In the Moment and Beyond



Hands that are clapping so fast that I can’t identify the beat;

Feet that run so swiftly to greet me that I can barely track;

Hands that hold so tight, that catching a breath is difficult, if even possible.

These moments of unbridled joy are a beauty to behold, in my little family. I don’t take them lightly.  Because, I know what is on the other side of this word. Here. In this house.

So, when you, little 5 year old, soon-to-be-six, squeeze my ample cheeks between your hands and squeal with glee over some inside joke, I burst.

Each time that you, ten year old, soon-to-be-eleven, wrap me in a hug atypical of your age, I marvel.

And as you, husband, with the hands that work hard all day to provide for us, caress my cheek and report of your thankfulness for all of this. For us.

It is then, that the joy takes over. And lingers. Even after the moments have passed.

The joy in knowing that each of you love me so, yes. But also in the understanding that you, too, feel it beating inside of you.

Even if for a moment.

I’m linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and my writing friends over at Five Minute Friday.  Join us to see what others shared about the word “joy”. And, maybe, to share your own, too? Set a timer for 5 minutes. Pour out your heart.  It really is that simple. There is just one rule: You must encourage the writer before you.  Click the button below to join in.


They Will Come

When I look for the best ones needed for a situation, they will come.  Often, though, after far too much time has passed to use them to any effect.

If I attempt solitude, I can assure you that they will come, and fast and furious.

The right ones will come at the wrong time. And the wrong ones…

Too often.

They hover, menacingly, when I most need to swallow them down.

They scatter and float just out of reach, when I most need to push them out.

And sometimes, I it’s a grace to write them down in honor of the thoughts behind them.

But always, always, I can count on my words to speak for themselves.

When they are good and ready.

I’m linking up with my brave Writer friends for Five Minute Friday over at Lisa-Jo Baker‘s online home. We commit to getting those words out for five minutes, unedited. Click the button below to join in or to read along.


The Tie That Binds

One thing I can always count on, in my relationship with The One Who Sees Me, is tethering.  He will not leave me stranded out there in the world.  He does not let me get too far adrift.

And friends?  I can drift pretty far.

Can’t we all?

Finding myself gasping for breaths of air in between huge swells that come crashing down, one after the other, I so often question how I got so far out into The Storm.

But, He is there.  And I know He is present because he tugs at the love knot that He has tied around my heart. Gently, He reminds me that we are tethered together, He and me.  I feel that little tug and know with certainty that I will be okay.

Even if I’m out on an adventure that He never willed for me, the tie that binds us is still there.  He waits patiently, oh-so-patiently, for me to feel that gentle tug and make my way back to Him.

And I am thankful this morning for that love knot.

Yes indeedy.

I’m linking up with the writing community over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday   As Lisa-Jo puts it: “Set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.”  Hop on over there by clicking the button below and you can read all of the thoughts on “See”.


Like a Victor


There are fights that you know, going in, are going to be tough to win. I sometimes question why it is that I always seem to pick the hard fights.  Why can’t I just pick the “Which Color Should I Repaint The Master Bedroom?” fight?

Nana always said I have to do things the hard way.

Maybe because the hard way leaves a deeper impression in this thick head than the soft way.  Possibly, I really do have an inability to focus on one thing at a time and need that extra knock, face-down in the hard dirt, to really zero in on the source of my fear. Or pain. Or anger.

I harbor no delusions about my personal battle ahead. It will be fraught with careful choices, difficult decisions, and denial of impulses. Some, are impulses that have been given in to so often that it may take a sweet forever just to retrain a single one of them.

But it is a fight I’m choosing to pick.  With this new year comes fresh vigor.  I don’t know why vigor seems to come freshly canned for me only in January, but it does. And I am willfully opening a 28 ounce can of it right this minute.

Come March, heck – come February – I may be dragging my heart back into the ring for the umpteenth time. I know that already.  It’s okay.  I have many standing outside the ropes just waiting for me to tag them in to fight the battle with me. In prayer. In person. In love.

That’s the beauty of picking fights, you know.  It’s seeing those who surround you to cheer you on. It’s knowing, with certainty that this is a worthy fight. A good fight.

The good fight.

And, even if I lose, I’m victorious.

He already won It All for me.

Like a Victor does.

