Five-Minute Fearless Friday: Fight

Fridays are Fearless days. Days to celebrate those who encourage me with their fearless moments. Days to reflect on the moments of the week that remind us why we need not fear.

Today's day of fearlessness also correlates well with the Five Minute Friday prompt: Fight. So I'm linking up again over at Lisa-Jo Baker's place to join some marvelous writers in five minutes of hard writing. At least I'll try to stick to five minutes. I tend to get carried away... No editing or going back. Just writing. Click on the button on the right and join us!

GO.

"I used to think God guided us by opening and closing doors, but now I know sometimes God wants us to kick some doors down." Bob Goff, Love Does

I'm starting to wish I could get more uncomfortable. Maybe it's because of books like Bob Goff's "Love Does" or Vince Antonucci's "Renegade." Maybe it is reading the Gospels and seeing just how uncomfortable Jesus made the religious folk and how comforting He was to the pariahs.

Maybe it's because I've realized that the light of Christ is to illuminate the darkness- meaning it has to go out and find the darkness. Maybe it's because none of my excuses for keeping Jesus hidden are legitimate because they all have to do with me- not Jesus. And when I ascribe any power to myself, fear creeps in.

Maybe it's because God promised a big family to a barren couple.

Maybe it's because God promised to crumble the walls of the most fortified city of the ancient world with just a few blasts of the brass.

Maybe it's because a virgin had a baby.

God delievered. Again. And again. And again.

He delivers every day of my life.

It's kind of addicting.

It makes me want to fight on God's side. It makes me want to see just how big His work becomes in the hands of the frail and feeble me, not for my glory, but for His. And for the sake of those lives, many or few, public or private, who come to faith.

God bless you, warriors of Love. Let's fight the good fight of faith and receive the crown He promised. Because our God always delivers and always wins.

STOP.

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Not sure how long that actually took. Kids=blessed interruptions:)

Together

Sometimes it is hard to remember, when you are in the good times.

 

When the world is your playground.

 

 

When blessings crowd your feet like leaves fallen on an October day.

You only need to bend down to pick them up.

 



 

You forget the scramble. The times when blessings seemed harder to come by. When you chased them falling as the wind blew them back, forth, just out of reach.

 

These are the times when living is in the listening. Because the scrambling is still happening. If not you, then someone near. Someone near is waiting to catch a blessing.

 

And that blessing could just be you.

 

Because we are all of us broken. And the decisions I see played out in my life and the lives of others makes me wonder, "What is wrong with us?"

 

We are broken together.

 

Broken people bumping into broken people. Sometimes breaking people.

 

But there is beauty in the broken together because God uses broken vessels to leak out the love He pours into us until we burst. Broken as He was, so we could be put together- into the people we are in Him alone.  Into people who are blessed and blessings because we are together with Him.

 

Who will catch you today?

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Today's post links up with the writers over at Five Minute Friday! Join us for 5 minutes of writing, and reading, and encouraging with today's prompt: Together! I confess- I have absolutely no idea how much time today's post took, or if it even makes sense... Blessed interruptions...

Laundry

Can anyone please tell me when laundry made it to the list of credentials for a good mom? Like there is some weekly diagnostic test as to the efficacy of my mommy-hood, and laundry is right there at the top.

Sister, I fail.

And I have half a mind to crawl into a little fuel-efficient time machine and do a little rewriting of history.

A few years back, I read a well-meaning blog post from a young mother who really insisted that cleanliness and laundry be at the top of our list of things to do because that was good stewardship. It revealed to the Lord, and everyone else, just how thankful and grateful we are to God for His good gifts. Really, she meant well. We should appreciate His gifts- we really should.

But thankfully, my young mommy self puzzled and stewed and ranted, and finally read and prayed enough to know that not all gifts are created equal.

I simply cannot put clothes on par with kids. And if you want to know my real reason for the epic disaster that is my laundry-littered basement, it's those kids. And the laundry genie I ordered a few months ago still hasn't arrived...

