Five Minute Friday: After

Five Minute Friday

 

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

AFTER.

So often it is the after that brings with it sheer pain and anguish.

The muscles, after an out of shape attempt at some exercise.

The stomach, after an evening of over-indulgence.

The bank account, after an afternoon of retail therapy.

And the heart, bent, forever torn, after the passing of a loved one.

The after hurts.  The after smarts and stings and penetrates down deep.  But the after teaches and the after changes us.  The life lessons from the after are priceless, totally immeasureable.  Not something someone else can tell us.

But most importantly – the Lord is with us – in the now and in the after.  Nothing takes Him by surprise.  Nothing.  The God of Angels armies is by our side.

In the now, whatever your now is.

And He’ll be there in your after.

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Five Minute Friday: Broken

Five Minute Friday

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

BROKEN.

(words in bold by Jeremy Riddle, ‘Sweetly Broken’)

To the cross I look, to the cross I cling
Of it’s suffering I do drink
Of it’s work I do sing

For on it my Savior both bruised and crushed
Showed that God is love
And God is just

Today’s prompt is broken.  And tomorrow we remember what Christ did for us.  For all of us.  His body – beaten and broken.  And I – I am whole and healed.

Chorus:
At the cross You beckon me
You draw me gently to my knees, and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered

What kind of gift can I ever give to the Lord?  How can I ever thank Him?

What a priceless gift, undeserved life
Have I been given
Through Christ crucified

You’ve called me out of death
You’ve called me into life
And I was under Your wrath
Now through the cross I’m reconciled
Chorus:

In awe of the cross I must confess
How wondrous Your redeeming love and
How great is Your faithfulness

This gift – this is what I can give to Him: an awe of the cross.

A knowledge of His redeeming love.

Remembering His faithfulness.

This gift: my brokenness.  This is what I can give to the Lord, for all that happened on Calgary.  To be wholly surrendered.

To live depending on the cross. Clinging to it.  Desperate for it.

Sweetly broken. The best kind of broken to be.

I owe Him nothing less, for He has done everything for me.

STOP.

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Five Minute Friday: Remember

Five Minute Friday

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

Remember.

I remember when the prophet man asked us to stand.  So stand we did, hand in hand.  He spoke words of life over us, words that gave us hope, words that gave direction.  Truth.  From God’s heart to our ears.

I remember the time in my student flat when I saw my friend’s leg grow before my very eyes.  And then this very month when my friend’s baby was healed in utero of a heart problem.

I remember seeing and hearing people being set free from different spirits.  It wasn’t freaky, weird or spacey.  It was right and good and honoring.  It was freeing.

I remember prayer meetings so loud that not one voice was distinguishable amongst the rumblings, all were raised in agreement, special languages and all.  From our hearts to God’s ears.

I remember the amazing feeling when people remember past conversations with me, when they remember to ask after things. When they want to know progress and results.  I remember that feeling that someone cares.  Someone listens.  I matter to them.

I want to give people the gift of caring.  I want to give people the gift of healing, of being healed and whole.  I want to provide hope and encouragement like no other, with words of prophesy and knowledge.  I want to help people to shift and ease closer to Him, because I remember them, and not because of anything I do – but because of everything He has already done for them.

Let’s always remember that people matter.

Jesus remembers. We have these precious gifts from His helper.  Let’s use them to show people that Jesus remembers them.  Jesus remembers.

Always.

Five Minute Friday: Home

Five Minute Friday

 

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

HOME.

The desire to put down roots is so very strong.

I’d love to be like a tall and solid tree – arms reaching out – giving shelter from the blazing sun come the middle of summer, dropping leaves of all shades of red, orange and brown come fall and standing strong and bare in winter.  With roots down deep.  Ain’t nothing gonna touch that tree.

But as much as my heart longs for a place for call home, to be like that tree, a place where it doesn’t matter if the toddler puts a hole in the door while riding his horse/ mop, a place where we can pen in the heights of the boys as they grow, grow, grow.

The truth is I don’t have a place to call home. And I most likely won’t for some time yet – if ever.

In all honesty home for me isn’t around my parent’s dining table, nor around their fireplace.

It isn’t the student apartments I lived in, with slanted floors and draughts through which the winter wind could freeze a gallon of milk.

Home is not the houses I lived in when first married and then to where we brought home boys one, two and three.

I guess for me, home is a church, being a part of a group of people where I can raise my hands in worship, totally uninhibited.

Home is my friend Rachel’s couch, where we can talk for hours and hours, drink good coffee and eat good food but we’re nourishing more than our bodies.

Home is my friend Lindsay’s kitchen, where a group of us women gather weekly to pray.  To lift up each other, to champion each other and remember who and what we’re all about.

And also, home is in my husband’s arms, with my precious boys all around us. Regardless of the building we’re in, the walls we can or cannot decorate, whatever country we’re in, home is knowing I’m surrounded by love and living by love and loving this adventure called life, no matter where we are called to be.

 

On being seen.

Hagar.  Now that’s a girl’s name you won’t ever see in the top 100 most popular list.  Nope.  It doesn’t even join the ranks of other biblical names still used today.  Give me an Abigail, a Sarah, Naomi or Ruth any day.  But Hagar?  No thanks.

Poor lady.  Yes she had an unfortunate name, but an even more unfortunate calling upon her life.

At the start of this month my dear blogger friend Ashley wrote so thoughtfully about Hagar here and I’ve been thinking about her ever since.  And pondering on what it is to be seen.