Like The Victor Of All Time did.

It’s been a good long while since I’ve linked up with the writing friends over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday Community.  Hop on over there by clicking the button below and you can read all of the thoughts on “Fight”.  I’ll just bet you have your own, don’t you? “Set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.



One Page Per Day

I’m leaving in a few short days to attend the Allume Conference.  I’ll be meeting some sweet friends In Real Life that I’ve only been able to connect with online up until now. I. Can’t. Wait.

I’d like to think that I am a kind wife.

Or, a tad whack-a-doodle.

Either way, I made up a little agenda for Sweetman. There are four pages; one for each day that I’ll be gone. I thought I’d done a pretty decent job of including every little detail that might be important for him to know. Sweetman is a night owl.  Ours is a pretty beautiful pairing.  I do the mornings, he does the evenings.  This will be a whole new world of hurt for him, getting the kids up and attem’ in the mornings.

We went through the agenda this weekend.  We walked around the house discussing where to find the things needed for the double-header soccer games for both kids on Saturday and which folder is for reading and which one to put the bus notes into.  Sweetman is an engineer. He thrives on details.

So, it shouldn’t have surprised me to see this:


First of all, I’d like to apologize for what now looks like a Classified Document.

And next, I’ll spare your eyes from scanning for the following information:  Every Single little notation he made?  It was already in the notes.  But, he needed to rewrite it “for importance”, he said.

And there are three more pages.

Exactly. Like. This.



It’s a good think I think he’s the bomb diggety.

(I must admit that I am slightly concerned that Homeland Security is going to be staring me down for writing the words “bomb” and “Classified” in one place on the web?  I’m just a Domestic Engineer who loves Jesus and Devil Dogs!  Promise!)

Which Piece Would I Be?

There’s just something about pictures of pant-legs and shirt-sleeves flapping in the breeze of a cool autumn day that makes me long to be like them.  Oh, to be certain of my place in life, because with pegs holding me to a line, there would  be no question.  I imagine wishing for the breeze to rattle my fabric and provide respite from the sun. And, I’m pretty sure that I would so enjoy the freeing feeling of getting all of my wiggles out, throwing myself this way and that as I just let it go.

I wonder if my Creator considers these things when he watches me flail about? I’d like to think that He sees me as a necessary piece of the wardrobe that makes up His closet full of earthly clothing.

Which piece would I be?

The underthings that cover important private places?  The pants that provide shelter from the cold winds. Or maybe the shirt with non-existent sleeves to allow for maximum exposure to any slighty breeze blowing through on a sweltering summer day?

It could simply be that I am whichever piece He needs me to be in A Moment of this life I am gifted to live.

And, as with all clothing, I must be laundered.


Because, Oh! How I get dirty.

My Redeemer, though, He is a Master Cleaner. He washes me white as snow.  Once and forever.

Yes He does!

English: Clothes pegs, hanging on "dedica...

English: Clothes pegs, hanging on “dedicated” ropes. Русский: Прищепки на верёвках. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


I’m a day late – but oh so honored to be writing about Laundry with the community of writers over at Five Minute Friday. Click the button below to head on over to Lisa-Jo Baker’s place to read more.  Or, if you’re up for the challenge of writing with abandon for five minutes about a one-word prompt.  No editing or over-thinking. Join us!


The One Where I Write

for five minutes.  Uninterrupted and without editing.  And then, I join in with so many others over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s place to share and read and say, “Me too!”. Join us?  Click the button below to do just that.




Without fear of perfection, I am allowing myself to dig into what’s percolating in this brain of mine today.  I consciously choose to shoosh those little demons of despair and tell them Who’s Boss.  (And it’s not me!)

I live in a fast paced world that is on the constant prowl for the next snippet of Interesting to consume.  It seems like too much, too much, too much.  Maybe if I allowed myself the peace that comes with being still, I could discern between which of those snippets to really dig into.

The one about ditching the devil dogs in favor of more exercise. (The yoga pants have been talking to me again!)

The little tidbit about Perfectionism and how it taints even the good things that are emerging from my soul-deep places? (Those demons of despair – they can be so loud!)

How about the friend that longs to connect and leaves phone messages and texts and encouragements but doesn’t have a life in the same time and space as mine; and so, doesn’t ever seem to make it to the top of my priorities.

