It's Friday and that means it's time for the linkup at the Five Minute Friday blog! Since the last time I linked up with the FMF community, Kate has moved things from her personal blog to a new space that is totally dedicated to FMF. Go check it out! This week's prompt word is....
Friends, it is June. More to the point, it's almost the middle of June. I have been so inundated with the stuff of life lately that I just haven't had the time or mental energy to write in this blog. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself do it. I guess I've gotten out of the habit (not that it was such a firm habit to begin with!). I start posts and then don't finish them. I just looked and I literally have over 100 posts that are drafts. They're just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with them. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like they're going to finish themselves or edit themselves. Some of them aren't actually too bad.
Several months back we actually had this prompt word and I had a pretty decent post going with it. I had actually finished it, but it was long and seemed really disjointed to me, so onto the scrap heap it went! Looking back over it, I can see now where it can be cut and not lose meaning or impact. That's what I feel like I'm always chasing. I write so many words and so often, I'm scared of cutting things. I'm scared of just writing without editing too. I don't know what I expect the reaction of others to be to my verbose ramblings. Maybe they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe they'll think I talk too much. Maybe they'll think that I need to just stop writing altogether because I really really suck at it. These are the voices in my head that keep me from writing a lot of the time.
Even when I do write something that feels like it's pretty good, I wind up getting scared to publish it. I've felt this way from the beginnings of this blog and I don't know how to conquer these feelings. I don't know how to change this. I think it's because I expect my writing, my blog, and all of it to be as good and polished and lovely to look at as my fellow bloggers. The thing is, I don't really like polished and pretty all the time because it's not who I am. But polished and pretty gets people to read and to comment.
Baring your soul, talking about uncomfortable things like mental illness, and trying to write in such a way that causes people to think seems to be met with silence and indifference. It makes me wonder who is reading and if they care. Then I wonder why I care so much about that. I try not to care, but here I am, caring again. Here I am second guessing myself. Here I am wondering if when you finish reading this, you will forget this as soon as your eyes hit the last word. Here I am wondering if what I have to say about anything is worth sharing with the world. These thoughts and wonderings and fears are what keep me from writing. I don't want to expect anything of this, but I am only human and we human beings are messy, complicated, and complex that way.
I don't even know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me or if I should expect it to make sense. I just know that I feel compelled to return to this space and write. I just don't know if I ought to expect anyone to read it.
Showing posts with label prompts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prompts. Show all posts
Friday, June 9, 2017
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
31 Days of Forgotten Fridays
This year instead of trying to come up with something super original for Write 31 Days, I decided to go back to Fridays. Five Minute Fridays, that is. Because of life interruptions, sickness, family issues, and difficulties getting my writing mojo flowing, there have been quite a number of Five Minute Friday prompts that I've not written on or linked up in the past year. There were some of these prompts that I had ideas for but just couldn't manage to get anything written before the next week and the next prompt rolled around. There were other prompts that nailed me between the eyes so hard due to their appropriateness for my life at that time that I found it impossible to write something based on them. There were still other prompts that I just totally didn't even see the first time around because I was so inundated with dealing with life that I completely forgot about looking for the prompt and writing on it.
Because I'm going through quite a lot of late and don't have a lot of mental capacity to write much of anything (just check the gaps in the dates on this blog), I decided to try and use this month to focus on getting myself back into a habit of writing more often. To that end, I made a list of these "forgotten" Five Minute Friday prompts and decided to use those as a jumping off point for my Write 31 Days series this year. As of the writing of this, I am four days into October and haven't yet written any of the days, but I'm going to do my best to get caught up and have the first five days up and published by tomorrow (which is October 5th).
Those of you who know me from the Five Minute Friday community will already know this, but if you're new to my blog, you should know that I'm a FMF slacker. I don't exactly set a timer and only write for five minutes. I don't always write and publish without editing. I have tried to do things by the rules, but have wound up with tons of anxiety and self-doubt about everything I've written. For my own mental health, I decided to do it my way. I write whatever I want on the prompt and take however long it takes me to write it. I know that means it's not technically a "five minute" Friday, but I don't think anyone minds too much.
I guess that's it for now. I hope you enjoy this little jaunt through 31 Days of Forgotten Fridays!
P. S. I'm hoping to be able to kind of tie all the posts together with a common theme, but if that proves too difficult, I may just write whatever I'm inspired to write.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
A Final Update on Write and Follow
It's just a few hours until the new year begins here and on that note, I thought I'd do a little year-end wrap up and reflection. Last year at this time, I was trying to figure out (as I am now) my "word" for the year. The idea is that you take that word as a kind of reminder to yourself of something you want to do or achieve in the next year or as a reminder of a goal you've been working toward or perhaps something you need to do in order to better yourself. I noodled over it for several days prior to December 31, 2014 and finally came up with my first of what would be two words for 2015:
My goal with this word was to encourage myself to write in this blog and elsewhere more often. In August of 2014, I started this blog anew with the aim of trying to help myself with my depression. I had a goal back then that I was going to write at least some little something each day so that I could develop a habit of writing. Well, that didn't exactly pan out, but through that goal, I found the Write 31 Days challenge in late September and participated in it throughout the month of October. I wrote for 31 days straight about my journey through the darkness of depression and while it wasn't the easiest thing for me to do, it wound up being helpful both in my therapy sessions (gave me and Pendragon lots to write about) and outside the therapy sessions as I mulled over different things and tried to process more deeply some of my experiences.
As 2014 drew to a close, I realized that all that writing had been really beneficial to my mental health in a number of ways. That was one of the biggest reasons that I was drawn to the word "write" as my word for 2015. I wanted to keep that momentum going. I also began sensing that the direction of my blog was changing a bit to encompass more than just my Catholic faith and my vocation of marriage and motherhood. I wanted to continue to talk about mental health topics and even explore my own experiences with depression and PTSD in the hope that it might help others understand those things a bit more. So last New Year's Eve as I was going through the day, I was more or less settled on that word.
And then we went to Mass for the Vigil of the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God and the Holy Spirit threw a cog into my perfect little plan to focus on "write."
As we sat there in Mass and listened to the pastor's homily, he spoke about how Mary had followed God's plan for her and been totally submissive to His desire that she become the Mother of the Word Incarnate. When he said that, the word "follow" jumped out at me. For the rest of Mass, I couldn't get it out of my head. My heart has always been to follow God wherever He leads and to pursue Him with everything in me, but the past almost 3 years have been beyond hard. They have shaken my faith to its very core.
