Five Minute Friday - Choose

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Choose

Go

Dear Bug,

I can’t write tonight because all my thoughts are on you. Your Mama’s words seems to be stymied. I’m frozen and stuck because there’s nothing to undo normal like trouble in your child’s world. Big or small, it throws up a stop sign and the universe realigns for a moment while you catch your breath and assess what happens next.

I have to keep telling myself that this season you’re in is so very normal. And there are so many worse things that could be happening. Like what, I’ve never had a bad day? A bad week? Sure. It’s just amplified times the beating of my heart that wants so desperately to shield you from the bad and the ugly and just give you the good. While still managing to give you all the experience and learning you need to get your lumps in and learn your lessons. So not really a stretch of reality – is that what I’m wishing?

No. Not that either. But the lessons. Oh, the lessons and their learning. I feel them imprinting on my heart and my skin as if it were me all over again. Until my nerves are raw and I just want to be elsewhere.

I want to be free to run off to the movies at the drop of a hat – no babysitter. Have extra money to spend at Stanley and Seaforts or some other nice restaurant that has entrees with prices tags of what we spend on one family dinner. I want to book time shares by the ocean and not have to worry about school schedules. I want to not worry about school. Ever. Unless I’m going back for my Masters in Fine Arts. I want an extra room – you know, the one that was supposed to be my office – room for more books, more pens, more crafty stuff. I want to have the option to choose to sleep in – and I mean in – without worrying about what might have gone missing from the cupboard or ‘fridge when I wake up. Silly stuff like that.

But here’s a secret little girl:
I want you more.
And I will always choose you.
Every.
Single.
Time.

I write that with every tear that I may cry for the next thirty years and with every tired smile that I will give you for another thirty after that. I will choose you when you are having your very best day and you’re a homework super star; when you’re smiling and skipping, and laughing so hard you can’t stand up. And I will choose you on your lowest of low days, when the ache inside is so hard and so violent that you feel like you can’t breathe for the pain of it. I will choose you when you’re screaming on the inside and out. I will choose you when you are silly like a puppy. I will choose you when you have no idea where to turn and just need a place to bury your head and shut the world out. I will chose you.

Every.
Single.
Time.

I choose you because I love you. I choose you because you are mine – of my breath, of my skin, of my heart, of my soul. I choose you. And that much – that one little piece – will always be there.
Count on it.

Stop







How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you and encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

I Press On

I am feeling this mid-winter season reflecting itself inside today. The sparkle and glow of winter in December has been replaced by icy winds, grey skies, and a relentless rain that flings itself from the clouds with ill-veiled contempt. Elsewhere around the country, snow continues to flurry and pile up; showing up in picture after picture in my social media feeds captioned with growing desperation and the feeling that this will never leave.

I’m feeling an echoing starkness in this particular season right now. As much as I’ve been trying to commit to time in the Word, nourishing my soul with great books and community, and listening for His voice in quiet meditation, I find myself restless, impatient, and all to consumed by the necessary pieces of daily life. I’m trying to lean in. Trying to find the sacred space in the small things; trying to find holy moments in the every day. But to tell you the truth, I’m just getting frustrated.

Deadlines are pressing in. It feels like we’ve been playing lightening rounds of hot potato with a vicious cold. Bills are piling up and I’m not making any more money than I was two months ago. I can’t seem to keep my house clean. And then a series of parenting fiascos make me feel like an utter failure and waste of time as a mother and I find myself crumpled against the wall, sobbing through a stuffed nose and just wanting to quit.

I don’t quit.

Quitting isn’t an option. Not where I come from. Not the way I’m built. But what I’ve been learning, is that I need to let go of “where I come from” and re-evaluate “the way I’m built” because pushing forward for the sake of pushing isn’t the right way to do it. Neither is doing it on my own. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, is where I’ve been headed. Again. Wandering back into the territory of thinking that I have to get it all done – the key word being “I.”

My first clue that I might be wandering off the path really should be the frustration and escalating tension I begin to feel when I’m trying to wrangle things on my own. Because on my own just isn’t going to cut it.

If it isn’t obvious by now, I need someone else to hold me up, someone else to give me strength, someone else to provide the wisdom to do the things that need doing; care for the things that need tending; and to give me the long-view of what this is all being done for.