First things first. Priorities. Lessons from motherhood. Laundry shouldn't be its own circle of hell. Laundry doesn't need to be the cruel tyrant in the kingdom that is my life. God is the only Lord I have, thank you. So, if you happen to have to wade through the ocean of clean or dirty clothes in my basement, or smell my shirt and realize I really should have just cleaned it again after I wasn't sure if it sat too long in its own wet after being washed, here is a good idea of the things I was doing instead of watching the washer.

Feeding kids. I do this a lot. Like, every five minutes it seems.
Reading to kids.
Talking to kids
Playing with kids.
Reading to me.
Cooking.
Laughing.
Tickling.
Talking to my husband.
Shopping for groceries.
Shopping for us.
Quiet time.
Talking to sister friends.
Singing.
Dancing.
Writing.
Praying.
Running.
Sleeping.

To get to laundry would take a five minutes all its own. In the meantime, I'm extending grace. To you. To me.
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Today's post is part of a series called Five Minute Friday, hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker over at the Gypsy Mama. A ton of rad writers take her prompts and, for five minutes- or thereabouts- patch an amazing global quilt of God-glorifying blog posts. Click on the Five Minute Friday button and join us! I feel like I should also give a shout-out to the awesome gift that is my husband. I don't raise these kids or do this laundry without a partner in crime- you rock, Scott!

Ordinary

 

“It never failed to amaze me how the most ordinary day could be catapulted 

into the extraordinary in the blink of an eye.” 
― Jodi Picoult, Handle With Care

 

She sprawls, eyes wide and smiling. One foot, then the next. A little cotton sock, flowered pink, stretched over five chubby toes, the ball, the heel, the foot. She wriggles, all smiles. I take my index finger, gently stroke it down the center of her sole. And in return, her squeals stroke my soul as well.

 

Best. job. ever.

 

So ordinary, yet I wonder at how her laughter lifts me so, and if God perchance feels that delight when we laugh at His playfulness. At His gifts of joy.

 

More time. More day. More ordinary. Lunch at school. 6 year old fingers clutch my sleeve tightly as he smiles and points to his friends, "She's here! My mom is here!" All that time that has flown by in a gust of ordinary, but I'm given the gift of stopping, sharing, eating beef and bean nachos with some of the most remarkable kindergarteners in the world. Time for recess. Oh I miss that! Watching the boy play soccer, the girl play basketball, and the hordes of children not from my womb, yet in whose world I get to play a part. Even just a smile.

 

The weather is not ordinary. Warm for October. So we take advantage of a night when everyone is home, and resolve to play basketball at the church.

 

Lost shoes. Lost balls. Lost minds. Lost time. But we are out the door, and within 15 minutes every single child has cried, except one. The toddler, for whom crying is the primary language, is the only one who doesn't bawl about something, or everything.

 

The crying is sprinkled with intermittent laughter, berry picking, applause.

We travel home in the sunset...

 

She's three, but she sees my phone and hears the clicks and understands. Her perspective just slightly off from mine, she sees what I miss.

 

"Are you taking a picture of the heart tree, Mom?"

 

I am now.

 

 

And as we race back to the house, over the cracked sidewalk, hampered by tiny toddling feet and clutching fingers, I carry the balls and the little one up the driveway, and I see that the preschooler must have been too spent from the evening's recreation to carry her doll all the way inside.

 

Or even to keep her completely dressed.

 

I laugh, head shaking. Completely tickled.

 



Tickling, that sensitivity to touch, it's not just physical.

 

When I am overcome by the grumps and growls of life, I have lost touch with my Maker. Become blind and calloused to His presence in the day to day. To be sensitive to the One who touches us in the ordinary is a gift, and an everyday goal.

 

Today I am praying you will see and feel Him- especially in your ordinary.

 

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Joining Lisa-Jo Baker, and other brave and brilliant writers, today for Five Minute Friday. Though I confess, this took a bit longer than 5 minutes... If you'd like to read other perspectives on the prompt "Ordinary," or want to join us in the fun, just click on the button to the bottom right!