My faith has been stripped bare of everything that made me comfortable in it -- joy, hope, purpose, emotional closeness, awe and wonder, inspiration, peace, strength -- all of it. All that was left to me was cold, naked words of scripture, the tenets and requirements of my faith, the traditions of the Church, and a particular grace of an obedient heart (which I didn't see for a long time as anything worth celebrating or being grateful for). I felt abandoned by God and I was fiercely angry with Him for a very long time. By the end of 2014 though, after almost 2 years of this, I knew that I needed to start taking responsibility for finding my way back to God.
When I heard the pastor say "follow" I knew that I couldn't ignore the nudge in my spirit. So despite having already chosen "write" I began to consider that maybe I needed to choose "follow" as my word. I wrestled with it until about 10:30pm that night when I finally gave in and said, "Okay God." That crazy grace of obedience just won't leave me alone! As I acquiesced to the Holy Spirit, I felt a bit sad to leave "write" by the wayside. I thought for a moment that perhaps I'd just resolve to write more anyway and then it hit me: I didn't have to give up "write" as a word for 2015. I could have two words! I admit it might have been a little crazy to take on two words, but I just knew that it was exactly right for me.
So how did those two words work out?
Well, not too badly, I think. I had wanted to write at least 1-3 blog posts each week and while there were some weeks that I didn't even make 1 post, as of the publishing of this post, I'll have 74 posts this year and that works out to 1.5 or so per week AND I managed to write at least 1 post each month. That may not sound like a lot, but that's much more consistent than I've ever been with writing, so way to go me!
As for follow, that one took a bit longer to get rolling with in 2015. I continued to do what I had been doing with regard to going to Mass and confession, but over the spring and summer months, I upped the ante a bit. Our long time family friend, Fr. B, was moved to a parish closer to us (he had previously been almost a 2 hour drive away) and we visited him some in the spring time and then began going there almost exclusively over the summer. When we first visited him, he sensed that I wasn't myself and told me to email him and we'd get together and talk. That was the beginning of several meetings which led to him becoming my spiritual director.
He and I would talk for a bit and then pray together. Many times he would pray over me -- prayers of deliverance, praying the Psalms, or just spontaneous prayer that pretty much always reduced me to a sobbing mess. Our meetings almost always included a chance for me to receive the graces of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (confession), the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, and the Holy Eucharist as well. Finally, as my penance he would assign me the task of going over to the church (we always started in his office in the rectory) and spending some time there alone in the presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. The first time he assigned me that penance, he said, "It doesn't have to be long, just 10-15 minutes. However long you can stay. Stay as long as you want." That very first time I wound up there for an entire hour before I realized that much time had passed. I spent that hour in silent prayer, crying, singing hymns, sobbing as I lay prostrate before the altar, praying and begging Him to heal me, crying some more, and finally pulling myself together before leaving the church.
After each of those meetings and my time alone (always an hour, sometimes nearly two) with Jesus, I would find myself feeling exhausted and just spent, but strangely more at peace than I had been before I came. Little by little, I began to have tiny moments of feeling something other than the stark wasteland of nothingness that I had come to associate with my faith. It would be a brief moment at Mass or something that someone said or something I read that would touch me ever so briefly. These days I still feel that nothingness a lot and to be honest, I still feel angry at God at times (particularly when the dark menace of depression is heaviest), and I still cry buckets at Mass (did that tonight, actually), but something has shifted, albeit the tiniest bit; it is enough that I can sense the change. I can't quite articulate what is different or how it is, but I know that I feel a bit different this New Year's Eve with regard to my faith than I did last year. So that's progress and a very good thing indeed.
What about a word for 2016?
Well, I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks and there have been a few that have popped into my head. One of the biggest ones has been to do with my health. The things is, I'm way overweight for my height and age. Actually, quite truthfully, I am obese. I have been for years. Well, my sister-in-law has been on a quest for better health for herself this past year and she has really done well for herself. She's continuing in her quest to move more and eat healthy in the new year and has added the goal of quitting smoking (you can do it, sestra!!!) and I'm so excited for her. I know she's going to have another amazing year of achieving her goals and getting even more healthy.
To be honest, she's really inspired me to make some changes for myself. I may add things as the year goes along, but my biggest goal is going to be to move more -- specifically, to get myself walking on a regular basis. You may remember that I participated in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's Out of the Darkness Overnight walk in Boston this past summer. Well, it wasn't nearly as much fun for me as it could have been because I was really out of shape and unprepared going into it. This coming year I'm participating in the walk again. It's going to be in New York City! Woohoo! I have never been there and I'm looking forward to it, but I know I need to be in better shape and better prepared to actually do the work of the walking the 16-18 miles that it entails. So......without further ado, my NEW word for 2016 is.......
To be honest friends, that word is a little scary to me because of what it means to me. It means I've got to get off my duff and really start moving more. But what's a new year without new challenges or a goal or two, right? I also decided that I'm going to hold on to my words from 2015 for another year. I know, I know. You're probably not supposed to do that, but just like last year when I took on two words instead of one, I'm breaking the rules again this year. I'm keeping my old words. I'm just not ready to give up "write" or "follow" just yet. I feel like I have a lot more to do with those words and that a lot of it is going to be in this next year. Not entirely sure why I feel that way, but maybe it's the Holy Spirit? :) Anyhow, that brings my grand total for 2016 to THREE words. Holy cow! I may be a bit mental, but I really think that it's what I'm supposed to do. So, to recap....
Oh, and M2, who is sitting over my shoulder wants me to let you know that she was the one who had the idea for the word "Move" to be in a white font and for the background to be coloured instead of black and white like I had originally planned. I told her she ought to be a graphic designer because she has a good eye for colour and balance. Love that girl!
As 2014 drew to a close, I realized that all that writing had been really beneficial to my mental health in a number of ways. That was one of the biggest reasons that I was drawn to the word "write" as my word for 2015. I wanted to keep that momentum going. I also began sensing that the direction of my blog was changing a bit to encompass more than just my Catholic faith and my vocation of marriage and motherhood. I wanted to continue to talk about mental health topics and even explore my own experiences with depression and PTSD in the hope that it might help others understand those things a bit more. So last New Year's Eve as I was going through the day, I was more or less settled on that word.
And then we went to Mass for the Vigil of the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God and the Holy Spirit threw a cog into my perfect little plan to focus on "write."
