Before you read today's Five Minute Friday, I have a request. Please take a moment to pray for a woman whose name I never caught. You will read about her here shortly, and perhaps then understand why. I may never see her again here on earth, but I so fervently would like to see her again in heaven and hear of the wonderful ways she witnessed God in her life- perhaps even in a simple hour at breakfast with a stranger half her age.
Five Minute Friday means five minutes of writing with no edits, no going back. I admit, I had a lot to say here, so limiting it to 5 minutes was a struggle. But everyone has a song, if you are willing to stop and listen. Thank you for stopping here.
Today's Five Minute Friday prompt: Song
I told my huband I had one of those If you ask it, she will speak moments.
Ask what? I searched for minutes for just the right question as I stared out the Panera Bread window at the parking lot and trees.
Isn't it so nice to see the sun shining again?
She was caught off guard, I know it.
Yes it is. Now I just hope this warm weather will move west to the UK, and then I'll be fine.
Oh? Why is that?
Because she was leaving in few short days to visit the UK, to have her birthday dinner with her historic clan chieftain in Scotland. Because this woman in her sixties (I am guessing here) was taking another photography class at a local college and was taking another trip overseas to search out beauty. To capture it. Somehow process it and convey it.
Everyone has a song if you are willing to stop and listen to it.
What would have been a brief intermission in her life became a glorious aria, the duration of which was over an hour. My invitations to continue and small interjections probably contributed about 5 minutes to the opera.
She sang of poison dart frogs and tailless scorpians.
My husband chimed in about the beauty of God's creation.
She sang of the first "color" television.
I cheeped out a ditty about how removed I already am from the highschoolers at church.
She sang of preserving historical remnants of WW2.
I composed a melody of a Jewish Christian forgiving the Nazis because forgiveness is "what we do."
She sang of poverty.
I belted the truth that poverty has more to do with your spirit than your pocketbook.
And she glossed our one-liners over with a confused smile as she continued her song.
But I knew she was listening. Because she knew I was listening. Really listening. To her.
And somehow I get a glimpse of Jesus hearing a blind beggar man call his name, "Son of David, have mercy on me," and I know that at that moment, in the din of a bagel joint, Jesus was listening.