five minute friday: eat

     In his essay "Of Studies," Sir Francis Bacon writes that "Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested" - a sentiment I have always loved. Books are, perhaps, amongst the easiest sources of input that one can weigh and evaluate for their nutritional value to our spiritual life. When one has written words, he can easily return to verify their meanings, analyze their ramifications, and raise them for discussion amongst peers.

     But we are surrounded with a daily barrage of input that is not so easily identifiable.

     Songs on the radio, off-hand comments from professors, hidden assumptions under a veneer of compatibility with peers - every single interaction should be either tasted and spit out, considered and rejected, or chewed and swallowed, nourishing our souls.

     I daily have to slap sweets out of my hand, and reach instead for vegggies.

     Are you chewing on the Scriptures? Is it the largest part of your diet today?

five minute friday: Writing for five minutes on a theme. Skip the edits. Skip the considerations. Just write. And post.

Photo Credit
Denise P.S. Twenty-Three - 52. 8 June 2012. Flickr Creative Commons

five minute friday

Let go of your priorities

Ignoble, insolent "I".

Self, her needs, desires, and delights - can wait.

Today you must be living-

Enthralled by all the grace that's granted

Nothing lacking but to serve.

five minute friday: Writing for five minutes on a theme. Skip the edits. Skip the considerations. Just write. And post.

five minute friday: Pass

I remember the encounter well.

A friend and I were on the verge of missing the opening notes of a concert. As new drivers, we had survived the stress of Portland evening traffic, one-way-roads, and whereintheworldistheparkinggarage moments with surprisingly minimal befrazzlement. Dashing up the streets to the concert hall, however, we were suddenly accosted by a group of girls, nearly the same ages as ourselves, with baskets and signs in support of a cause our minds hardly registered.

"Can we talk to you for a moment?" they asked.

We barely gave a coherent answer; our eyes were shining for an evening of piano music, our feet sped us onward to the tempo of anticipated tunes.

"Well, here, take these - for your protection," they insisted, shoving miscellaneous somethings into our hands as we hurried past.

It wasn't until we were seated in the concert hall - having deposited our "gifts" in a trash bin without so much as a glance - that my friend turned to me and asked, "Were those girls representing Planned Parenthood?"

And I knew they had been. I had felt a flicker of conscience as we'd ignored them, a begging of my spirit to stop and talk with them. And I had hurried past.

There the details of our evening fade. I can't recollect who played, or which pieces we heard. I don't know if my friend and I stopped for coffee on the way back, or drove straight home to meet a curfew.

But I do remember how I felt once I was home, sitting in the quiet dark of my room.

I felt ashamed.

Ashamed to have rushed by, missing the opportunity to speak with those girls on the street corner. To learn why they were representing Planned Parenthood. To hear their stories. To show them love. To tell them of my Savior.

I felt ashamed for treating an evening of personal enjoyment as more important than the spiritual state of girls who actually tried to talk to me. For valuing the sparkle of an "evening out" above the terribly too-real lives of dozens of little ones.

Jesus once told a parable of a poor man, Lazarus, who sat outside a rich man's dwelling, hoping, begging, for food from his table. Daily, the rich man walked past, without so much as an inkling of sympathy for the sore-ridden, needy one at his feet. His life, his priorities, his comforts - these were of far greater concern to a man of the world than the life flickering on his doorstep.

In America today - indeed, throughout the whole world - we too have have lives to save on our doorsteps: the lives of the unborn, the future of women and girls facing unplanned pregnancies. Daily, lives flicker between being taken or saved, crushed or nurtured, thrown away or valued. Do you hurry past? Do you bemoan the deeds in word without a pause to help? Do you have a hurried, hardly-coherent answer for girls on the street corner?