As we sat there in Mass and listened to the pastor's homily, he spoke about how Mary had followed God's plan for her and been totally submissive to His desire that she become the Mother of the Word Incarnate. When he said that, the word "follow" jumped out at me. For the rest of Mass, I couldn't get it out of my head. My heart has always been to follow God wherever He leads and to pursue Him with everything in me, but the past almost 3 years have been beyond hard. They have shaken my faith to its very core.
My faith has been stripped bare of everything that made me comfortable in it -- joy, hope, purpose, emotional closeness, awe and wonder, inspiration, peace, strength -- all of it. All that was left to me was cold, naked words of scripture, the tenets and requirements of my faith, the traditions of the Church, and a particular grace of an obedient heart (which I didn't see for a long time as anything worth celebrating or being grateful for). I felt abandoned by God and I was fiercely angry with Him for a very long time. By the end of 2014 though, after almost 2 years of this, I knew that I needed to start taking responsibility for finding my way back to God.
When I heard the pastor say "follow" I knew that I couldn't ignore the nudge in my spirit. So despite having already chosen "write" I began to consider that maybe I needed to choose "follow" as my word. I wrestled with it until about 10:30pm that night when I finally gave in and said, "Okay God." That crazy grace of obedience just won't leave me alone! As I acquiesced to the Holy Spirit, I felt a bit sad to leave "write" by the wayside. I thought for a moment that perhaps I'd just resolve to write more anyway and then it hit me: I didn't have to give up "write" as a word for 2015. I could have two words! I admit it might have been a little crazy to take on two words, but I just knew that it was exactly right for me.
So how did those two words work out?
Well, not too badly, I think. I had wanted to write at least 1-3 blog posts each week and while there were some weeks that I didn't even make 1 post, as of the publishing of this post, I'll have 74 posts this year and that works out to 1.5 or so per week AND I managed to write at least 1 post each month. That may not sound like a lot, but that's much more consistent than I've ever been with writing, so way to go me!
As for follow, that one took a bit longer to get rolling with in 2015. I continued to do what I had been doing with regard to going to Mass and confession, but over the spring and summer months, I upped the ante a bit. Our long time family friend, Fr. B, was moved to a parish closer to us (he had previously been almost a 2 hour drive away) and we visited him some in the spring time and then began going there almost exclusively over the summer. When we first visited him, he sensed that I wasn't myself and told me to email him and we'd get together and talk. That was the beginning of several meetings which led to him becoming my spiritual director.
He and I would talk for a bit and then pray together. Many times he would pray over me -- prayers of deliverance, praying the Psalms, or just spontaneous prayer that pretty much always reduced me to a sobbing mess. Our meetings almost always included a chance for me to receive the graces of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (confession), the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, and the Holy Eucharist as well. Finally, as my penance he would assign me the task of going over to the church (we always started in his office in the rectory) and spending some time there alone in the presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. The first time he assigned me that penance, he said, "It doesn't have to be long, just 10-15 minutes. However long you can stay. Stay as long as you want." That very first time I wound up there for an entire hour before I realized that much time had passed. I spent that hour in silent prayer, crying, singing hymns, sobbing as I lay prostrate before the altar, praying and begging Him to heal me, crying some more, and finally pulling myself together before leaving the church.
After each of those meetings and my time alone (always an hour, sometimes nearly two) with Jesus, I would find myself feeling exhausted and just spent, but strangely more at peace than I had been before I came. Little by little, I began to have tiny moments of feeling something other than the stark wasteland of nothingness that I had come to associate with my faith. It would be a brief moment at Mass or something that someone said or something I read that would touch me ever so briefly. These days I still feel that nothingness a lot and to be honest, I still feel angry at God at times (particularly when the dark menace of depression is heaviest), and I still cry buckets at Mass (did that tonight, actually), but something has shifted, albeit the tiniest bit; it is enough that I can sense the change. I can't quite articulate what is different or how it is, but I know that I feel a bit different this New Year's Eve with regard to my faith than I did last year. So that's progress and a very good thing indeed.
What about a word for 2016?
Well, I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks and there have been a few that have popped into my head. One of the biggest ones has been to do with my health. The things is, I'm way overweight for my height and age. Actually, quite truthfully, I am obese. I have been for years. Well, my sister-in-law has been on a quest for better health for herself this past year and she has really done well for herself. She's continuing in her quest to move more and eat healthy in the new year and has added the goal of quitting smoking (you can do it, sestra!!!) and I'm so excited for her. I know she's going to have another amazing year of achieving her goals and getting even more healthy.
To be honest, she's really inspired me to make some changes for myself. I may add things as the year goes along, but my biggest goal is going to be to move more -- specifically, to get myself walking on a regular basis. You may remember that I participated in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's Out of the Darkness Overnight walk in Boston this past summer. Well, it wasn't nearly as much fun for me as it could have been because I was really out of shape and unprepared going into it. This coming year I'm participating in the walk again. It's going to be in New York City! Woohoo! I have never been there and I'm looking forward to it, but I know I need to be in better shape and better prepared to actually do the work of the walking the 16-18 miles that it entails. So......without further ado, my NEW word for 2016 is.......
To be honest friends, that word is a little scary to me because of what it means to me. It means I've got to get off my duff and really start moving more. But what's a new year without new challenges or a goal or two, right? I also decided that I'm going to hold on to my words from 2015 for another year. I know, I know. You're probably not supposed to do that, but just like last year when I took on two words instead of one, I'm breaking the rules again this year. I'm keeping my old words. I'm just not ready to give up "write" or "follow" just yet. I feel like I have a lot more to do with those words and that a lot of it is going to be in this next year. Not entirely sure why I feel that way, but maybe it's the Holy Spirit? :) Anyhow, that brings my grand total for 2016 to THREE words. Holy cow! I may be a bit mental, but I really think that it's what I'm supposed to do. So, to recap....
Oh, and M2, who is sitting over my shoulder wants me to let you know that she was the one who had the idea for the word "Move" to be in a white font and for the background to be coloured instead of black and white like I had originally planned. I told her she ought to be a graphic designer because she has a good eye for colour and balance. Love that girl!
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Yes
This is my contribution, done in however many minutes it takes me, to the Five Minute Friday community. I don't do it by the rules, but if you want to, go check it out at Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home. Just click on the link at the top for Five Minute Friday to find out what it's all about. This week's prompt is....
YES
I have read this passage of scripture many times. It's one of the texts that is often read at Christmas, because it has to do with the birth of Jesus. So many times as I read this growing up, I saw Mary's part in it as just one of someone who is the recipient of a message. More to the point, I saw it as a command from God that was delivered by the angel Gabriel. That's certainly the point of view that seemed to be preached from the pulpit in my Southern Baptist church, even if not specifically stated as such.
