he presents is marked not by joy, connection, or rejuvenation, but by isolation. His subjects seem detached, alone, and distant from one another, as if their “holy day” has lost its holiness.

It reminded me just how important it is to safeguard our own holy days, those set-apart moments of rest and restoration. While solitude has its place, we are not meant to always rest alone. More often, true rest is found in shared stillness: in meals with loved ones, quiet conversations, unhurried togetherness. A holy day is not only the absence of labor, but the presence of peace and people.

This is why I’m especially grateful for our Beauty & Benediction table. It has become one of the ways we gently protect the spirit of Sabbath in our home. Week after week, it draws us together—not in busyness or striving, but in shared stillness. A simple poem, a piece of music, a candle lit, a moment of prayer. These are not grand gestures, but small acts of intention that cultivate communion.

It reminds me that holy rest isn’t always found in doing nothing. It should be found in doing the right things slowly, together, and with hearts turned toward beauty and blessing. In a world that so often confuses rest with escape, this gathering space re-centers us in truth, wonder, and each other.

Dear mother, this is your invitation: to spread a table of rest. Not perfectly, but faithfully. Light a candle. Pour cider into mugs. Recite one beautiful thing, perhaps your term’s recitation selection, a favorite poem, or even a hymn if you’re not comfortable singing. These small acts become anchors in the lives of your children—echoes of peace they’ll carry long after October’s leaves have fallen.

For the feast and the forming of hearts,

~Tiffany

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