Mighty in the Chaos

Today I'm joining hundreds of other writers to write for five minutes flat about one word. No hyper-editting. No backtracking. Loving and encouraging your fellow writers. Won't you join us over here?

Today's word: mighty

Nothing makes this mama of two boys feel more inadequate than when five o' clock rolls around, I'm trying to make dinner while the kids are fighting in the next room, and I'm wondering why on earth I didn't order a pizza for dinner. I think how calm and peaceful of a person I was less than an hour ago, and somehow all of that collectedness flew out the window as soon as my five-year-old jumped into the car at the bus stop and immediately began antagonizing his younger brother.

Why did I think I was qualified to raise these children who send me over the edge of my sanity faster than the blink of an eye? Where was this temper than rages within me when I was in my twenties? As I stand here and try to dodge grease splattering from the skillet while at the same time trying not to trip over my toddler who refuses to stay out of the kitchen for more than thirty seconds.

In those nano-moments between the yelling and the tattling and the tripping over small feet, I say the only name that can make me mighty when I am weak. When I am failing.

Jesus.

It's all I have time to say but it's all I need. He gives me the grace that I so desperately lack. He fills in the spaces when I wonder if I'll make it until bedtime. He is my mighty warrior in the battlefield of my life filled with calls of "mama" when all I want to do is lay my head down on the pillow. 

And even though order is not restored I somehow manage to get food on the plates while the kids are still alive.

He's my power in the midst of the chaos.

Undiluted Joy

Today I'm joining hundreds of other writers to write for five minutes flat about one word. No hyper-editting. No backtracking. Loving and encouraging your fellow writers. Won't you join us over here?


Today's word: joy

GO:

When I was fifteen years old, I met a boy who challenged everything I ever knew about joy. I was on a mission trip to a town living in extreme poverty just south of the Mexico border. This kid who was no more than twelve years old was confined to a wheelchair. Living in a home that was no more than a shack. Dirt floors, no doors or windows, hardly enough shelter to protect his family from the elements.

And he was filled with pure, unadulterated joy. It was contagious. The Light of Christ shined through him so brightly, so potently that you were drawn to him. I wanted to taste this happiness he had that was not dependent on any material thing this earth had to offer.

Joy in it's most tangible, undiluted form has nothing to do with the car we drive, the size of the house we own, or the clothes in our closet and everything to do with a God who made himself flesh and turned our world upside down when he said, "The last shall be first."

And the beautiful thing about this God, my God…the CHRIST is that when we ask for more of Him, he will never disappoint. You want to know the best part? Once he fills us, our focus is not inward, but outward. He will pour until your heart is overflowing, and you will have no choice but to spread the love that is hurting within you to touch every person you meet. 

Just one person. And the ripple effect begins.

STOP.

Are You Willing?

It's Friday. Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing. One word. No hyper-editing. No getting in your own way. Just writing, flat out. The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you. Won't you join us?

GO:

The question was starkly clear. I tried to dilute it with conditions. Ifs, ands, buts. However hard I tried to evade giving an answer, I knew it was pointless. Are you willing? I kept hearing the question pulsating over and over in my head. Are you willing to put your trust in Me?

As I thought about all of the times in my past when He was faithful, my confidence grew. I remembered His promises. That it is impossible for Him to fail. Impossible for him to go against his word.

With my entire body trembling, I put one foot over the boat, then the other. Perhaps that was the easy part, because I realized once both feet were on the water that a thousand distractions were begging me to take my eyes off Him. The wind, the waves, the darkness. But the more focused my gaze became, the less my doubts threatened to overtake me. I continued to move forward.

Sometimes the water and the waves overtake me. I divert my eyes for a moment. That's all it takes. But he never lets me stay beneath the surface. With steady hands, he lifts me up. Time and time again.

STOP.

A Constant Struggle

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: choose

GO:

Each day, we are given a new beginning. A new mercy, a hope that rises over the horizon with a constant rhythm. We have the ability to choose. To immediately turn to the demands of our day- the emails, the text messages, and the endless list of chores, or to take a moment, and let our souls feel gratitude. Send up a prayer. Bask ourselves in our Father's truth. Equip ourselves for the circumstances of our day.