Given the language of the text, that is how it reads, but reading it with Mary as simply a passive recipient of this seemingly commanding message misses the point. It ignores that Mary, like all human beings, was created by God with free will. In my rush to see her as nothing more than Jesus' mother who happened to be specially chosen by God, I ignored this critical aspect of her humanity. I say it is critical because if we assume that she had no choice in the matter, then we negate the many scriptures that speak of man's ability to choose right from wrong -- including the ones in Genesis which tell how our first parents, Adam and Eve, exercised their free will in a way that created a need for Christ to come in the first place. If Mary is simply a robot who cannot say no to God, then she becomes unimportant in the overall story of our redemption.
But she is important and the reason is because she said YES.
There is a vast amount of power in those three letters. People's lives have been spared or ended by them. Nations have gone to war because of them. Sacred bonds have been forged by them. Kings have been created and men brought to their knees by them. They bring both infinite joy and great sorrow in their affirming power.
Mary's "yes" -- which we call her "fiat" in Latin -- brought about the greatest joy in human history. Her fiat made possible our salvation. Her yes enabled our redemption. This is why we as Catholics sometimes refer to her by the title Co-Mediatrix of All Graces. It isn't that she has an equal role as mediator between us and the Father, but rather that she said "yes" in order to bring Jesus into the world to die for us so that the gift of God's grace which mediates our sin before the Father might be possible.
Look at this verse from the passage again:
YES
In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And the angel said to her in reply, “The holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. (Luke 1:26-38)
I have read this passage of scripture many times. It's one of the texts that is often read at Christmas, because it has to do with the birth of Jesus. So many times as I read this growing up, I saw Mary's part in it as just one of someone who is the recipient of a message. More to the point, I saw it as a command from God that was delivered by the angel Gabriel. That's certainly the point of view that seemed to be preached from the pulpit in my Southern Baptist church, even if not specifically stated as such.
Given the language of the text, that is how it reads, but reading it with Mary as simply a passive recipient of this seemingly commanding message misses the point. It ignores that Mary, like all human beings, was created by God with free will. In my rush to see her as nothing more than Jesus' mother who happened to be specially chosen by God, I ignored this critical aspect of her humanity. I say it is critical because if we assume that she had no choice in the matter, then we negate the many scriptures that speak of man's ability to choose right from wrong -- including the ones in Genesis which tell how our first parents, Adam and Eve, exercised their free will in a way that created a need for Christ to come in the first place. If Mary is simply a robot who cannot say no to God, then she becomes unimportant in the overall story of our redemption.
But she is important and the reason is because she said YES.
There is a vast amount of power in those three letters. People's lives have been spared or ended by them. Nations have gone to war because of them. Sacred bonds have been forged by them. Kings have been created and men brought to their knees by them. They bring both infinite joy and great sorrow in their affirming power.
Mary's "yes" -- which we call her "fiat" in Latin -- brought about the greatest joy in human history. Her fiat made possible our salvation. Her yes enabled our redemption. This is why we as Catholics sometimes refer to her by the title Co-Mediatrix of All Graces. It isn't that she has an equal role as mediator between us and the Father, but rather that she said "yes" in order to bring Jesus into the world to die for us so that the gift of God's grace which mediates our sin before the Father might be possible.
Look at this verse from the passage again:
Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”This is the part where she gives her "yes" to God. She uses the language of submission, but it isn't submission that has come about because she has no choice. Given that all human beings are created with free will, Mary certainly could have said "no." Think of the situation that she found herself in -- betrothed to Joseph and not married. You can imagine that many young women in her shoes might have indeed said "no." But that's not what she does. She instead submits willingly -- "May it be done to me according to your word." -- to what God is asking of her. It is a yes that is borne out of a love for God and a desire to serve Him completely.
It is this total and purposeful surrender to God's will that makes Mary a model for all Christians. It is why Christians throughout the ages have revered and honored her in art, song, and literature. It is why she is often referred to as the chief of saints and why she is accorded special honor above the rest of the saints.
Mary's yes brought Jesus into the world so that we might be reconciled to God the Father and so that Eve's disobedience and her "no" might be undone. Her yes gave Jesus His specific human nature and the flesh that bore our sins, was Mary's DNA in Him. Her yes brought the Word Incarnate into the world through the ordinary means of human conception, pregnancy, and childbirth.
As Christians, outside of Jesus, we can have no better model than Mary on which to base our faith and devotion to Our Lord. If we fully submit ourselves to His will, then He can use our ordinary human flesh and our ordinary human means to bring the Word Incarnate to a world in need.
We need only say, "Yes" to Him.
As Christians, outside of Jesus, we can have no better model than Mary on which to base our faith and devotion to Our Lord. If we fully submit ourselves to His will, then He can use our ordinary human flesh and our ordinary human means to bring the Word Incarnate to a world in need.
We need only say, "Yes" to Him.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Find
As of this week, I'm breaking up with Five Minute Friday.
Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of writing for five minutes on a prompt, not editing your post, hitting publish, and linking up with a community of other folks who do the same. I really do love the idea.
The problem is that I can't write like that.
I have been a part of this community for over a year and thought that despite my inability to keep to five minutes with my writing most weeks that somehow, the "rules" just weren't as important as the spirit of the thing and the community. I had also fooled myself into believing that I wasn't the only one who went over the time allowance and who was really in it for the community. I further fooled myself into believing that if put to the test, I could actually write something that approached coherence and meaningfulness in 5 minutes' time.
I was wrong on all three counts.
Apparently, for certain individuals within this community, the rules are more important than showing grace to someone who just wants to participate and belong but isn't quite proficient at churning out a perfectly crafted inspirational nugget in 5 minutes. I am apparently also one of the very few people who goes over the time allowance with some regularity and who joined up with this thing intending to follow the rules, but wound up staying in it more for the community than anything else. I know there are others (I've talked to them), but given that I was surrounded by about 15 other women at the Five Minute Friday retreat a few weekends ago who all seem to have no problem with this, I think it's safe to say that I found I'm in the minority. Likewise, the five minute free write that we did at the retreat further served to illuminate the fact that when put to the test and the pressure is on, I am a failure at the "five minutes" part of Five Minute Friday.
I thought in participating in this blog community that I had found a like-minded group of individuals who were all in a similar boat with me -- even if not exactly the same boat -- in wanting to be part of a community that gets together once a week and writes together. For me, that's what Five Minute Friday was always about. It's what I thought I had found.