And the guilt.

All The Guilt. It sets in and I realize that what I really long to write about is weeding through the mess to the still.

And that’s how I end up drinking a cup of salted caramel coffee and enjoying a luscious gooey chocolate croissant.  It’s in the moment, right here, that I find the stillness. Other than the chewing and sipping sounds my mouth makes, I hear nothing. And I end up writing about just that.


And everything.

Right here.


A Beauty in Truth

There is such a beauty in truth, isn’t there?

Feeling the need to find my people, be purposeful, create beauty… it’s all percolating in my heart.  And I long to do these things without being rejected.  Without having my purpose be cast aside as unimportant.  I deeply desire to see others appreciate the words I create.  I do, indeed, long for these things.

And yet, I am afraid.  I’m afraid to fail, to not matter, to produce words that do not reach into hearts.

But, I go ahead and do these things afraid.

I do them because if I don’t, what is true of me will not be seen.

And what is true of me?

I am a sinner, the worst among them.

I will fail, many times over.

What I create may well end up being of no consequence.

But what is also true of me?

My Audience of One tells me that what is true is that I am already accepted.  I am already created with a purpose.  I was, in fact, already a thing of beauty creatively made in the image of One I can only pray to be more like every day.

I’m reminded that all that matters is that I believe these things – that I believe Him!

And that is a beautiful truth.

And it sets me free.

I’m linking up with the beautiful hearts over in the Five Minute Friday Community at Lisa-Jo Baker’s blog.  They had some words to share about TRUE. Maybe you’d like to share your thoughts, too?  Click the button below to hop on over there and check some of them out or add your own.  Or, even better? Do both!


A Salty Story


The question was posed over and over and over again, this past weekend.

“What’s your story?”

The carefully crafted one minute snapshot of all that I hoped to convey through my words, whether written or spoken.

I had to be able to get right down to brass tacks and pique enough curiosity to spur a desire to know more.

And I wrestled.  Oh, how I wrestled.  The urge to blurt out, “My story isn’t anything special or exciting.” overtook me every time that question was asked. Despite my well thought-out pitch.

And it isn’t.

Except that it is.

Precisely because it’s mine.

God did not create me to be tasteless.  He created me to be salt.

And while salt surely can inflict pain, I prefer to think of my saltiness as being more curative. Much like the salt covering placed over foods to keep them from spoiling in historic times.

You see, I’ve felt spoiled.  I’ve known what it is to see my own flesh rotting on my bones; to smell it’s putrid stink.

And yet, there was One who redeemed me.  And stooped down to cover me with His grace galore.  A salty slathering of love reminding me that my story?  It needed to be told.

I shared it willingly.   With each person that asked, I shared of the grace I am smothered in.

And it was Spirit and Truth in each grain of salty goodness.

Yes indeedy.

It surely was.

I’ve so missed my friends over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday Link Up.  I’m joining in because my mind is still spinning with all of the salt and light that was shed at the SheSpeaks Conference, last weekend.  If you’d like to read what others felt led to write about this, hop on over to Lisa-Jo Baker’s place by clicking the button below.  Or, better yet, join in.  Just write for 5 minutes without editing or re-writing.  Happy Friday my friends!


Rhythm Sticks




There is a predictable rhythm to the days during the school year.  Now that summer has graced us with her presence, I find that rhythm interrupted in all the right ways.  Lazy mornings are spent waffling, the edible way.  Bike rides are taken, the leisurely way. Play dates are spent poolside, dripping wet and exhausted from all of the playing.

The summer routine isn’t.  And this family needs that.  We schedule, because we have to.  Pervasive Developmental Disorder does not like unstructured days and activities that have no defined ending and beginning.  But this mama’s heart needs that sometimes.  And some of the other family members do, too.

So it is provided.  The child who needs the routine and structure and predictable rhythm to his days seems to be endowed with an extra measure of grace and willingness to roll with it; just during these precious summer months.  This is a gift.  We all know it.

And we all cling to it.


Yes indeedy.

I’m joining in with my community of friends and fellow writers and heart-sharers over at Lisa-Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday place. If you’d like to read what others had to say about Rhythm, or add your own thoughts, join us by clicking the button below. Happy Friday my friends!