Hundreds of choices inundate us and we progress through our day. Will I let my emotions dictate how I respond to a snarky remark? Will I let my hormones prevent me from showing my husband how much I appreciate him? Let my patience crumble at the twentieth repeat of the same question from my five-year-old? Each point an opportunity. To show grace or indulge my own nature.

He loves us enough to give us these choices. He gave Himself so that we might have the ultimate choice to follow the Light or stay in the dark. Embracing life or death. 

It is so simple, and yet a constant struggle. Lord, my skin tingles with the knowledge of your thoughts toward me. My desire is to abide in you. May I forever be your humble servant. May I choose Jesus. Each day. Every day.

STOP.

Small Glimpses of His Glory

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: small

GO:

It is a lie that so many mothers feel victim to believing. That our efforts are small. Our work, our day to day life, the difference we make in the bigger picture of this world we call home. Our wiping of baby bottoms, drying up tears, cleaning messes and preparing lunches. Does anyone notice? Is what we're doing making an impact?

Somewhere, in the moments between getting my son on the bus and chasing my two-year-old away from another dog bowl mess, I find a piece of quiet. And it is in those cleansing moments that I sense the Spirit speaking to me in that still voice. So gentle, so patient. Never rushed. Never weary. 

It all matters. I am shaping tiny souls for Him, through Him. With his grace.

It matters because of the Love I hold deep within me, that I pray everyday radiates through the clay that God is shaping day by day, hour by hour. Sometimes in ways I don't understand just yet. Other times with revelation I didn't know possible. 

But each step toward Him, toward my ultimate destination is one of glory. His glory. Not my own. He keeps me from knowing the full extent to which I reflect Him at times to keep me humble. 

May His essence radiate from me more fully each day. May the small light that is my life  shine more and more.

STOP.

It Lies Beneath

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: garden

GO:

It is that time of year when I have to remind myself that the garden is still there. Beneath the many inches of snow and cold, there is the root of the rose. A daffodil here, a bleeding heart there. Though I can't see them, though they remain dormant for a season, they will return. The warm air and the longer days are so near I can almost see the fireflies flitting through the air.

So it is in life. A time and a season for everything. Sometimes I feel as though God is so close I could almost reach out and touch him, and other days he seems silent. But he is always there, always within my reach. I need only call on his Name. He will never leave.

Oh God, help me to remember when life is dark, you are the ever present light. There is no darkness in you. Even when I can't see the light, sometimes, after penetrating deeper, I see it lies beneath.

STOP.

Just Write

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: write

GO:

I write because it brings me peace. An irreplaceable peace. When my thoughts are pounding against the crevasses of my brain too fast for me to keep up, writing slows me down. It makes sense of the senseless. It makes me sit down, even if only for five minutes in the craziness of motherhood. And breathe.

My heart beats faster with each syllable, and the joy is complete when I read the others' stories. Their thoughts. Their heart. I discover I am not alone.

Sometimes the words come fast and steady, like a waterfall after the spring thaw. Other days it's like pushing through a dense fog. Searching for the right string of syllables, not knowing it's right there within my reach. Sometimes the silence is overwhelming.

I keep moving forward. I write my way through the unknown until my vision is cleared.

And I realize are messengers of our story. Because it is not ours, but God's. To open up a window and let the light that is your life shine for all to see...that's pure love.

We were not made to live in the dark.

STOP.

Forever a Superhero

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: Hero

GO:

He will forever be remembered as a superhero. A six-year-old boy whose life was cut far too short, but today his classmates smile as they tell stories of laughter, speed, and integrity. The fastest kid on the playground, the one who never broke a promise, the boy who always raised his hand.

They wear shirts in every color with emblems of characters who light up the cinema with their daredevil tactics and their tenacity for rescue. To defeat the bad guy. To save the day.

But as that final balloon is released into the the clear winter sky we are reminded that this boy was no work of fiction. He was real. And the collective sense of loss too palpable.

He will forever be remembered as a superhero, but to his Father, he's a son who has come home.

STOP.