I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3: 12-14 ESV

So this is what I do. I don’t quit. I re-group. I get back into the Word, because that’s where He speaks to me. I quiet my frustrations and accept the fact that I am just human and can’t get it all done. It’s okay. I find my focus again, and get my eyes back on Jesus – the author and finisher of my faith, our faith, and the reason that I’m choosing to do the things that I do.

Pressing on is digging deep when it feels like you’re running out of steam. Digging deep into the strength of the Lord; allowing His presence to fill the areas of your weakness and turn them into something else. Something more. Something His.

Pressing on is taking all the necessary pieces of life and looking at them in the redemptive light of God’s love. Where even the ordinary can take on the glimmer of something sacred if I allow Him to show me how.

Pressing on is accepting that even if it’s not working out the way I want it to here, “here” isn’t the goal. And that what is to come is even more amazing that what I can possibly imagine.

I press on.







I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

I'm joining Simply Beth for her Three Word Wednesday link up and am looking forward to getting to know this circle of writers. For this link up, choose three words; share a post, photo, or scripture that highlights those three words; link up here; and share some encouragement and blog love with other writers.

Five Minute Friday - Small

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

My online writing group has been touching on memoir this week. I loved it the first time, but was very hesitant. I liked the story I told, but made sure to stick with something relatively safe and benign. There’s so much darkness that I’ve come through – I didn’t want that piece to be about that. I had been reading Mary Demuth's piece over at (in)courage and was tying to take the risk that "scared is the new brave." So oddly, or not so oddly, dark is where this one went. But it doesn’t stay in the dark. Oh no. Because of Jesus, it does not stay in the dark.

This week: Small

Go

I stood in the back of the room – heart in my throat as he walked to the front. He. My fear. My hate. My self-loathing. My desolation. Chair by chair, in the quiet, hushed light; he walked forward until he stood side by side with the one who led us all. The one who was called. The one we were supposed to trust. The trusted one laid hands on him; spoke words that I knew were not true; spoke words I knew were designed for one thing and one thing only: devastation.

A hard cold descended over me – icy tentacles twinning down the back of my neck to curl with mocking desperation over the edges of my cheeks and under the edge of my sweatshirt onto my collarbone. Twinges of doubt and disbelief.

They will never believe.

I could feel his eyes from the front of the room. Daring me to speak. Daring me to contradict him. Daring me to contradict the story they were weaving. Daring me to tell the truth.

They will never believe you.

In that moment, there was nothing else to do.
I ran.

Forgetting responsibility.
Forgetting the knobs and switches that were supposed to be under my knowing hand.
Forgetting the accountability I’d worked so hard to establish.

I fled into the night –
Not seeing.
Not knowing.
Just going.

The bright lights of the supermarket across the street shone fiercely against the blue-black sky. I burst into the doors and headed … where?
And then I was in between.
Aisles of tile and glass and cold.

Diminished, I sank to the floor and thought about breathing.
Just breathing.
I was vanishing. In a moment, there would be nothing left of me.
Just a passing smudge on against the frosted pane – evaporating into nothingness.

And then it came.
Like a small trickle at first,
Then tumbling like water in a tap newly opened.
Words.
Phrases.
Verses.
My short lifetime of memorization.
From Sunday School to Awana to Small Group.
His Words.
Comfort.
Spilling over into the cold, diminished places and breathing for me.
Breathing into me.
Reminding me that my trust did not lie in men, but above.
That He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world.
That I should never lose heart because I would see His goodness now.
Now, in the land of the living.
That neither life nor death nor any thing
Ever
Nothing
Would separate me from the God who loved me
And gave Himself for me.

Before long, the tile wasn’t cold anymore.
I was able to climb to my feet.
And walk out into the night.

Never forget that one of the greatest tools we have – one of the greatest gifts we have been given – is the Word of God. Sharper than any two-edged sword. It is given to teach, to empower, and to save. When we commit it to our hearts and our minds, it can never be taken from us. Ever.

Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee. Psalm 119:11 KJV

Stop








How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you and encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

An Exercise in Memoir: To A Singular Beat

My online writing group is exploring different kinds of writing. This week, we tackle memoir. One of our leaders who always says such good stuff, said this:

It’s why I love memoir so much. It’s also why I believe memoir writing, at least for the purpose of finding  what your story is really saying, is well worth the time and energy it takes to dig it all up and get it down on paper.