 

Out-Write the Wrongs

 

Tell truth, and shame the devil. – Jonathan Swift

It was a precaution. Extra security for the website. With the increase in hostility toward Christianity, extra measures were taken to make our organization more secure.

Tell that to my insecurity.

A brief surge of self-preservation and lack of faith posed the question within, "Are you sure it’s actually worth it?"

A flood of worst-case scenarios raged through my mind. After all, what would the world really lose if one blogger, just like every other blogger out there, shut down her computer in the best interests of protecting her family?

Lies, all of it. Shutting down a computer could be harmless. Could be. But not here.

Here, this is where I write. And in a battle fought not with swords and spears, but with words and messages, the world needs our message. It needs God’s message. When the enemy rages, firing lies and insecurities, and doubts; every voice of hope, truth, and love in the name of Christ is a blow to Satan’s forces.

Could be a public blog, a card, a text. Just pick up your sword and Write.

Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. Ephesians 4:15-16 

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Today's post was part of a series called Five Minute Friday hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker, a gifted writer and encourager. Writers all over the world tune in to her blog to join in the fun. To read more wonderful writing on today's prompt, Write, just click on the button on the Five Minute Friday on the right!

Five Minute Friday: True

I was writing in my head tonight as I patiently waited from my husband to amble up the concourse and into my arms after a 3 day conference.

I have to admit, it works radically with this week's Five Minute Friday: True. (If you haven't met here for a Five Minute Friday yet- a globe-load of wonderful writers meet together at Lisa-Jo Baker's place. Her task: to gift us with her prompt. Our task: to write about it for five minutes- no editing. Some of the most heartfelt words stream forth on these Fridays. Come join us!)

So here it is, at 12:40 a.m. I am writing this because I know the creativity juices may dry up if I wait until I have rested. And it's only five minutes, but it's an important five minutes.

GO

For my daughters:

I write to you so late because flights get delayed and airports are far, and I just had to see your daddy tonight.

I stood for virtually forever waiting for his sweet face. His gait. And I sent up silent prayers thanking God for your daddy's bald head- so easy to pick out of the crowd.

Flight after flight passed me by and with each man that passed I heard the voice of wisdom, wait for him.

Darlings, waiting for the one God has for you is a lot like waiting for your dad tonight at the airport.

A steady stream of people will pass you by, and you may be impatient with all the waiting, but it's worth the wait. Don't go throwing your arms around just any young guy who crosses your path.

Before you know it, couple after couple will join, embrace, hold hands, smile, whisper. And they will seem just so happy. You are going to want that.

Just wait. Wait for the one who is true.

You'll know him when you see him. The one who pursues you with the godly love. The one who loves Jesus as much or more than you do.

He is coming. He is on the way even now- who knows what stops he must make along the way.

But it is true- He is true.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: She

It is Five Minute Friday and the birds are chirping away in the still utter darkness. But this Five Minute Friday just couldn't wait for the sunshine. If you are joining us for the first time, Five Minute Friday is a staple around these parts.

It's simple. You head over to Lisa-Jo Baker's blog and read the word for this Friday. (Today: She.) Write on the word for 5 minutes, no editing or going back. Just brave and crazy writing. You link your post to hers and get busy reading and sharing the love with all the other brave and crazy writers who also joined in. (To give you an idea, it's 6:36 and there are already 119 other people linked in.)

She

GO

I used to be jealous of her. At least I think I did. Maybe. It's been so long and we are so close in heart, though far in footsteps.

If you'd ask her what she thought of herself, I'm not sure what she'd say, but I could tell you what I tell everyone about my little sister: she's awesome. Amazing.