For the most part, I did find that there are a LOT of great individuals who belong to this community. Many of them write things that resonate with me and many write things that don't. I'm okay with that. I appreciate diversity of ideas and people. I've gotten some genuinely wonderful comments on some of my posts from the folks in this community and met a couple of really awesome friends through it too. I am always looking to find members of my "tribe" and I've definitely done that some through this.
That said though, I'm done with the Five Minute Friday rules -- both those that are stated and those that are understood. I'm also done with judging myself and how I do Five Minute Friday.
So goodbye to the old way of doing Five Minute Friday. I'm breaking up with you and all the self-judgment I feel by trying to do it your way. I need to do Five Minute Friday my own way and be okay with that. I need to find my own way. Perhaps I'll see you again in a few weeks.
Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of writing for five minutes on a prompt, not editing your post, hitting publish, and linking up with a community of other folks who do the same. I really do love the idea.
The problem is that I can't write like that.
I have been a part of this community for over a year and thought that despite my inability to keep to five minutes with my writing most weeks that somehow, the "rules" just weren't as important as the spirit of the thing and the community. I had also fooled myself into believing that I wasn't the only one who went over the time allowance and who was really in it for the community. I further fooled myself into believing that if put to the test, I could actually write something that approached coherence and meaningfulness in 5 minutes' time.
I was wrong on all three counts.
Apparently, for certain individuals within this community, the rules are more important than showing grace to someone who just wants to participate and belong but isn't quite proficient at churning out a perfectly crafted inspirational nugget in 5 minutes. I am apparently also one of the very few people who goes over the time allowance with some regularity and who joined up with this thing intending to follow the rules, but wound up staying in it more for the community than anything else. I know there are others (I've talked to them), but given that I was surrounded by about 15 other women at the Five Minute Friday retreat a few weekends ago who all seem to have no problem with this, I think it's safe to say that I found I'm in the minority. Likewise, the five minute free write that we did at the retreat further served to illuminate the fact that when put to the test and the pressure is on, I am a failure at the "five minutes" part of Five Minute Friday.
I thought in participating in this blog community that I had found a like-minded group of individuals who were all in a similar boat with me -- even if not exactly the same boat -- in wanting to be part of a community that gets together once a week and writes together. For me, that's what Five Minute Friday was always about. It's what I thought I had found.
For the most part, I did find that there are a LOT of great individuals who belong to this community. Many of them write things that resonate with me and many write things that don't. I'm okay with that. I appreciate diversity of ideas and people. I've gotten some genuinely wonderful comments on some of my posts from the folks in this community and met a couple of really awesome friends through it too. I am always looking to find members of my "tribe" and I've definitely done that some through this.
That said though, I'm done with the Five Minute Friday rules -- both those that are stated and those that are understood. I'm also done with judging myself and how I do Five Minute Friday.
- No more worrying about time limits (I may not even set a clock when I write).
- No more worrying about whether or not the small amount of editing that I do counts as "editing" vs "not editing."
- No more worrying about trying to link up on Thursday night just so I can get toward the top of the linkup list and maybe get more than just one comment from my solitary regular reader.
- No more worrying that it's Monday or Tuesday or even Thursday afternoon and I'm just linking up with the previous Friday's post.
- No more worrying that I didn't write a post for the previous week.
- No more worrying that no one will retweet my FMF post when it seems like they've retweeted several other bloggers' FMF posts.
So goodbye to the old way of doing Five Minute Friday. I'm breaking up with you and all the self-judgment I feel by trying to do it your way. I need to do Five Minute Friday my own way and be okay with that. I need to find my own way. Perhaps I'll see you again in a few weeks.
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Beginning
Today I am beginning a week-long series using the #projectblessed prompts from the blogger community Blessed Is She!
In my beginning has always been The Word -- both in terms of Holy Scripture and in terms of the One who is The Word spoken about in John 1:1. I grew up in a Christian home and the tradition of our family was such that I encountered Jesus at some point before I can really remember. Our family were active churchgoers and every time there was some kind of activity for my age group, my parents gladly ferried me to church to participate. Of course, it goes without saying that we were there every Sunday that rolled unless sickness or being out of town prevented it. We prayed over meals and at bedtime and I was encouraged from a young age to read the Bible, memorize verses of Scripture, worship God through song, and love God above everything else. At age 6, I made the decision to follow Him with my life and got baptized in our big Southern Baptist church.
Little did I know, that was just the beginning...
In college, I set out on my own, looking for a new faith beginning. It wasn't so much that I found fault with the faith of my childhood, but rather that I earnestly wanted more than I felt I was receiving at my childhood church home. As I put it at the time, I felt as though I was no longer being spiritually nourished. To be honest, even at that time -- even as I said those words to those who asked why I left my home church -- I had no real idea what I needed to be nourished.
The beginnings of my feeling spiritually undernourished were in high school. At some point in my 11th grade year, I began to realize that God was calling me to be a missionary and as I accepted that call and professed it in front of my congregation, my hunger for God was increased. I was thirsty for the living water that Jesus promised in John 7. I felt parched and dry and insatiable. I devoured Scripture, devotional books, Christian music, and anything I could get my hands on. Throughout this, I listened attentively to our pastor's sermons, making notes and reading over the verses and passages of Scripture he referenced. I listened with rapt attention to my Sunday School teachers and youth minister when they would talk about God. I went to youth meetings and rallies and retreats.
And despite all of this, I still felt a hunger for something more, something deeper than all of this combined. I began to realize too that these lessons I was hearing at church were the same lessons I'd heard my whole life. I felt like I was being fed the same milk of my beginnings in the faith (1 Corinthians 3:1-2) and that I was ready to graduate to the meat, but there was no meat to be found where I was.
I wouldn't have put two and two together if not for a conversation I had with our youth choir director (who was also the minister of music) in my 12th grade year. Each year before our youth choir went on choir tour, one of the prerequisites was that we had to sign up for an appointment to chat with our director. These appointments were designed to get to know the 9th graders, who were just beginning their tenure in the choir, and to catch up with the older students about what was going on in their lives. This was my fourth and last such appointment and as usual, I was looking forward to it. I admired our director and always enjoyed talking to him. When we met for our appointment, he observed that I had been not quite myself over the past year. We talked about things at home, graduation excitement, and my starting college in the fall, but eventually, he said that he knew something was going on that I wasn't saying. There was no pressure to talk, just a gentle invitation. I opened up and told him that part of it was depression (which was very true) and part of it was feeling like I wasn't being spiritually fed at our church. I further told him that really, choir was about the only thing keeping me at our church.