For a writer, it is the practice of learning to see and capture in small bites the story of a life.

This is a small bite of my story. And to be honest, I was a little reluctant to share it here. It’s not related to my faith journey, it’s not related to anything Biblical, it’s not even related to what I generally write about. And then there’s dancing. Someone’s going to have an issue with that.

But here’s the thing. This is my story. And my life. And guess what? It includes dancing. So for better or for worse, I’m introducing a snapshot from the way-back; a glimpse of life before I was a mom; a peek into behind the curtain. The first glimpse of my memoir.

To A Singular Beat
The air is heavier tonight– even more so than usual. I still haven’t grown accustomed to this east-coast humidity; to the density of the summer air; the slick, still way sweat lies on your skin until you wash it off.

Sounds of the city drift in through the two open windows in our apartment– we hardly ever have them closed when we’re here. Too hot. Friday night traffic swells with the banging of construction that never seems to cease– someone’s on a mission; these guys never take a break. Chatter from the restaurants two-stories below drift up through the trees like unfiltered cigarette smoke. Heavy bass throbs through a thin wall as our neighbor cranks up the volume in anticipation of her night out. I imagine I can smell crisped hair around the curling iron and the fumes of hairspray– preparations I’ve glimpsed occasionally while walking past her half open door.

I glance over at Amy, curled on her sofa bed under the windows with a book – lost in the words and the tunes of Tracy Chapman. She looks relaxed. Unwound. Content. I think I may be on my own tonight. And I am restless.

It doesn’t take long to pull on my black, ankle-length Eileen Fisher dress. Full skirt. No sleeves. Black leather with dull, silver studs on my wrist flanked by thirty or forty Madonna-era rubber bracelets. A long filmy scarf from who-remembers-where–sheer black bursting with deep purple roses and peonies–wrapped around my throat and shoulders. A smudged, swipe of midnight around each eye and something blood red on my mouth and I’m ready to go.

I say goodnight to Amy and head down the back stairs. The ones we run ruthlessly when we’ve indulged in a box of sweet trifle from Claire’s– the vegetarian restaurant downstairs that mashes up its day-old cake with homemade whipped cream to make the most delectable pile of not-good-for-you goodness you’ve ever put in your mouth.

Out the back door into the recessed doorway and I pause before stepping out into the thick heat. The streets are crowded as usual, but I know where I’m headed. I don’t need to consider my options. I pass up Alchemy with its Top 40 beats and sun-kissed throngs. I move past Geronimo with the crowds spilling out onto the sidewalks and too many guys in tight shirts wanting to grab your ass. I turn round the corner onto Crown and into Bar.

The pizza is fantastic. But I’m here for the room in the back. The vast cavern of space they open up as a club on the weekends. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the two stories of darkness. No tables. No chairs. Just a huge empty room that pulses with some techno-European beat; a relentless metronome that, if I’m being honest, doesn’t seem to change much from song to song.

I hover for a moment on the edges; getting a feel for the crowd; letting the week drift off of me; letting everything drift off me. I slowly wander out onto the wood floor where a few people are dancing. I close my eyes and let the rhythm fill me. When my breath slows and my heartbeat counts time with the music, my boots start to move.

I love Bar for its insistent music, for the dark space that feels like a grotto in the side of a mountain, and for the fact that no one cares if you dance alone. No leering, half-drunk frat boy will try and pick you up here. No sweet-talking tourist from the city will slide an arm around and ask you what you’re drinking–even if you’re not. On more than one occasion, I’ve opened my eyes to find a tall, dark-haired, green-eyed boy with complicated tattoos moving in synch with me. He never says anything. He hardly smiles. The strobe lights glitter off his three piercings. I’m okay with that.

But mostly, I move in time to the beat and cadence all on my own.

Thank you for reading this snapshot with me. This memoir.
I remain,







I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Under the Same Sun – Falling in Love with the World Next Door

Happy Valentines Day. We are still in the throes of winter here – not nearly as bad as in some parts of the country – but winter nonetheless. It is colder than I like it, rainier than I like it, and greyer than I like it. And that’s saying something, given that one of the many reasons I left my native home in Hawaii was the warm, tropical weather.

