Five-Minute Friday: Look

I wake slowly from a peaceful slumber

pull myself quietly, softly from between warm sheets and bodies.

It's not often that I can slip out of the room,

leave everyone cuddled snugly in their beds, in their dream lands 

and quietly make my way downstairs that groan beneath my feet. 

I rise before the sun, greet billowing October clouds

and I feel a pull to Words. 

His.

And mine own spilling from my mind and through pen,

a love letter response to the one He wrote me. 

In the quiet lingering darkness of early morning

the cobwebs in the corners 

and dirty dishes piled next to the sink 

don't taunt me, 

don't tempt me, 

don't scream for me to look as I walk past. 

Because in these precious, quiet moments

when I'm the only awake

I'm drawn to a different kind of housekeeping

that of dusting off the soul

cleaning up these thoughts

and polishing this heart. 

Bigger Picture Moments: Words

They are soaking each other with the hose, taking turns spraying jets of water into the air and onto giggling faces.

I hold my tongue.

From scolding.

From warning to be careful.

From reminding them not to make mud pits

or against wasting water.

And I just watch instead, letting their laughter infiltrate the tired, the impatience that's rested heavy on my heart and come flying out of my mouth in murky, heavy phrases.



Mud pits. And sopping wet clothes. And dirty footprints. And whatever else -- they are all easily wiped away, damp towel to the mess, tossed in a washing machine and rinsed clean by water.

But words -- black and staining -- seem to stick, tattoos pressed onto skin and hidden under clothing peaking out in the parroted sentences and phrases from little lips during moments of frustration.

I should know. I dine on words like others feast on chocolate and yet

I forget sometimes.

I forget how powerful that little muscle in my mouth really is when it's carelessly flicking itself around  the mudpit in my own mouth,

my words splattering against the white walls of their hearts.

I forget how He spoke the world into existence

how words create ...

and crush.

How they blemish

but, also, how they cleanse.

I want to speak life, pure and clear.


I find myself praying, pleading

Oh, Lord, wipe me down

rinse me clean.

Not just my hands

my feet,

but my mouth, too.

This piece was written for and inspired by a prompt for our Bigger Picture Blogs Writing Circle group. Writing Circles is a virtual critique space where writers come together to share their work, receive and give constructive feedback and grow. Click here to learn more or sign up for a FREE circle. 


Linked with Let's Hear it for the Boys with The MOB Society and Bigger Picture Moments over at Sarah's. 

Living Faith Out loud: On Battles, real and imaginary

I've been dreaming wild dreams these past few nights, my subconscious working overtime even in the hours of slumber.

Last night, this one is my favorite from recent sleeps, I was a part of a super-hero action team of animated characters fighting human foes who were intent on destroying Denver. None of it makes a lot of sense seeing as I'm not enthralled with super heroes nor do I live in Denver, other than my-self psychoanalysis telling me that perhaps I feel like I'm waging a war for which I'm not equipped.

These vivid nights filled with dreams always happen whenever I feel like my plans aren't materializing as I'd planned.

It also happens when I spend entire days wrapped up in heavy thought, trying to work out in my mind what could unfold and the action needed if each scene I'm imagining did turned to reality, trying to equip myself for each new battle. 

Really, I know, though, that the reason I don't feel equipped is because imaginary battles regarding immaterialized possibilities are unequipable. 

He arms us with exactly what we need in each situation to handle exactly what we're going through in the moment, but often, not prior.

I have to keep reminding myself that right now my battle isn't some masked disease causing these lingering physical symptoms -- because as it stands, I've checked out fine, which tells me that shouldn't make any more assumptions of something being seriously wrong unless something shows as seriously wrong.

So my battle right now isn't against un-realized and un-discovered diseases.

But, rather, my battle right now is against anxiety and the what-if worries that creeps into my heart when I feel like my body should be free of any lasting symptoms of the gut flora imbalance I've been asking God to restore for the past five months through diet changes and, more importantly, His healing hand. 

And, sometimes the struggle in my mind -- the one of anxiety -- is minimized though it stands tall and hulking in my daily life, a giant that needs slaying often. 

I've often felt discouraged in the midst of this battle, especially when I've shared my struggle and others have told me simply to not let these thoughts take me captive, suggesting there is a simple switch I have  yet to find and easily flip in order to find freedom from both.

In my hours spent crying out to God, I've yet to find such a switch.

The intense battles against worry and anxiety are fierce wars raging to liberate the mind and heart space from unrealized fears so that both can rightfully be filled with the deep joy that stems from the gifts the Giver gives us moment by moment. 

And I have found strong weapons with which to battle in these seasons of hardship that are part of living life outside the perfection of the original Garden. 

One sword that slays worry is living in the moment. One shield is finding His joy moment by moment. And perhaps the mother of all weapons is living a life entrenched in the Word.

I've been memorizing James 1: 2-6. 

"Consider it joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perserverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind."

James reminds me that there is purpose in trials -- even ones of worry and anxiety. He reminds me that there is joy found in maturation

joy found in perseverance.

and joy found in living in the moments placed directly in our open-palmed hands. 

And in those open palms, I've found, too, that He's placed the strongest weapons for slaying worry, equipping me for the battle at hand.

If you're going through a particularly rich growing season, I'd love to pick up the mighty weapon of the Word together and memorize James 1:2-6.

{I'd also welcome you to any of my end-of-the-day Gilmore Girls viewing adventures because I know that sometimes the mind just needs a break from the deepness of thoughts and the heaviness of life, so I bought for really cheap from local mom seasons one and two. Just keeping it totally real here!}