I have written before on why I am pro-life, and others have written far more eloquently than I - but what I want to ask today is, What are you doing about it? There are countless options: volunteer at a pregnancy clinic, support your local CPC, or even simply take the time to reach out and talk to the women "on your doorstep". Don't hurry past the mission field with which God has surrounded you. These lives may not be dying on our front porches, but they are suffering in secret, just down the street.

~~~~~~~

I've recently signed up (rather last-minute) to run in a fundraiser race for a local Crisis Pregnancy Center. I'd love it if you felt led to support me! The link is here.

However, even if you are unable to financially support Pathways, please cover them - and all other centers devoted to showing Christ's love to women and mothers in need - in your prayers. 

Confession: it took me a bit longer than 5 minutes to write this, in between teaching today. Still, it was written, minimally edited, and posted all in the same day - which is an accomplishment for me!

Photo Credit:
szdl. Passing. 10 Oct. 2013. Flickr Creative Commons

five minute friday (on a Monday): Surprise

It was a surprise. A shock. Unheard of, unconsidered.

The Creator would wrap Himself in the created?

The boundless God would be confined to an infant's body?

The One Who Owns the Worlds would not even have a cradle in which to be laid?

The greatest Wisdom would be called demon-possession?

The King of kings would answer to a governor?

The Only Righteous would be punished for sin?

The Slain would rise again?

It was more than a surprise. It was unfathomable.

And yet, it was Truth.

five minute friday: Writing for five minutes on a theme. Skip the edits. Skip the considerations. Just write. And post.

five minute friday: share

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About to finish up my second quarter at our local community college, one of the classes I've been immersed in for the last 10 weeks is a Creative Non-Fiction Writing class. It's stretched me in many ways; never before have I had the desire or requirement to write over a page on reality, without it being essay format.

In Creative Non-Fiction, my writing is supposed to be personal. It's supposed to reveal me, as the author, and my perspective on whatever subject I may be addressing. It's supposed to not just focus on the "facts, please," but on the emotions, without ever crossing the line to purely making something up. This has overwhelmed me.

My first assignment was to write a memoir - and I have never written anything so difficult. Not because I don't have special memories, not because I can't write well about them, but because the entire class is assigned to read and provide feedback on all turned-in assignments. This frightened me.

Why would I want a roomful of people to know a special memory of mine? Why would I give them that information? They don't know or particularly care about me - how can I share something so priceless with people who have no understanding of its value?

This was sharing of myself I was unwilling to give. Was it wrong? Where do I hold back from sharing myself when I should be giving everything?

five minute friday: Writing for five minutes on a theme. Skip the edits. Skip the considerations. Just write. And post.

Five Minute Friday: Ordinary

I woke to a typical, grey, October Friday. I woke with the standard cold that is going around. I woke with hopelessly sad, shower-needing hair that didn't have a chance. I shrugged at the idea of dressing "nicely" and wore a boring jean skirt. This morning I had errands to run, preparations to make, and people to drop off.

Today was, in a word, ordinary.

Checking out at the craft store with some needles and thread, I found my eyes preoccupied with my purse, wallet, and receipts. As I finished my purchase, I realized I had yet to even really look at the girl across the counter from me. Taking my bag, I looked purposefully up into her eyes with a smile. She was dressed for an ordinary day, too: chunky sweater, comfy scarf, her apron covering up most of the rest of her outfit, counting out change for yet another customer in her morning (me). "Thank you so much! Have a good day!" I said. Suddenly, her entire face lit up. "Thank you! You too!" She answered, and, as I walked toward the door, "And your hair looks really pretty, too!"

My hair was a tired, dirty-looking braid, but suddenly, in the light of the smile, her eyes saw something ordinary as beautiful. She was the picture of an ordinary work day, but in the light of her exuberance and kind comment, she became beautiful in her encouragement to me. Walking out of the store, I couldn't keep the smile off my face - both because of her sudden, brilliant reaction, and because of the reminder it gave to me:

As the light of the world, I have the responsibility to dispel ordinary days from those around me. What an extraordinary mission it is!

 One word. Five minutes. No edits. It's Five Minute Friday!

Disclaimer: This particular post I was writing for a little more than five minutes...but it still is just a "rough draft"!