I am a spring and autumn girl. I like my seasons changing. I like things coming and going. I like the burst and turn of life curling into and unto itself. Right now I am longing for my garden.
I am not content with the seed catalogs and glossy magazines; tempting me with their spill of color – endless variety of tomatoes; purple painted eggplants; a dizzying variety of organic lettuces and heirloom beans in all the colors of the rainbow.

I am longing to sink my fingers into the just-warmed earthy; freshly turned after my husband runs through it with the tiller; scattering bits of it in the wind while threshing out small starts; and feeling the early sun warm my back as I stretch and kneel and dig in. I am longing to do this with my daughter by my side – her palatable excitement brimming and swirling about; nearly tangible. Dancing from my garden bed to hers to the one in the far back for corn and sunflowers. This unfolding sprout of mine has been gardening in full with me for several years now. Pouring through the pages with me. Planning and sketching as we lay out our garden spaces. Talking about what went where in previous years and how what we’re rotating in.This is a nesting space for us where we enjoy our time together. We talk. We dream. We laugh. We love pulling produce from the earth as the crops go through their cycles and enjoy bringing the bounty onto our table as the season moves. It is a special mother-daughter time; a family time when my husband joins us. It is nurturing. It is sustaining. It is essential. It is love. 

Over nine thousand miles away in Maubane, South Africa, a community of mothers and children gathers around another patch of sun-warmed earth and laugh, eat, play, dream. They too want to sink their fingers into the earth, cultivate it, and watch it bring forth good things to eat. They long for a garden.

I have the pleasure of partnering up with Lisa Jo Baker – the fearless leader of the Five Minute Friday  – and some other wonderful blogger friends of mine to be audacious enough to imagine a community center in Maubane that will allow for a vegetable garden, a community kitchen and welcome center, an outreach hall, classrooms, and a playground.  

Catch your breath. This is big.

150 adults and 250 orphans call this place home. Three of Lisa Jo’s adopted siblings are from this community and her family still lives there. We’d like to make that home a little more secure and a little more sustainable. It seems overwhelming to image that we could do this. Until you stop and remember that we’ve done it before.

We’ve measured out detergent cup by cup; box by box and done laundry together in South Africa to fund a water point in less than twelve hours – the same water point that will supply this new garden.

We’ve counted the cost of generators, classrooms, computers, and a van – found these things infinitely worthy and delivered Christmas to young mothers and their babies at Mercy House in Kenya.

We can do this. 
But more importantly, He can do this. 
We will do this because of Jesus.

Across the country today, people will tear open red envelopes, dig into sweet chocolate, and bury their noses in long stem roses. They will sit across beautiful tables laid out with fine china, delicate crystal, and succulent food offerings. Couples will gaze longingly into each other’s eyes and walk hand in hand down boardwalks and along sandy beaches. This is what this world calls love.

But that’s not all there is. This inward facing, elite kind of love draws a line around the lovers and says no more, just us, exclusive. Real love that acts like a verb is more than a date on a calendar and never leaves anyone out. Real love opens arms wide; stretches the imagination and across continents and says I don’t know you, but I care. We are under the same sun and loved by the same Father. I don't know you, but I care.

Today, YOU are invited to fall in love with the world next door and join us as we launch our project to raise $150,000 between Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day.

You can learn more here.

Love is about give away, pouring ourselves out, and making a difference.
Fall in love differently this year, one carrot at a time.







I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

In case you're wondering ... this would normally be the space for the Five Minute Friday - and it will be again next week. But we're just so excited by this adventure that we're bumping space and breaking rules to make this happen. Follow along on the hashtag #SurprisedByMotherhood.

Pouring Myself Out

It’s calling me. Pulling. Tugging at the deepest places inside of me. I’m ready for something more. The desire to be building for the Kingdom right near the throne of God. I want to be reaching out and impacting lives; sharing the story of His glory; leaning into broken poured-outness; to spill the love that has been given so freely to me. I want ground breaking. Soul shaking. Breath taking. I know it will sometimes be still and quiet. I know it will sometimes thunder. I am ready.

I am terrified.

Inherent in this desire; in this calling; is a directive from the Gospels that I look at with longing and with a little bit of fear. It’s said several ways; written across scripture.