That last bit was SO hard for me to say, but he didn't get upset or tell me I was wrong. He listened and then said something I've never forgotten, "Perhaps, if that is all that's keeping you here, you need to look for another church where you can be spiritually fed." He went on to give me some encouragement and advice and when he was finished, I had tears in my eyes. I nodded and said thank you. He handed me a tissue and said, "Why don't we pray, okay?" and then led me in a beautiful prayer where he thanked God for my life, for my talents, for our friendship, and asked God to guide me in knowing what He would have me do and where He would have me go. I think I was crying even more at the end of it.
In the weeks and months to come, I reflected many times on that prayer and my choir director's comments and advice. I didn't know it then, but that meeting was the beginning of a journey that would take the next 11 years to complete....
In my beginning has always been The Word -- both in terms of Holy Scripture and in terms of the One who is The Word spoken about in John 1:1. I grew up in a Christian home and the tradition of our family was such that I encountered Jesus at some point before I can really remember. Our family were active churchgoers and every time there was some kind of activity for my age group, my parents gladly ferried me to church to participate. Of course, it goes without saying that we were there every Sunday that rolled unless sickness or being out of town prevented it. We prayed over meals and at bedtime and I was encouraged from a young age to read the Bible, memorize verses of Scripture, worship God through song, and love God above everything else. At age 6, I made the decision to follow Him with my life and got baptized in our big Southern Baptist church.
Little did I know, that was just the beginning...
In college, I set out on my own, looking for a new faith beginning. It wasn't so much that I found fault with the faith of my childhood, but rather that I earnestly wanted more than I felt I was receiving at my childhood church home. As I put it at the time, I felt as though I was no longer being spiritually nourished. To be honest, even at that time -- even as I said those words to those who asked why I left my home church -- I had no real idea what I needed to be nourished.
The beginnings of my feeling spiritually undernourished were in high school. At some point in my 11th grade year, I began to realize that God was calling me to be a missionary and as I accepted that call and professed it in front of my congregation, my hunger for God was increased. I was thirsty for the living water that Jesus promised in John 7. I felt parched and dry and insatiable. I devoured Scripture, devotional books, Christian music, and anything I could get my hands on. Throughout this, I listened attentively to our pastor's sermons, making notes and reading over the verses and passages of Scripture he referenced. I listened with rapt attention to my Sunday School teachers and youth minister when they would talk about God. I went to youth meetings and rallies and retreats.
And despite all of this, I still felt a hunger for something more, something deeper than all of this combined. I began to realize too that these lessons I was hearing at church were the same lessons I'd heard my whole life. I felt like I was being fed the same milk of my beginnings in the faith (1 Corinthians 3:1-2) and that I was ready to graduate to the meat, but there was no meat to be found where I was.
I wouldn't have put two and two together if not for a conversation I had with our youth choir director (who was also the minister of music) in my 12th grade year. Each year before our youth choir went on choir tour, one of the prerequisites was that we had to sign up for an appointment to chat with our director. These appointments were designed to get to know the 9th graders, who were just beginning their tenure in the choir, and to catch up with the older students about what was going on in their lives. This was my fourth and last such appointment and as usual, I was looking forward to it. I admired our director and always enjoyed talking to him. When we met for our appointment, he observed that I had been not quite myself over the past year. We talked about things at home, graduation excitement, and my starting college in the fall, but eventually, he said that he knew something was going on that I wasn't saying. There was no pressure to talk, just a gentle invitation. I opened up and told him that part of it was depression (which was very true) and part of it was feeling like I wasn't being spiritually fed at our church. I further told him that really, choir was about the only thing keeping me at our church.
That last bit was SO hard for me to say, but he didn't get upset or tell me I was wrong. He listened and then said something I've never forgotten, "Perhaps, if that is all that's keeping you here, you need to look for another church where you can be spiritually fed." He went on to give me some encouragement and advice and when he was finished, I had tears in my eyes. I nodded and said thank you. He handed me a tissue and said, "Why don't we pray, okay?" and then led me in a beautiful prayer where he thanked God for my life, for my talents, for our friendship, and asked God to guide me in knowing what He would have me do and where He would have me go. I think I was crying even more at the end of it.
In the weeks and months to come, I reflected many times on that prayer and my choir director's comments and advice. I didn't know it then, but that meeting was the beginning of a journey that would take the next 11 years to complete....
****
Read the next part of the story tomorrow with the prompt...."Where I Live"
Friday, July 10, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Hope
Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here
for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get
involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word,
click here.
I'll be honest, friends.
I don't have any fancy or uplifting words to say this week on this prompt. You see, hope is not my forte these days. It's just not in my box of things to lift me up and make me praise God. I suppose that makes me seem like a really crappy Christian. Honestly, the fact that hope is kind of in absentia makes me feel like I'm worthless as a Christian. I mean, I'm supposed to put my hope in God. Trust in Him because He is the bringer of hope and the uplifter of the hopeless.
Yeah. Just can't do it.
I can't bring myself to say the word "hope" with any kind of meaning behind it these days. My spirit and heart are wounded. They've been wounded for quite a long time. Actually, they've been wounded for two years to this day.
You see, it was on this exact date -- July 10, 2013, that I lost my hope. I was violently traumatized emotionally and the hope that used to reside deep within my spirit was wrenched away in that moment of trauma and I have been unable to find it again.
And believe me, I've tried. I have tried to find that hope.
I have looked for it in scripture, in prayer, in worship, and in the healing graces of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick (which is for spiritual healing primarily and then physical/emotional healing comes as a secondary benefit) and the other sacraments. What have I found?
Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.
And worst of all -- absolute silence from God.
Because of this, I went a long time where I wouldn't even use the word hope in its more secular sense of something wished for -- aka "I'm hoping for a chocolate cake for my birthday" -- because even that left a sour taste on my tongue. I didn't want to hope for anything because hope could be stolen and destroyed and all without any warning.
I have since resumed using it in its secular sense, but still don't really use it in the spiritual sense. I also don't use it when speaking of my illness because every time I have said that I feel a sense of hope that I'm getting better, I wind up about five steps backward from where I thought I was with my recovery.
I mentioned this prompt on Facebook in small group of women who encourage one another and my comment was: "This week's prompt is HOPE. *facepalm*" One of the ladies in the group who was trying to encourage me said that despite everything that I'm going through that I am "living hope" and that all the things I do to get through each day and deal with this illness are "rooted in hope."
I appreciate the thought, but I think what I'm really doing is living obedience.