Five Minute Friday: Small

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"Let it go."

"What are you talking about, LORD? I already have. Look, my hands are practically empty!"

"Let it go."

"God, I said You could have everything, and You've taken me at my word. Look, all that's left are the few crumbs of good works I can do."

"Let it go."

"What, LORD? How can You ask this? Don't You realize if I let that go, I have to give up all the good I'm doing there, too? That can't be Your will - You don't really want me to turn my back on that."

"Let it go."

"LORD, look. If it was actually a bad thing, I would let it go. I would. It's not like I have to have it. If I was completely sure it was really You asking me give it up (You know, not just a self-inflicted humility test), I would do it in a jiffy. I just know you can't really be asking me to give up a tiny piece of self-contentment at the sacrifice of all the good I do there. That's why I'm not giving it up. You know?"

"Let it go."

"Lord, it's such a small thing. Can't we just move on?"

"Let it go."

...

"Let it go."

...

"Let it go."

"Ok."

"LORD, I can't. Please help me."

And He does. And suddenly, I realize that the "small stumbling" in the grand good was actually a great stumbling in a small good. And I realize, I am free.

 One word. Five minutes. No edits. It's Five Minute Friday!

Five Minute Friday: Lonely



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From family to family, from generation to generation, from father to son ~

Wept over, laughed over, smiled over, frowned over,

Revered, honored, respected, treasured,

The new Bible.

From estate sale to collector's shelf, from antique shop to museum,

Exclaimed over, touched over, studied over, bargained over,

Valued, priced, bought, sold,

The old Bible.

From honored to priced, from treasured to sold, from respected to valued,

Wept over, bargained over, smiled over, studied over,

Years, generations, world views, dust,

The lonely Bible.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up...." (Deuteronomy 6:7-8)

 One word. Seven minutes (I cheated :). No editing. It's Five Minute Friday!

Five Minute Friday: View

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Sometimes, it's that first moment when you step outside, or when you reach the crest of a hill, or when your eye catches a horizon crowded with color.

 

Sometimes, it's a mysterious sweetness in the air, or the extra-silky something in the wind, or the way the whole world seems to momentarily still and hold its breath in anticipation.

 

Whenever, and however, it comes, you always know "it" is there. Something deep inside thrills and freezes, quivering with the plea to hang on to that feeling forever. You close your eyes, trying to hug time into motionlessness, trying to freeze this moment forever, trying to sear it into your brain, so it will never leave.

 

But even as you try, you know the moment is slipping, the painful thrill of bliss grows dull, and you open your eyes aware of the beauty, loving it, but mourning the loss of that moment gone by.

 

What is this feeling? Why does it come - always so unexpected? Why can we not hold on to it?

 

Is it a glimpse into something deeper, something more beautiful we will know when "someday" becomes "forever"?

 

Or is just the thrill of a lovely view?

 One word. Five minutes. No editing. It's Five Minute Friday!

Five Minute Friday: Song

"Sing unto the LORD," I am told. "Sing unto the LORD the glory due to His name."

 

How can I sing, when my words do not rhyme?

When my harmony is discord?

When my melody is aimless?

How can I sing, when my lyrics fall shallow?

When my verse is confusion?

And my climax is chaos?

How can I sing?

Gently, He takes me, the Master Musician, and the chords of my heart vibrate.

Sweetly, He plays the forgotten tune of my spirit.

Passionately, His works lift their voices and sing, to the melody He makes in my soul.

His words.

His music.

His song.

 One word. Five minutes. No editing. It's Five Minute Friday!

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Five Minute Friday: Unspoken

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Will you be my friend?

Smiling, swaying side-to-side, she looked up at his big brown eyes, her small blue ones showing pleasure, fear, and gentleness.

He bobbed his head carefully, blowing on her gently and nudging her with is soft pink nose.

Don't be afraid. I will be gentle. We will not go too fast. You will feel like you're floating on my back.

You hear me! Her eyes were pools of delight.

The Maker gave me this gift.

He is good. He always hears me, too.

"Are you ready?" asked mama, carefully lifting her up.

For a moment, she stiffened, You're so tall!

It will be all right ~ we will go gently. Yes, I will be your friend.

And she smiled.

One word. Five minutes. No editing. It's Five Minute Friday!

Five Minute Friday: Here

"Johnny! Where are you?" A mother calls from the back porch, her eyes scanning the forest beyond. "Here I am, Mama!" a voice echoes back, but to the lone figure fretting over the report of a mountain lion, "here" poses no information and little comfort.