Jesus answered, “The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these. Mark 12:29-31

Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law. Romans 13:10

For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Galatians 5:13-14

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. Matthew 28:19

There’s a lot of loving here. And teaching, discipling, going, praying. And loving. I’m okay with that part. But do you see what else is there? People. Our neighbors.

It’s about loving our neighbors.

Now I realize someone’s going to start laughing at this point. Or looking askance; trying to figure out what angle I’m taking as I write. What in the world is she trying to say?

The truth is I have a hard time with people.

There. I’ve said it.

A lot of the time, I just plain don’t like people.
People frustrate me.
They aggravate me.
They irritate me.
They exasperate me.

Even the ones I really, truly love. You’ve read here in this space how I struggle with anger. Along with that comes the connected struggles with impatience, high expectations (trust me, they’re with myself as well – first and foremost in fact), and trust. Or in my case, not trusting.

I mask this bit of twisted reality fairly well behind a nice girl shell (nice girl, I’m going to have to write about that one, one of these days soon), which is why I expect people to wrinkle their noses with doubt or laugh soft and patronizingly when I make statements like I did above. They can’t imagine this is real. They can’t imagine I could possibly struggle with this.

I do.

But at the same time that I glare ferociously at my fellow man and lose patience with all our collective inadequacies, I also have a deep desire to follow the heart of God and help be a small part of loving people into a real relationship with Him. Complicated? Yes. Conflicted? Sometimes. What can I say? It’s what I have.

And to have this; to own this; I must reach down inside myself – reach past myself – find strength beyond myself to do the one thing I am very often afraid to do.

Like people.
Reach people.
Touch people.
Love people.

Connecting with people, in all their frailties, insecurities, inadequacies, and inestimable failures is what we – those who are called and loved by God (here’s a hint: that’s all of us) – are called to do.

We love because he first loved us. 1 John 4:19

If you love me, you will keep my commandments. John 14:15

For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Galatians 5:14

This is what I’m pondering. This is what I’m meditating on as I desire to be poured out – as I desire to serve. Not just in some lofty, idealized way, but in the gut-wrenching, daily kind of service. The kind that makes me cringe because it’s all sorts of rubber-meets-the-road mentality. How do I love and serve people – the immediate people around me in my immediate world, as well as the world at large, the global community? How do I take what I've been given: unfettered love from an uninhibited God towards me in all my messiness, and turn it into love for a broken world in all its messiness?

To be honest. I feel like I can better handle the global community. It’s easier to sponsor a child in Bangladesh. Or help raise money for a well in South Africa. Or write words in support of rescue missions against human trafficking in Southeast Asia than it is to practice kindness, gentleness, and self-control with people who don’t listen to you, who cut you off in traffic, or who continually forget how to find the Start button on their computers. But that action – that living out of the Gospel in my life – I think it’s just as important as making strides in the in the far flung corners of the world. Maybe more so because it asks more of me. It asks that it be me. Not my words. Not my money. Not my good intentions. Just me. Doing my very best to display the characteristics of the living God in my day-to-day life. Broken and poured out, so that others will see His name in the language of my actions.






I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

I'm joining Simply Beth for her Three Word Wednesday link up and am looking forward to getting to know this circle of writers. For this link up, choose three words; share a post, photo, or scripture that highlights those three words; link up here; and share some encouragement and blog love with other writers.

All scripture references are taken from the English Standard Version

The Unforced Rhythms of Grace

The last few verses in Matthew chapter 11 have always been a comfort to me. Perhaps because for so long I have felt weary and heavy laden. For much of my adult life, I have felt as though I’ve been laboring under one burden or another – freedom (from doubt, worry, pain, devastation) is not something I have been blessed with. I have dug in to those final verses and clung to them – eager to walk side by side with a God who could ease that burden with a yoke He claimed was easy and light. As often as I’ve read it though, it’s never resonated with me the way it did when Sarah Bessey shared this passage from the Message when she spoke at the IF Gathering this weekend.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.