A very long time ago, when I was just a little girl of 6 years old, I gave my heart to God. I made a commitment to follow Him with my life. I didn't know what that commitment would entail at age 6, but as I got older, I began to understand that a big part of it was obedience to God's will for me. At first, I thought it was just obedience in things like who to hang out with, who to date, obeying my parents, going to church, etc. As I matured though, I came to realise that it was more than just those sort of big things, but the day to day little things too. At some point in my early adulthood, I realised that He wants my obedience in EVERYTHING.
Living obedience is not always easy in good times, but when life hits us with unexpected stresses, it can be very very hard. So how do you live obedience when you have no hope, feel abandoned by God and feel totally broken and crushed in mind, body, and spirit?
You do as my spiritual director, Fr.B, told me today. Take it one day at a time. When you cannot make yourself remain obedient, you lean on those around you who are faithful to Him to help you. You put one foot in front of the other. You breathe in and breathe out and somehow, you get to another day.
And I'm not gonna lie. You cry a lot. Seriously, a LOT. You scream at God and beat your fists upon His feet. You cry some more. You consider often just turning your back on God altogether. More crying. You vent your spleen to someone who will listen -- be they friend, family, priest, or therapist. And you cry some more. The crying happens nearly daily when you're in this hopeless place where obedience is the anchor you are clinging to by a thread.
It sucks. It sucks a lot because when you're in this place, it feels as though you will never be doing anything but living obedience. No joy. No meaning. Nothing but monotonous obedience. I wish I could tell you that it gets better. That the hope returns and that the joy is abundant because of the struggle.
But that's not my story.
I'm still living obedience. As I wrestle with myself and my faith amidst all the day to day stresses of married life and motherhood and the overarching noonday demon of depression, I do the little things and big things that He has called me to time and again.
And I cry a lot. But that's okay. Because we have tissues. :)
*This was meant to be a 5-minute exercise, but once I FINALLY got started, I had a hard time stopping myself, so I'm more than a little bit over. Just pretend it was 5 minutes, okay? I won't tell if you won't! :)
****
I'll be honest, friends.
I don't have any fancy or uplifting words to say this week on this prompt. You see, hope is not my forte these days. It's just not in my box of things to lift me up and make me praise God. I suppose that makes me seem like a really crappy Christian. Honestly, the fact that hope is kind of in absentia makes me feel like I'm worthless as a Christian. I mean, I'm supposed to put my hope in God. Trust in Him because He is the bringer of hope and the uplifter of the hopeless.
Yeah. Just can't do it.
I can't bring myself to say the word "hope" with any kind of meaning behind it these days. My spirit and heart are wounded. They've been wounded for quite a long time. Actually, they've been wounded for two years to this day.
You see, it was on this exact date -- July 10, 2013, that I lost my hope. I was violently traumatized emotionally and the hope that used to reside deep within my spirit was wrenched away in that moment of trauma and I have been unable to find it again.
And believe me, I've tried. I have tried to find that hope.
I have looked for it in scripture, in prayer, in worship, and in the healing graces of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick (which is for spiritual healing primarily and then physical/emotional healing comes as a secondary benefit) and the other sacraments. What have I found?
Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.
And worst of all -- absolute silence from God.
Because of this, I went a long time where I wouldn't even use the word hope in its more secular sense of something wished for -- aka "I'm hoping for a chocolate cake for my birthday" -- because even that left a sour taste on my tongue. I didn't want to hope for anything because hope could be stolen and destroyed and all without any warning.
I have since resumed using it in its secular sense, but still don't really use it in the spiritual sense. I also don't use it when speaking of my illness because every time I have said that I feel a sense of hope that I'm getting better, I wind up about five steps backward from where I thought I was with my recovery.
I mentioned this prompt on Facebook in small group of women who encourage one another and my comment was: "This week's prompt is HOPE. *facepalm*" One of the ladies in the group who was trying to encourage me said that despite everything that I'm going through that I am "living hope" and that all the things I do to get through each day and deal with this illness are "rooted in hope."
I appreciate the thought, but I think what I'm really doing is living obedience.
A very long time ago, when I was just a little girl of 6 years old, I gave my heart to God. I made a commitment to follow Him with my life. I didn't know what that commitment would entail at age 6, but as I got older, I began to understand that a big part of it was obedience to God's will for me. At first, I thought it was just obedience in things like who to hang out with, who to date, obeying my parents, going to church, etc. As I matured though, I came to realise that it was more than just those sort of big things, but the day to day little things too. At some point in my early adulthood, I realised that He wants my obedience in EVERYTHING.
Living obedience is not always easy in good times, but when life hits us with unexpected stresses, it can be very very hard. So how do you live obedience when you have no hope, feel abandoned by God and feel totally broken and crushed in mind, body, and spirit?
You do as my spiritual director, Fr.B, told me today. Take it one day at a time. When you cannot make yourself remain obedient, you lean on those around you who are faithful to Him to help you. You put one foot in front of the other. You breathe in and breathe out and somehow, you get to another day.
And I'm not gonna lie. You cry a lot. Seriously, a LOT. You scream at God and beat your fists upon His feet. You cry some more. You consider often just turning your back on God altogether. More crying. You vent your spleen to someone who will listen -- be they friend, family, priest, or therapist. And you cry some more. The crying happens nearly daily when you're in this hopeless place where obedience is the anchor you are clinging to by a thread.
It sucks. It sucks a lot because when you're in this place, it feels as though you will never be doing anything but living obedience. No joy. No meaning. Nothing but monotonous obedience. I wish I could tell you that it gets better. That the hope returns and that the joy is abundant because of the struggle.
But that's not my story.
I'm still living obedience. As I wrestle with myself and my faith amidst all the day to day stresses of married life and motherhood and the overarching noonday demon of depression, I do the little things and big things that He has called me to time and again.
And I cry a lot. But that's okay. Because we have tissues. :)
****
*This was meant to be a 5-minute exercise, but once I FINALLY got started, I had a hard time stopping myself, so I'm more than a little bit over. Just pretend it was 5 minutes, okay? I won't tell if you won't! :)
 |
| Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up over at Kate Motaung's blog! |
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Lull
This is part of my prompts series from the blog The Habit of Being.
Each of the posts in this series will feature the prompt for that post
as the post title. While I may sometimes use the current day's prompt,
it is more likely that I will pick and choose as inspiration dictates.
If you are interested in following along with the prompts or writing
some of your own, here's the link to the page with the prompts: http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/
The huge oak tree sways,
Its stately limbs stretching skyward
Side to side, they fan in the heavy breeze.