Last Visit

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: visit

GO:

Today a sweet little boy's visit on earth came to a close and he reached his eternal home, his Father wrapped his loving arms around him and took away every hurt, every fear and pain. Today two beloved parents, along with their three kids, made a trip home from the hospital with one less passenger in their vehicle. And as her friends try to process, try to grasp something tangible in this bottomless loss, we are continually stuck with the truth that words cannot do much at a time when the grief is so deep.

We lift up our hands and we question but the why is just a vapor in the dry air of winter right now, not finding any place to land or comfort to ask.

We reach out, we love, through our actions and our presence. We lift up her name and the names of each of her family in prayer, trusting our Sovereign Lord to do what only he can.

Words are weak. God is strong. He is more than capable.

Jesus, help us.

STOP.


I ask anyone who reads this to please say a prayer for a dear friend and her family who are hurting right now. Thank you.

Outside of Yourself

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's word: Encouragement

GO:

I wasn't expecting the knock on the door that afternoon in mid-September when the Utah leaves were just beginning to turn the vibrant shades of orange and red. I almost didn't answer it. But when I peeked out, there was my new friend standing there, goodies in hand for the new mom, her own two kids standing on either side of her.

The new mom. That was me. And although I wasn't sure what day it was and couldn't remember the last time I actually slept and was feeling pretty embarrassed by the fact that I was still in my p.j.s at that hour, I let her in. My deep seeded need for human contact, adult contact, any type of contact, really, was so loud it ached.

Although I tried to make excuses why I needed to stay at home, to clean or do dishes or something, she got me out of the house. In to the bright sunlight and the brisk fall breeze. And as I began to walk, I felt better. Exhausted, but alive.

It takes a special kind of person to see outside themselves, even for just a moment, and take off the blinders of everyday life. To not worry about everything in any given day of the week and to reach out, to see what's in the peripheral, to see the woman right beside them who is lonely, weak, and in need of encouragement.

I thank God that on that September day, my dear friend extended her hand during my time of need.

STOP.

Do You See?

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's prompt: See


GO:

It was a question that darkened the corners of my mind during those long winter months with the sub-artic temperatures.  Do they see me?  The moms at the play dates chasing their kids around the mat room.  The family members on the phone as I listen to countless stories of heartache and worry, uttering prayers they'll never hear, never know about. My two little beacons of joy, running around the house chasing each other with boundless energy.

These people I do life with, do they see me as an open book or a closed door? Do they see my spirit reaching out between the lines and words, searching for that glimpse of grace? That knowing nod that says, "I get you. I'm here."

When I put on a brave face for my oldest son after he tells me he was teased on the bus ride home, does he see how my heart breaks, how I long to wrap him in my arms and protect him from the evil of this world, from ever being sad or lonely or rejected?

As I look at my blog statistics and see the numbers plummet, the comments non-existent, I wonder if people see what I'm trying to convey. Does the essence of my message shine through the black and white on the page?

Suddenly, I hear a whisper coming through the dark thoughts, first so faint I can barely hear it, then louder, clearer. 

"I see you."

"I have searched you."

"You are mine."

As the tears stream down, I am filled with gratitude that He found me.  That he chose me.  And through his grace, I see that I am part of something even greater than I can imagine. Each act of love, each step to reach out made through Him. He knows. He sees. He will shine.

STOP.

Anything But Ordinary

It's Friday. (Well, actually for me it's Monday) Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing. One word. No hyper-editing. No getting in your own way. Just writing, flat out. The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you. Won't you join us?

I believe the closest glimpse I will ever get to God's love is what I feel when I look at my children.

Today's prompt: Ordinary

GO:

It would be easy to write my life off as ordinary.  I am a stay-at-home mom.  Most of my days look the same, with the same schedule and routine, and there are few variations week to week aside from the impromptu trip to the fall festival or a trip to see the in-laws.  I take my oldest son to the bus stop at the same time every morning and pick him up at the same time every afternoon.

Often, I daydream about white sand beaches and turquoise blue ocean waters whisking me away, with soft island music playing a sweet melody. A fruity drink in one hand and my lover's fingers intertwined in the other.

One day that may happen.  But that is not my day to day reality.