Our meetings happen by strict planning and plane tickets. By 18 hour road trips straight up and down. She's a Southern Belle. I'm a Midwest Mom. And when I happen to cruise down in my minivan with my super-husband and four little... super... kids... after days of driving, I meet up with new faces around her town and meet her friends, and they find out who I am (no longer defined as Pastor's wife, so-and-so's mom, I am now "Sarah's sister."), and they have to tell me about her.

She is amazing.
She is so good.
She loves her students.
She works her butt off.
She is so excited you are here.
She just cooked the most amazing...
She is a beast! (at CrossFit that is a compliment;))
She played a great game last night.
She...
She...
She...

And I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way all those things that would have struck me jealous pierce my heart instead with pride. Because that is my sister.


STOP

 It's faces like ours that make Jumbo-trons around the nation.

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

Well, it's the Saturday edition of Five Minute Friday because I honestly was dragging yesterday. So please show me some mercy and indulge my tardy post:)

It's Five Minute Friday where writers across the globe get together and get their write on for five whole minutes with no editing or going back. Straight up thoughts spilling onto keyboards and it's always so good! If you would like to join us, come on over! or click the button on the bottom left of the screen.

Today's Prompt: Mercy

GO

I just showed my son mercy. I gave him all the way until the count of five to get his football downstairs before he lost his privilege to go the Iowa v. Iowa State party... That's mercy, right?

Jesus said it, "But go learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'"

I went to learn what that meant. My Pastor at the time explained it like this:

A man gets his wife flowers and hands them to her. Sacrifice is saying, "I got you these because it's our anniversary."

Mercy is handing them to her and saying, "I got you these because I love you."

The Pharisees had the same issue I face, only I am ready to repent of it. The empty sacrifices. I used to think sacrifice by nature included love. It just takes a quick sweep of the Bible to see that ain't so. Take a look at Cain.

Mercy on the other hand, while you can certainly show it outwardly and have selfish motivations, is so closely tied to love that mercy without love isn't truly mercy.

So all those little graces, those little gifts of love the Lord bestows on us poor creatures- those are mercies.

His mercies are new every morning, that's for sure.

The eyeball has over 2 million working parts, and all mine work- that's a mercy.

I have keyboard at which to type and glorify God- that's a mercy.

I have faith- that's a mercy.

I have four children alive and well enough to bug the heck out of each other- another mercy.

And so today I will count them, the little mercies. And feel the love.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Red

I'm back and it's time for the first Five Minute Friday of the school year! It feels really good to write this again. I hope it feels equally good (or better) to read it! Come join us too, if you'd like:)

The rules of Five Minute Friday- you write for five minutes, no editing, no nothin'. Just look at the prompt and get to work and let it work. Today's prompt: Red.

GO

It comes to us in greens and reds. The Giving Season.

It comes to us as Christmas in August, and while the gifts abound in the greens of zucchini and the reds of tomatoes, packages of squash wrapped in plastic shopping bags, the reason for the giving is the same.

Jesus is the reason for every season.

And the neighbor across the street knows abundance when he sees it and loads us down with a couple dozen of his ripest tomatoes and the ache in my heart is awakened. Because the abundance I should be sharing with him I am leaving behind the four walls of the church next door.

The church across the street from this kind neighbor who pets my dog, and shares his food, and strikes up conversation.

Red is giving. To look at what we have and say, "You know, this is really too much. We can't possibly use it all, " and just give it away- like we are supposed to- it sets our hearts ablaze with the love and generosity of our very Father.

To view all my belongings and all the grace in the light of a tomato and say,

"It is more than enough."

That is a gift I sure could use today.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Imagine

It's Five Minute Friday and Lisa-Jo has another prompt! It's time to link up with writers around the world to write for five minutes on the word Imagine. Then you link up and read other wonderful writers, sprinkling encouragement along the way. Want to join us? Click on the button on the bottom right!

Imagine

GO

I scramble. Turn on my computer. See, I hear noises upstairs. Muffled voices. Dresser drawers open and shut. Padded footsteps. Toilet lids crashing. I only need five minutes. Just five. But I don’t think that’s happening.