The air, thick with water
Hot and heavy, despite gusts of wind.
Clouds above hang pendulous
And ever darkening from gray to patchy ash to soot
Plump with the promise of rain soon to come
And the pleasant smell of petrichor when the rain has ceased.
My hair whips around my face
Strands catch my nose, lips, slightly open mouth
As I assess the sky for signs
Of more than the rumbles of thunder and streaky lightning.
Girls rush inside to escape rain.
My feet follow theirs
Fingers flicking the TV on for more learned advice.
The littlest bear crawls into my lap
Seeking snuggles and my voice to read stories.
My lips find her soft hair and
We rock together through "Guess How Much I Love You"
Her sisters retreated to their room
And in the quiet, the sound of falling rain.
I gaze down, see steady breaths
The little bear has fallen asleep
Lulled deep by raindrops, rocking, and reading,
Her sweet curls moving gently in the ceiling fan's cool breeze.
In the lull between wind and water.
In the lull, my eyes close to rest a moment
And fully feel the weight of sleep against my torso
Keeping this rare moment of quiet close to my heart
Before the lull between chaos and chaos ends.
****
 |
| The huge oak tree in fairer weather. |
The huge oak tree sways,
Its stately limbs stretching skyward
Side to side, they fan in the heavy breeze.
The air, thick with water
Hot and heavy, despite gusts of wind.
Clouds above hang pendulous
And ever darkening from gray to patchy ash to soot
Plump with the promise of rain soon to come
And the pleasant smell of petrichor when the rain has ceased.
My hair whips around my face
Strands catch my nose, lips, slightly open mouth
As I assess the sky for signs
Of more than the rumbles of thunder and streaky lightning.
Girls rush inside to escape rain.
My feet follow theirs
Fingers flicking the TV on for more learned advice.
The littlest bear crawls into my lap
Seeking snuggles and my voice to read stories.
My lips find her soft hair and
We rock together through "Guess How Much I Love You"
Her sisters retreated to their room
And in the quiet, the sound of falling rain.
I gaze down, see steady breaths
The little bear has fallen asleep
Lulled deep by raindrops, rocking, and reading,
Her sweet curls moving gently in the ceiling fan's cool breeze.
In the lull between wind and water.
In the lull, my eyes close to rest a moment
And fully feel the weight of sleep against my torso
Keeping this rare moment of quiet close to my heart
Before the lull between chaos and chaos ends.
 |
| My littlest bear, GB, sound asleep on the sofa. |
Friday, May 8, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Meet
Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here
for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get
involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word,
click here.
I have to be honest, friends. I'm struggling with this week's prompt. I just feel like I've got absolutely nothing on this one. The crazy thing is that I have lots of ideas about "meet" but not a single one of them seems quite right. So I'm just writing whatever comes into my head.
I guess I could talk about the first time I met my online friend Alun in college and the eight days we spent together getting to know one another. I could talk about how much fun we had when we met and how sad I was to see him go back home to the UK. I could talk about how that first meet up cemented what has become a friendship of almost twenty years now and has grown to encompass his wife and family as well.
I could talk about my trip to Kansas City last summer for a meet up with a group of ladies I've known online for almost 10 years. I could write about how I was nervous that they might not like me as much as I already liked them and how that nervousness melted away the moment I walked into the hotel conference room and was greeted with smiles and people joyfully shouting my name.
I could write about meeting each of my beautiful girls for the first time and how I knew in an instant that I would gladly lay down my life for them without hesitation. I could talk about how Gray and I met...oh wait, I think I covered that one a little bit last week.
I could talk about meeting my new blogger friend Tara during the Write 31 Days Blog Challenge and how our similar topics (depression for me, being the daughter of a mom with mental illness, for her) instantly bonded us and we had what our fellow blogger Jen Daugherty calls a "heart click."
Speaking of Jen, I could also mention how I'm looking forward to meeting her and the other Five Minute Friday folks at the retreat this August. I really am, you know :)
I guess now that my five minutes are almost up, I've written about all of it. I have to be honest though, I'm kind of hoping to meet a prompt that I like better next week.
Alla prossima settimana!
(Until next week!)
****
I guess I could talk about the first time I met my online friend Alun in college and the eight days we spent together getting to know one another. I could talk about how much fun we had when we met and how sad I was to see him go back home to the UK. I could talk about how that first meet up cemented what has become a friendship of almost twenty years now and has grown to encompass his wife and family as well.
I could talk about my trip to Kansas City last summer for a meet up with a group of ladies I've known online for almost 10 years. I could write about how I was nervous that they might not like me as much as I already liked them and how that nervousness melted away the moment I walked into the hotel conference room and was greeted with smiles and people joyfully shouting my name.
I could write about meeting each of my beautiful girls for the first time and how I knew in an instant that I would gladly lay down my life for them without hesitation. I could talk about how Gray and I met...oh wait, I think I covered that one a little bit last week.
I could talk about meeting my new blogger friend Tara during the Write 31 Days Blog Challenge and how our similar topics (depression for me, being the daughter of a mom with mental illness, for her) instantly bonded us and we had what our fellow blogger Jen Daugherty calls a "heart click."
Speaking of Jen, I could also mention how I'm looking forward to meeting her and the other Five Minute Friday folks at the retreat this August. I really am, you know :)
I guess now that my five minutes are almost up, I've written about all of it. I have to be honest though, I'm kind of hoping to meet a prompt that I like better next week.
Alla prossima settimana!
(Until next week!)
|
| Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up your entry at Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home! |
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Halcyon
This is part of my April prompts series from the blog The Habit of Being.
Each of the posts in this series will feature the prompt for that post
as the post title. While I may sometimes use the current day's prompt,
it is more likely that I will pick and choose as inspiration dictates.
If you are interested in following along with the prompts or writing
some of your own, here's the link to the page with April's prompts: http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/
I had to look this one up. I've heard the word and know how it's used, but wanted to be sure I was doing it justice. To that end, a quick Google of the definition reveals the following:
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| M2 and AB, ages 4.5 and 3.5, enjoying the fading sunlight at the beach in 2011. |
halcyon (adj) -- describes a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
A Hand To Hold
This is part of my April prompts series from the blog The Habit of Being. Each of the posts in this series will feature the prompt for that post as the post title. While I may sometimes use the current day's prompt, it is more likely that I will pick and choose as inspiration dictates. If you are interested in following along with the prompts or writing some of your own, here's the link to the page with April's prompts: http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/
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The nature of life is that we all sometimes need a hand to hold.
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