But you see, my life is anything but ordinary.  Because I am loved by a God who created the Heavens and the universe and somehow thought about me all at the same time.  He knows every worry wrinkle in my brow.  He knows the words on my tongue before I speak.  He is the source of the only perfect love in all eternity, and He has covered me, drenched me with it so that at times I feel as though I can't even breathe.

And that, my friends, if words can even be found to describe such a love, is extraordinary.

STOP.

Five Minute Friday: True

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

photo courtesy of www.afreshchapter.com

Today's Prompt: True

GO:


If we listen to lies long enough, we start to believe they are true.  We think we are too small to make a difference, that one person cannot make a positive impact, and we go about our lives trying to fill up the void in our hearts with material possessions, elicit television and relationships which cause more harm than growth.

For a large portion of my life, this is how I lived.  I believed I had wasted my life, missed my opportunity to fulfill my calling, and that I would spend the rest of my time on earth regretting the decisions I'd made. 

But my God does not relish in suffering or have a heart of stone.  He restores and redeems.  He uses the debris of my past to recycle into a story that is new and beautiful.  He loves me in spite of the mess. 

When I saw garbage, he saw a life which has meaning and purpose.  When I was filled with shame, he saw the blood shed by his Son to make me clean.  When I told myself I was only one person, one life, he saw the bread he used to feed over five thousand people.  

In every action I take, every word I say I have an opportunity to reflect Christ.  All I have to do is decide to let his love be transparent through me.


STOP.

Five Minute Friday: She

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

photo courtesy of flicker.com

Today's prompt: She

GO:

She had never been the popular kid.  Quiet one.  Band chick.  Introvert.  These were words used to describe her.  Self-doubt was her constant companion.  Always afraid to speak out for fear of what people would say.  Fear of being teased or ridiculed.  Fear of rejection.  Always content with a small group of friends, she made little attempt to reach out.  Writing was her therapy, her catharsis, the words on the written page staring back at her in stark black and white.  Yes, this was all she needed.

Becoming a mom was like a bulldozer crashing through the thick wall of illusion she had built around herself.  The realization that she couldn't do this alone.  She needed community.  Women.  Encouragement and a pat on the back when she felt as though she was constantly failing.  In a new town with unfamiliar faces and surroundings, it was a stark reality, but she couldn't deny her yearning.

First one person reached out.  And then another and another.  She started feeling comfortable in her own skin and see herself for the woman she truly was.  There was something she could offer these women, and in turn they could walk the road of motherhood with her.  

Sometimes, it just takes one little push from someone who's been there before to get you to step outside of yourself.  Outside of your self-consciousness and doubt and into the light.  And once you do, you see the there's an entire world full of beautiful people waiting to greet you.


STOP.

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

photo courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org

Today's prompt: Mercy

GO:

So often when I come before God, my basin is not just empty.  It is parched.  Dry and cracked from weathering the elements, the dry, hot sun.  Completely drained.  And still he has mercy on me.  He fills me up.  He gently reminds me, yet another time, that if I want to change the world around me and be a light in the dark I must start with Him.  I must start on my knees.

He tells me to make one move.  I look down at my pedometer and realize I have made twenty.  I have somehow wandered off course, have no idea where I am or how I got there.  I am empty and hurting, feeling as though I've failed yet again.

His grace is too much for me to comprehend.  And yet it is my reason for breathing and waking and rising and going forth into each day.  It is the reason I can watch the 6:00 news and not spend the rest of the night lying awake in fear.  It is everything, and yet its mystery is impenetrable.

He reveals little glimpses of it, day by day.  In my children's unexpected hug.  In the the coolness of the morning that gives me goosebumps as we walk to the bus stop.

When I wander outside of the mercy, the grace, instead of His thoughts becoming my thoughts, I resort to my own wandering ways.

God, help me to abide in you.  Each second of each day.  Humble me.  May your rain  penetrate me deep and produce glory to glory.

STOP.

Five Minute Friday: Red

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's prompt: Red

GO:

As I make my way with the clunky stroller around the farmer's market, I spot a stack of bright red gala apples.  My mind immediately goes to warm pies baking in the oven, the aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg permeating the house, fires burning in the wood stove and candles burning.  Fall is just around the corner, and I can taste it, thick in the crisp breeze that blows across my 21 month old's face and makes him giggle.