So now I imagine life without having to rush to accomplish my “me” time writing. Where I have all the time in the world to do what I want without having to race ahead of the wave of kids about to reach my the shore of the day.

I had that for a while. Without noticing it. Somehow I was still stressed and it wasn’t nearly as fun.

I now have an excuse to imagine. Not about the “what if’s,” though those tend to creep in at times.

You have to have imagination to be a mother.

To figure out exactly what to say or sing that will get your five year old to stop crying as you try to get your family pictures done. To present vegetables on a plate that makes them look not only edible, but inviting. To tell a story that gets your kids wondering where truth and fantasy separate.

We passed my favorite park yesterday. A fowler preserve. I heard my son, “Look! It’s Fowler’s Park!”

And my daughter replied, “Yeah, that’s where Querlin lives.”

A day of hiking, of imagination nearly 2 years ago, and the kids still see the birthplace and home of a character in my mind during a “tell me a story” moment. My kids aren’t the only ones born of me- think of all the characters that would never have existed but for children.

And the Ultimate Creator, whose imagination no one can fathom, reveals another blessing hidden in the little moments of a mother’s day.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Song

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

GO

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.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Comfort

Five Minute Friday and Lisa-Jo Baker has this new prompt for us to write on. No editing. No going back. Just five minutes and we'll see what comes out:

Comfort

GO

Comfort is not neutral. It's hot or cold. Either a mother's lap to crawl into. Or an earthly trap to be avoided lest it distract us from our true home.

Christians, don't get comfortable. Anything but that.

But then I think of my discomfort. Not the little drownings of an Old Adam, but those things that linger. That overwhelm. Like, that Tylenol canNOT kick in fast enough, and in between throbs I hear cries, and pleading, and demands, and I am overwhelmed by discomfort.

There is that kind of discomfort.

Then there is the other kind- the kind that makes you question. The kind that makes you feel like maybe you don't really belong here at all. That maybe God's plan isn't what you had in mind. That maybe there is something else, and you will have to trust Him to get you there.

That is the discomfort that leads to true Comfort.

And when you journey through with thankful heart, and trusting feet, then you aren't perhaps comfortable, but more like comfort-able.

2 Corinthians gives a promise to believers. God is a Comforter.  He is comfort-able, and comfort-willing, and when He has completed His work of comfort in us for this season, we too will be comfort-able and comfort-willing to help those around us, because we will get it.

As we have shared in Christ's sufferings, we will also share in His comfort.

And who couldn't use a bit of that news?

STOP


If you'd like to join the writers at Five Minute Friday, just click here or at the button on the bottom right.

If you are finding yourself overwhelmed by life right now and would like to take a moment and be overwhelmed by the Lord, Overwhelmed by Big Daddy Weave can help;)

Five Minute Friday: Brave

It's time for another Five Minute Friday! Lisa-Jo Baker and the gang are spending 5 minutes writing bravely. No editing or going back- nothing like that. You link up, read other wonderful writers, encourage and be encouraged. It's great fun actually. Join us!

 

Today's Prompt: Brave

 

Brave.

That’s a word for the greats.

For the Sabina Wurmbrands who, because of their Jewish Christian allegiance to the One True God, harbored and nutured the very Nazis that killed their own family members.

To forgive is brave.

To obey God is the ultimate act of bravery.

To obey, when the cards are stacked against you- that is brave. I still muddle around in my head- surely Christ was brave. Surely, when every sign pointed to defeat, He obeyed.

"[The Enemy] wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles.... Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."
~ The Screwtape Letters

To walk. Day in and out. Are you not brave?

When you approach the budding toddler to remove the pen from her hand as she waddles across the room, knowing full well the fit to be thrown.

Is that not brave?

When you grab the brush, and the young one sees you coming and high-tails it to the corner of the room, crying before a bristles even touches her. And you know this is going to be one tangle-fest, but you brush anyway.

Is that not brave?

When you wake in the night to comfort a child whose room is littered with toys like landmines for your feet.