Matthew 11:28-30 MSG

Admittedly, I’m on a Sarah Bessey kick right now. I’ve recently discovered her writing, her work, and her book, Jesus Feminist, is working its way into my heart in an unprecedented way. So much so that I had to write and share with her what my first response was to the first few pages:

Good grief. Page five. I had to stop at page five. It was a few more minutes until the rest of my late-night dinner would be done, and I just thought I'd (finally) crack open the pages of Jesus Feminist and take a quick peek. And I had to stop at page five. Because I was now crying so intensely that my what was left of my eyeliner was burning its way through my lids - causing more tears - and that burning was matched only by the fire I could feel building in my chest. Like when you've been underwater holding your breath for too long and someone reaches down through the shimmering blue to remind you that you're a creature of air not a creature of water and that you need to breathe. And that first explosive inhale that rips through your lungs and reminds you what breathing is all about? What life feels like? What you're supposed to be doing? That's what these first five pages felt like. Bonfire on the beach. I felt it like a reflection deep inside. Aslan is on the move. Holy Lord, I did not see this one coming.

Do you know, she actually wrote back to me?

Dear Rebekah:

Oh, my goodness. This is so beautiful to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to send it to me. It means more to me than you could know to read these words. Bless you, sister. You give me such hope.

Love S.

All of this: a life changing book; an author who is still grounded and invested enough to care enough and connect with an unknown audience; an unveiling of scripture that I have always cherished – now seen in a new light – combine that with the movement in the community that I see around me and you’ll know why I’m suddenly sitting at attention. Alert with my ears straining for the next sound. Because it’s happening.

Change is happening. New life is happening. Commitment is happening. Equipping is happening. Unleashing is happening. And all of this blows in on a breath of fresh air that echoes and shivers with His name: Jesus.

One of the lines from the IF Gathering that stayed with me most was when Sarah prayed: 

May we be the ones who do not despise the day of small things, but instead, find You in beautiful obscurity.

All these good things I longed for before, I these initiatives I joined up in, all the projects and opportunities around me that I yearned to be a part of? I knew intrinsically and emphatically that Jesus was in them, but we didn’t always say it – I didn’t always say it. I didn’t say, “I’m doing this because of Jesus.”

I’m saying it now.

As I write. As I mother. As I give grace to my family. As I strive to be a better wife. As I attempt to be more patient in teaching technology to those who need help. As I connect with my friends in community (in real life and online) in love, truth, and encouragement. As I reach out – anticipating with hands open and ready for what it is that the Lord will have for me to do next to serve and use my gifts – I’m doing it because of Jesus. Because I want to learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I want to recover my life, walk with my Lord and see how He does it. Then I want to do it.

Because of Jesus.







I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

I'm heading back to Sarah's place today at All Manner of Inspiration for her Sacro Speco linkup. Sarah recently led a discussion about Jesus Feminist at She Loves magazine, so I think she'll like today's quote.

After look at Ann's post from Monday, I'm deciding to jump in to that link up too - talking about the IF Gathering  - sharing with the Multitude on Mondays.

Five Minute Friday - Write

In a week garbled by sickness, weather that's just too cold (maybe not Chicago cold, but it's chilly for the PNW!), and time consumed by writing an essay to submit for a writing contest, it feels so good to draw a breath here at the FMF.

On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It’s a great way to catch your breath at the end of a long week. This blessed, beautiful place where we open our hearts and let words and tears and the inner workings of our lives bleed and flow and dance across the virtual pages. Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.

This week: Write

Go

Oh mercy. Write. The feed flickers; refreshes; her smiling face with one large hoop earring in evidence comes swinging into sight with the prompt and I simultaneously laugh and gulp hard when I see the prompt.

I feel as if I have been pouring out my heart and soul on this very topic for the past several days. Drumming up the courage to do what we ask for here in this sacred space – be brave. Collecting my thoughts and placing one careful word after another to write on exactly this. What else can I say?

What can’t I say about this? This elemental thing I do that is synonymous with breathing. This thing that stirs my blood and makes my pulse race. That calms my heart and helps me sort through tangled situations. That flows in me and through me – what was it he said?

I don’t tattoo my body because my veins are already too full with ink, passion-rich pigments that can’t help but pulse and flow … (Carlos Andrés Gómez)

Yes. That.

I write because I can’t imagine any other way of being. It is my history. It will be my legacy. But beyond that, I remember my father leaning close; speaking in that voice that meant I really needed to pay attention. He reminded me of a story about gifts given, about coins, about talent. Reminded me that to one who is given much, much is expected. I didn’t realize right away that he meant me – meant that he thought I had been given something special. But he believed. So I believed. It was like having my own version of the speech Peter Parker’s uncle gave him. Except I wouldn’t be spinning webs or flying fast anytime soon.