"Papa, where are you?" cries the little girl, lost in an office building black-out. "Here I am, sweetie, it's ok," comes the response, accompanied by a large, warm hand placed atop her head. Where exactly is "here"? Still unknown, but now unnecessary.

photo credit

There have been times where I have felt lost. Wondered where I was. What I was to do. How I was to be. "Where, LORD? Where? Where do you want me? Where are you sending me? Where is the pathway You are asking me down? I cannot see it - I know it not."

"Here," He says, sending His voice.

"Here," He says, comforting with His hand.

"Here," He says, standing by me.

Rarely does "here" tell me where I am. Rather, it tells me Who knows.

 



Five Minute Friday: Our "Afters"

There are the good Afters and bad Afters. (The best of the best being at the end of a story that predicts the end of all stories ~ "And they lived Happily Ever After.")

After today, I will start eating right.

After I'm finished with my book, I will help you with math.

After I practice, I'll take you to the store.

After I meet so-and-so for coffee, I'll have my devotional time.

What if our Afters flipped? What if, instead of "After me, you," our priorities were ever "After you, and you, and you, then (maybe) me?"

After I've listened and talked with you, I'll read my book.

After I've played games with you (because I really want to!) I'll re-organize my shelves.

After I've taken you on a "just us" outing, I'll return to everything I was in the middle of and try to finish.

What are your "Afters" today? Are they in the right place?

 



Five Minute Friday: A Special Moment

Another 5 Minute Friday, with another lovely word: "Remembering"

My memories are not like other people's. I do not remember "when I was little" in chronological order. The people I saw every day, the things I did each week - they are simply not there. My memories are more like a scrapbook. Snap-shot moments placed at random. Some of them I know were special moments, others I am clueless as to their significance in my mind. Sometimes, I cannot even remember events I know now were milestone events. Who knows why this is?

 

I do know, however, that I treasure those moments I have. They are all special to me, now.

 

Like the time I was in my room, at night, and daddy brought little Ben in and put him in the crib at the foot of my bed. I still don't know why he was in there - ours was the girls room - but he was. For a moment after daddy left, Ben stood at the end of the crib closest to the door, and mournfully marked daddy's departure. I squirmed out from the covers, crawled down to the foot of my bed, and leaned over the crib, stretching out both my arms.

 

"Ben, you wanna do this?" (apparently a code word, or tradition)

 

Ben turned and walking on tiptoe to my end of the crib, replied, "I do, I do, I do!"

 

We grabbed each other's hands and just stood there, perfectly content.

 

And that's the end of the memory.

(a memory I love)

 

Want.

To.

Edit.

 

Posting now, to avoid the temptation.

 

What are some of your treasured memories? Do you remember moments, or seasons of your life?

 

Blessings!

 



Five Minute Friday: Maybe Today

A lovely, golden-sunshine, deep-sky-blue Friday morning to you all! I hope, wherever you are, you are enjoying the same amazing weather we have here in the Northwest ~ but unless you actually live in the Northwest, I highly doubt that you are so privileged, because nowhere else in the world are colors so deep, rich, and real. (Yes, I love where I live.)

Reading my Aunt's blog this morning, I was introduced the "Five Minute Friday" challenge. A slightly intimidating idea for me (I am a bit apprehensive about writing for 5 minutes - what will come out? - and posting, without a chance to edit), I still couldn't stand to pass up the opportunity, because this week's word is Home. Timer ready? Here we go:

In my Pastor's house, held with a magnet to the fridge, is an unassuming 8.5-by-11 inch piece of paper boasting two simple words in bold print:

Maybe Today

Maybe Today - those words are so powerful to me. They stop me from any busy-ness or focus I may be in the midst of and make me wonder, What will happen today?

Maybe today you'll see the answer to all those prayers you've been lifting up for the salvation of a loved one. Maybe today healing will come. Maybe today will be the last chance you have to love those around you. Maybe, perhaps, today, is the day we will go Home.

Wow - 5 minutes flies way to quickly. Or I perhaps I simply don't understand the concept of a short, concise post...I had so much more to say! (and I apparently need to learn that it's ok to not sit and read over a sentence every time you write one.)

"Maybe Today" fills me with such a sense of longing ~ what questions and possibilities does it bring to your mind? What images are conjured when you think of "home"?

P.S. Guess what next week is? My bloggy-birthday!! I'm having a party, and you're all invited! There will be give-aways, guest posters, and all sorts of fun, so I'll see you then!