Is that not brave?

Motherhood, parenthood. That is a brave endeavor when accomplished and grown into maturity through the working of God’s purposes in your life.

And each act of bravery grows obedience. And each act of obedience grows bravery. Until our lives are one glorious cycle of brave obedience day after day. In the little things and big.

Because bravery is the root and fruit of an obedient life planted in God’s purpose.

Five Minute Friday: Jump

For Five Minutes this Friday I went somewhere I don't normally go. Why the prompt "Jump" would bring me there I have no idea, but that is part of the fun of this exercise. No editing, no backtracking, no fancy-fying are three blind mice that open eyes in writers as much as readers. So I took the five minutes and gave the five minutes back. If you want to join me and the other AMAZING writers around the world doing this very prompt, check out the Five Minute Friday link at the bottom of the right hand column. Or just go and read the other blogs. But first, read this.

GO

They’re coming for us.

It is uttered from the dark.

Who’s they?

I don’t know yet. But they are.

And they won’t rest until they get every last one of us.

And it’s a phrase spoken not in fear, but as fact. I give my husband 15-20 years before he’s jailed for his Gospel proclamations.

Because, for the first time, I see the battle raging on the homefront and the enemy’s tactics increasingly clear, and I see him gaining ground.

I mentally prepare the young troups. Strategies cry out and I feel the desperation of a leader in battle. We must be ready.

I wake this morning and turn on my 2-dimensional trainer.

It’s plyometrics today- “jump training,” Tony calls it.

“You’ll jump higher,” he promises.

“You’ll run faster.”

I believe he even says I’ll “beat the panties” off anyone else.

And my heart and lungs will be stronger than ever.

So I jump.

My knees protest. My thighs, my feet, my mind, my heart- a deafening chorus of protest.

But I jump.

And I pump.

I extend.

I swivel, pivot, raise, and the fancy plates on the wall join the protestations.

Yet, I jump.

And the burning in my legs and heart and lungs tell me that I am doing the hard things to prepare for the battle.

And I open the Word. And I do the hard things. I train. I jump.

Not so I can be the best jumper. My husband coaches better jumpers than I.

Not so I can be the best Biblical scholar. I’m light-years behind so many.

Because I will face physical battles, and the jumping will ease the blow.

Because the spiritual powers wage their battles as well, and I have a God who is mightier than anyone can imagine. And He is my trainer. And the battle will be waged. And the war will be won.

And that makes all this jumping more than worth it.

 

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Here

It's Five Minute Friday time here in these parts again. The weekly moment where I write for five minutes without editing on a prompt from the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker. And while the writing is fun, the reading is even better. Women across the globe turn their screens into inkpads and scroll their words across them just to see how unique their fingerprints really are. And they are so unique. It's a blast. Come join us.

But for now. Today's prompt. Here.

GO

"Here. Take it."

Here isn't a place. Here is an offer.

"Here. It's for you."

Here is His offer to me.

"Take it. Take the toys on the shower floor. Take the toothpaste dried on his t-shirt. Take the tangles in the hair. The morning breath. The screams, cries, and stubborn stomps. Take them. The incessant barking. The poop on the bathroom floor. The loads of laundry. The dishes in the sink. Here, take the friends on facebook. Take the quiet moments in prayer. Take them. They are for you."

"Here. Take my body. Take my blood. Take me."

Here isn't a place. It's a gift. And who am I to refuse the Giver?

I echo Job in my soul. Should I not accept the good and the bad?

And is the bad really bad, or is it just viewed that way through fallen, too often ungrateful, eyes?

Here. He is here.

This is where He deigns to dwell.

STOP

Five-Minute Friday: After

Liso-Jo Baker has another Five Minute Friday for us and I sure am loving the writing. She gives the word and a whole bunch of us write about it for five minutes, with no editing or any such nonsense. People all over the world do this craziness. Then we climb around the blogosphere and encourage other writers. So fun! Click on the button on the bottom right and join us!