Except that I can.

This is the gift and the beauty of words and of story. They take you anywhere. They allow you to do anything; reach anywhere you want to go; be who you want to be. Your voice grows and develops with you as a writer. It lets you soar.

And in the same way that my earthly father leaned in to remind me about my gift, I’ve started to pay attention when my heavenly Father opens my eyes to His Word and His calling about what I can do – what I need to do with this gift.

These days, I circle close in a community of writers – many of them online, but also in real life. This living, breathing, embrace of faith, grace, and words envelopes and enfolds me. These women who understand that writing happens because it must – they are an echo and a resonating yes in my life – encouraging, praying, uplifting, and reminding that we write for Him. We write to tell His story and to shine a light back to Him. To illustrate His glory as it becomes evident in our lives.

This is what we have been given.
This is what we must do.
We write.

Stop








How to Join 
Want to know about Lisa Jo Baker, how Five Minute Friday got started, and how to participate? All the details are here. No editing or second guessing. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.

I'd love to connect with you some more - stop on by the Three Bees Facebook Page or connect with me on Twitter @3BeesBlueBonnet. Let's continue the conversation!

Breathe: 31 Moments with God {for Moms} - A Book Review

Time alone. Time with God. We want it so much, and yet finding that time – carving out that precious space (especially if we’re moms) – can be such a challenge.

We know all too well the call to do the laundry, make the lunches, help with homework (science project season anyone?) – and that’s just the day-to-day routine? No matter if you work inside or outside the home, there are demands on your time; people of all sizes who need your help and attention; a to-do list that seems to never end. How many times do we just feel the need to breathe?

Jaimie Bowman is very familiar with that feeling. This Southern California mom has two boys and an active ministry as a writer and speaker. Her husband is a youth pastor and music leader. She’s been a professional photographer. This is a mom who knows a busy season. She knows what it’s like to crave those moments that feed your soul; when you have time with the Lord – and yet feel like interruptions abound every few minutes. She knows what it’s like to feel like getting to church feels like packing up and moving across country. When tantrums escalate with terrible timing. And when finding a quiet moment seems like Mission Impossible.

Her new book, Breathe: 31 Moments with God {for Moms} will meet you right where you’re at. Whether you’re the mother of a newborn struggling to establish a new schedule; the mother of several littles – working to manage your household’s needs; or the mother of school-aged children working around homework, a home-grown taxi service, and the inevitable question: what’s for dinner tonight?

These 31 devotionals touch on situations that will have any mother nodding in agreement. From struggling to let our children go as they grow; fighting the comparison trap; trying to find answers in untenable situations; and learning to find time to rest, Jaimie writes with the gentle voice of experience and the encouraging heart of a woman who continually turns to God for strength and guidance.

I love that she works to keep things simple and strives to keep each devotional at about ten minutes. We can all find ten minutes, right? And I especially like that while she includes the scripture for the day, it’s not all printed out. Like she says, “I know how easy it became to pick up a devotional and read it while my Bible sat on the shelf collecting dust. The Word of God is living and active, and there is power in picking up your Bible, feeling the pages between your fingers and reading it.”

Jaimie will take you from the Old Testament to the New Testament and back again. Referencing familiar stories and drawing out keen insights based both on scripture and her own experiences. Each devotion includes a few short questions to meditate or journal on, space to write your thoughts, and a prayer to end your time.

Breathe will be a devotion that you can do for one month out of the year or repeat over and over to dwell on the thoughts and scriptures found here. Grab a copy for yourself and one to share. These are words that will bless and encourage a mother’s heart, no matter what part of the journey she’s on.









You can purchase Breathe: 31 Moments with God {for Moms} as a softcover devotional, which has a built-in journal, on sale at Amazon for $8.99 through this link: http://www.amazon.com/Breathe-31-Moments-God-Moms/dp/099123250X 

The Kindle version is $4.99 and is available through this link: http://www.amazon.com/Breathe-31-Moments-God-Moms-ebook/dp/B00HUCTKZC/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid= 

Jaimie blogs at: http://www.jaimiebowman.com