You see Hagar was given to Abram as a substitute wife when Sarai wasn’t doing very well in the flourishing and multiplying department.  So Hagar did what was required of her, she had no choice.  Then Sarai went and beat her…..how’s that for a thank you very much?  No wonder Hagar then ran away.  But in her darkest hour – there an angel of the Lord met with her, comforted her and commanded her.  Hagar was to go back to her mistress, to have Abram’s child and she was to call him ‘Ishamel’ (God hears).  God confirmed that he had heard her woes.  He had seen her tears.  He did realize that life isn’t fair.

Once Hagar knew that she was being seen, she could handle life so much better.

And aren’t we just the same?

We cry out to be seen.

We desire to be understood.

We get frustrated when we feel alone.  Marginalized.  Not taken seriously.

Sometimes God himself steps in and puts feet to feelings….I have my own special story of what I believe to be an angel visitation when I was about to have a d&c, probably my darkest moment ever, made better because I knew I was seen.  I knew I was not alone.

You see God cares for us so much more than we will ever know.  He sees the words we write, he hears the words we speak.  And sometimes we just need a big fat reminder of that.

Most Thursdays and Fridays I join in with Five Minute Friday, organized by Lisa-Jo Baker.  A bunch of bloggers all use the same word prompt and we write for five minutes on that prompt and then click publish before we edit or think too hard about what we’ve written.  It is fascinating to see what over 200 bloggers all write about, and how many different paths are taken from that one same prompt.  The deal with Five Minute Friday is you link up and read what other people write and you encourage and you notice the differences.  As a writer, or wannabe writer, it is a chance to be seen.  And it is in the being seen, that I think makes this so popular and such a joy to be a part of.  A lot of people blog for self-enjoyment, a chance to journal and a lot of people don’t have massive followings.  People like me don’t get a lot of comment love on their blogs.  And that’s fine – that’s not why I blog.  But my point here…….why do we put our own blog address down when we comment on other people’s blogs?  Why do we link up on others blogs?  We simply sometimes just want to be seen.  Just like Hagar.  We want to know that our words matter.  That what we say can encourage, can impart some love and discernment and can indeed make a difference for the better.

But I’d like to remind myself right here and now.  My written words don’t make me who I am.  I am not a product of my writing capability or inability.

My value comes from nothing I have done, but everything that He has done.

I am seen by the one who matters most because He loves me with an everlasting love.  Not for what I do or don’t do.  I am loved.  I am seen.

Hagar was seen by God and that made all the difference in the world for her coping abilities.

You are seen dear friend, no matter what life is throwing you at the moment, you are seen.

 

 

Five Minute Friday: What mama did

Five Minute Friday

 

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

START.

 What Mama did.

Mama got her finger stuck in the wet wipe canister, that’s what she did.  We were going home from a family trip to see Grandad in Queenstown.  We’d pulled over at one of the most picturesque roadside stops in the land, right there in Middle Earth, the five of us crammed into our old maroon coloured Peugeot 404 (can’t beat a European car kids, says Dad), and what does Mama do?  Gets her finger stuck in the wet wipe canister, that’s what she did.

The three of us kids laughed.  We giggled and then we snorted and then we hollered.  Poor Mama started a little laugh, while Dad, ever the rescuer got our his trusty pocket knife and came to her rescue.

Poor Mama.  It hurt her finger.  It hurt her pride.  We shouldn’t have laughed, but we did and once we had started, it was hard to stop.

Just one more example of the many times she sacrificed.

Sacrificed.  That’s what Mama did.  Her pride.  We laughed at her expense.  With food.  Always the last to take her share, always a smaller share than anyone else.  Her time.  She’d stay up late for days on end to sew my pretty dresses to surprise me come Christmas morning.  Her own needs and wants and desires.  Put on the back-burner for us.

Who trotted off to serve the Lord in a third world nation, while pregnant with me, and already mothering a four year old and a six year old?  Who had to deal with dysentary and boils, typhoid and hepatitus, sending her own children away to boarding school that was two days train ride away because that was the very best option available to her?  Mama.  That’s what Mama did.

Time and time again.

She sacrificed.

That’s what Mama did.

That’s what Mama still does.

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Five Minute Friday: Beloved

Five Minute Friday

No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.

Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

5 mins of writing on a set topic.

I’ve decided that if I ever wanted to do more writing….and to really get serious about it then I need to be able to just write.  Simply write.  So I’m going to join some friends linking up at Lisa-Jo’s blog and we shall see what fun ensues…..

So here goes….

START.

Beloved.

My beloved is mine and I am His.  Together we’re writing our love story of epic proportions.

Epic not because of grand gestures, although there have been a few of those over the years, no epic because of the multitude of actions, words and deeds that filter into our everyday living, that speak of love, that speak of undivided devotion.

My beloved is writing his part of our story every time he rides his bike to work, while the day is still dark and very cold, just so I can have the car for the day.

Every time he climbs the stairs to deliver another nightcap to a thirsty child.  Every dentist appointment he takes a boy to, as I take care of doctors, therapists and everything else, but refuse the dentistry.

Every time he initiates ‘man school’ and shows them how to do practical ‘schtuff’ while all the time teaching them what it is to love God and be Jesus with skin on.

Every time we make decisions for our boys, putting them first and their needs way ahead of our own.

Although budgets and unknowns, and massive question marks hang over our heads we’re choosing to trust and obey, come what may.  To live a life of adventure for the King…..chapter by chapter, our epic love story is being written.  And even though we don’t know what the future holds, together, my beloved and I, we both know who the hero of our story is.

STOP.

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