Today's prompt: After

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GO

A diagnosis and all of a sudden I am a living version of "The House that Jack Built." Only it's more like "This is the house that God built. This is the disease that ravaged the house that God built."

"This is the man that cared for the woman who had the illness that ravaged the house that God built."

For better or worse.

In sickness and in health.

And while I surely wonder what could possibly happen in our future, surely God would not ask us to carry this burden for a lifetime, I look at my husband and see what must be done.

We must live the lives God has given us.

After God has radically changed our hearts of stone. After He has brought us together in marriage. After He has walked us through pregnancy. After a painful chronic illness has been diagnosed.

Because we Christians live After lives. We live after the fall. After the crucifixion. AFTER the resurrection.

Who will roll the stone away? It's been done. We showed up AFTER the fact.

And all that is left is to remember that we are the After people. After-death and INTO Life.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

STOP

Five Minute Friday: Remember

It's Friday, woot woot! A day for cleaning and preparing and anticipating guests. A day for a fabulous Five Minute Friday with the Gypsy Mama and wonderful women all over the face of the earth. You are more than welcome to join us! Just scroll down and click the button on the right. But first, read this:)

Five Minutes- no edits, no givesies backsies. Writing on today's prompt: Remember

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So this post could just be one giant "to do" list, right? Because I don't remember a thing unless I write it down.

And my children just wait patiently as I verbally scroll through my family roledex until I hit the name that belongs to them. It's hard to remember.

But I really should share this one. It's something I'm going to remember for a very. long. time.

A guest pastor preached the other night at our church. He compared confession and absolution to using the facilities.

I kid you not.

It was one of those sermons that had the kids sniggering, the adults dumbfounded ("Is he saying what I think he's saying?"), and all of us paying attention. After the service, my 7 year old ran frantically around the church surveying the parishioners. "What was your favorite part? Mine was the sermon."

So anyway, he goes through the processes needed to go, but then the craziest thing sticks in my mind. The word for forgiveness means "release." As in, "You are released from your sin, your debt, your waste."

Flushed down a spiritual toilet, I suppose, never to be seen again.

He remembers your sin no more.

Maybe this is a bit crude for our refined sensibilities, but in a world that revolves largely around the bowel movements of other people, it resonates with me.

It makes me think twice before I go swimming in the sewage of past sins.

And it reminds me that if I want to spend time remembering the consequences of my indiscretions, I can look no further than the cross and empty tomb. The cleansing waters of my baptism. And I am clean.

Five Minute Friday: Rest

It's Friday and it's a little late, but I'm sure that will all be addressed in this Five Minute Friday!

The Gypsy Mama has another prompt for us (read: me and women all over the globe) who just want to write. Written in 5 minutes flat, I'm not sure what to tell you to expect- it has been a day. If you'd like to join us in the Five Minute Friday conversation, we'd love to have you! Just click on the button on the right.

Ok, here goes.

Rest

GO.

Let me tell you, I've already corrected this post once. Rest, the prompt is rest. Not home. We did that one already. Go back to sleep, Lauren.

And in the darkness we realize that yes, it is a school day, and no, we don't want to get out of bed, but the 7 year old is dressed and hungry and raring to go. And we just want to rest.

We hit the ground running. Clothes on. I'll shower tomorrow. I hope. Toast in the toaster. Cereal in the bowl. Milk in cups. Homework in the folder. Spelling words read and spelled. We have the dance tonight, Mom. So I won't see you until tonight.

The other three are up. Go potty. Get dressed. Brush your hair. We'll get your teeth later, Lil has to get to school. She brushes her teeth, pulls a stocking cap on the hair I just carefully braided. Repeatedly. Puts on her coat, gives a hug and is out the door.

Hubs comes back in a bit. We load up the other three kids and take a road trip (literally 35 minutes) to the nearest Walmart. Shop shop shop. Stock stock stock. Another stop to get meat. Meat meat meat.