Humidity is lifting and in a few weeks, the bright colors of red, orange and yellow will makes their first appearance.  The maple across the street will burst to life, and towns across three neighboring states will have their annual autumn festivals, full of apple butters, canned goodness, endless jams and hayrides.

Afternoon comes in the blink of an eye and as I make my way to the bus stop and feel the warm sunlight on my face, I'm reminded of something one of my favorite authors wrote. How each season is a reminder of the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ, and I'm so grateful for the coming display of all of all his glory before what is predicted to be a bitterly cold winter.

STOP.

Five Minute Friday: Last

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's prompt:  Last


GO:



We live in an ever-changing world.  Many things do not last.  Yesterday's technology is today's garbage, text messages and tweets often precede face to face conversation, and a game of candy crush saga is more important to some than engaging with the people surrounding them.  Often, I feel as though I'm simply trying to grasp on to something that is just out of my reach.  To taste the real.

One of my greatest desires for my sons is to raise them with a faith that will last.  A love for God which will stand the test of time.  Despite all the questions, the hardships, the days when they just don't want to get out of bed in the morning and they wonder why they took that job, they days when it seems easier just to blend with the crowd than make a stand for what they know is honorable, true and worthy.

I want them to come to me openly with their questions and to understand that it's okay not to have all the answers.  That it's okay to ask God about the uncertainties that are deep in their heart and that on this side of eternity, we will never be completely and wholly fulfilled.

But God, in all his infinite goodness and unending love, he is answer that will last when everything else comes to an end.  When nature shifts in the shadows and the seasons change from one to the next, He remains unchanged, forever.


STOP.

Five Minute Friday: Lonely

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's prompt: Lonely


GO:


I know that girl.  The lonely girl.  I have been her.  For a long time, I walked in those worn out, dingy slippers with the impressions of the feet molded into the soles, up and down the hallway for what seemed an eternity.  A vapor slipping in and out of hours which became days, not even knowing what day of the week it was and too tired to care.  They say that babies grow up fast, that the days pass by in the blink of an eye.   But in those first few months of motherhood, the minutes seemed to tick by with an unfathomable slowness.

How many minutes until the next nap, how many minutes until the next feeding, how many hours until he gets home.  How many until he leaves again.

It wasn't that I expected it to be easy.  But nothing prepared me for how invisible I would feel.  As though everyone looked at my baby but seeming saw straight through me.  How a new town could go from being incredibly exciting to incredibly bleak in the course of a week. 

One day, I simply decided to show up.  First I opened a book, then I found solace in a song.  I realized something.  I had a choice.  To dare myself to reach out to everyone around me.  To be visible means to offer yourself to another person, in friendship, in caring, in sharing the ups and downs of each day, on day at a time.  There will be those moments of solitude.  Sometimes the loneliness may last for a season.  But the if I open my eyes and look around me, the relationships I form can last forever.


STOP.

Five Minute Friday: Story

It's Friday.  Where hundreds of writers come together every week over at the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker's blog to spend five minutes writing about one thing.  One word.  No hyper-editing.  No getting in your own way.  Just writing, flat out.  The most important rule: encourage the writer who linked up before you.  Won't you join us?

Today's prompt:  story

GO:



My story is still being written, and that is the beauty of it.  It is eternal.  Every day the sun comes up over the horizon, inviting me to show love to those around me.  To make an influence for good in the lives of those God placed in my life.  To invite in the Creator of all things to work and move through me.  Each day when the sun rises I can make a choice not to let the negative voices overcome my will to make a positive impact.  To let the words which come out of mouth lift others up instead of planting a seed of acidity.

Some days, my candle burns so bright I feel as though I could set the whole world aflame.  Other days it is a tiny ember, snuffed almost to oblivion by the failures and tiredness and monotony of the day.  But then there are those who come into my life with an unexpected hug, and word of encouragement, an encompassing smile, and my tiny ember is given some air.  It is fanned by those around me.  Little by little it becomes brighter.

My story is beautiful because it is intertwined with those around me who make it bigger, brighter, more lovely.  My family.  My friends.  Everyone I come in contact with who reaches out their hand and says, "Keep going.  Finish the race. You may have stumbled but you are not alone."


STOP.