After home and unloading and putting away and making lunch I am well off my caffeine high, but I need to write my Five Minute Friday. No- I need to nap. So I manifest my writing in between the sheets.

And today I realize just how quickly the ST in REST invites his buddies to the party and I am STREST. Stressed.

Today I realize how important God's 7th day rest was to my life today. To be wired for a 7 day week. Could you imagine 8? or 9?

I realize that it's no accident that we stop to go to the bathroom several times EVERY DAY. Imagine, once a week... That would be the only time I ever SIT DOWN.

I realize my need for a God who calls me tro climb into the lap of HisWord and I relish every moment I get to rest in it. Let's do that now.

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Five Minute Friday: Home

Five Minute Friday here! And the Gypsy Mama had a new prompt for us writers this morning. Written in 5 minutes flat. Here goes...

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Home

Ooooooo this should be interesting! You see, I do this for a living.

I'm a homemaker.

You can believe me- I have the unused college degree and scribbled walls to prove it.

I would LOVE to peak into the mind-windows of those who hear the word "homemaker." Would it jibe with the word "home"? I wonder.

And what if making homes, not houses, was considered a real "occupation." I think people out there try to accomplish that- and they sure do make some good looking "homes." All color coordinated and organized and a place for everything and everything in its place. Amazing.

I can see it- people call 1-800-DRS-HOME and a well trained team of professional homemakers dispatches an expert to the house of a frazzled working suburban couple. They sweep in and with all the grace of Mary Poppins, sing a song as the dishes are again stacked neatly ("Darling, how can a home be a safe place when your child can't reach for a cereal bowl without the threat of a concussion?"), and the toys whisk away to their respective toy bins. Ahh.

Or how about I take a lesson from the Master Homemaker. After all, He made this home once- perfectly. And when the key element of home flew out the window, relationship, He prepared us another one.

Grace, that's what makes even this decaying tent feel like a home, not so that I can get comfortable, but so that I can see my relationship with Him shine through even my darkest days. Hope. Love. Peace. Joy. That's what makes a building into a home. Jesus. And each day I get to anticipate my true Home again.

STOP.
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And I feel I should note that in 5 minutes I wrote this little doozy in 4 different places. Because moms get followed and their brains have a hard time making the journey to blogging land with little voices clambering into the luggage...

Five Minute Friday: Ordinary

It's Five Minute Friday again, courtesy of the gypsy mama, Lisa-Jo Baker.

Writing about a prompt for 5 minutes flat- no editing, no revising. Just writing.

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Today's prompt: Ordinary

... or Memoirs of a Former Diva

I wonder how many women will write about this... our glory days.

I'm about 10 years removed from the pinnacle of my glory days. When people wanted me, and not just to change or feed or play with them. Back in the days where I didn't really care if they knew who I was, as long as they knew who I was. And of course it was all done in the name of Jesus Christ, but didn't it feel goooood to be wanted? To be known. Even to be... envied.

And in the past ten years it's been a constant battle. Spiritual exfoliating as God scrapes layer after layer of ego off this poor, bedraggled, ordinary mom. People don't know who I was then. In the time that I jokingly (half) refer to as "back when I was awesome".

I am defined by my constant connection with the family around me. __________ mom. The "pastor's wife". And most days it doesn't bother me.

Only recently I was jarred from my contentment with a poignant reminder of the spotlight. I was called upon to perform. To be awesome once again. And to be honest, it really would be awesome. Just not possible.

I thought at first it was a messenger of Satan reminding me of who I once was, but now I'm not so sure. Because in the days since the invitation, I have been repeatedly reminded that God called me to something else. Something better. I'm not just a sack of potential flushed down the toilet of ordinary. I'm a mom, a  wife, a sheep.

And if there isn't anything more ordinary than a sheep. Don't they all look alike? Not to the Shepherd.

The manger. That was ordinary. But its value was based on the God it held within. God chooses the ordinary to make known the extraordinary, Himself.

And isn't it all about Him, after all?

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