Five Minute Friday: Again

Five Minute Friday

I’m joining in this week’s Five Minute Friday, and you can too! Just write for 5 minutes with no editing on the word of the week. This week’s word is “again.” 

Here goes…

I look down into the bag of Chex Mix, my fingers covered in fine orange powder, and I sigh in frustration. Surely I hadn’t eaten that much. Surely the bag was emptier than I remembered it being before I started mindlessly eating. Surely I had only had one handful. Or two.  Or three. 
How do I keep finding myself in this same place? Over and over, again and again. Maybe it’s a bad day that triggers it, or maybe I’m lonely or sad or just bored. Whatever the reason, more often than not I turn to food for comfort instead of turning to Jesus.
I think about how I am so heartbroken when Charlotte turns her head away from me when she is grumpy or upset, how I long for her to reach out to me in her frustration or sadness.  Doesn’t she know how much I love her, how much I want to sweep her up into my arms and hold her tightly, her sweet head nestled into the crook of my neck?
I think of the small way in which I love her compared to the vastness of the love of God, and I wonder how much God’s heart breaks when I choose something as ridiculous as Chex Mix to comfort me when I have the Healer of the Universe waiting, His arms open wide, ready to embrace me?
Again and again I fail, and again and again He forgives, removing my sin as far as the east is from the west.

Five Minute Friday: Cherished

I’m joining up with Lisa-Jo Baker’s Five Minute Friday, and this week’s word is “cherished.” 
Here goes…
Dear Charlotte,

The other morning when I was getting ready for work, you came marching into my closet in that happy, clumsy way of yours, arms swinging and face alight with a smile. Then you picked up the scale that sits in my closet and set it carefully on the bathroom floor. Surprised, I watched to see what you would do, and to my amazement you stepped right on the scale, as you must have seen me do before (more times than I care to admit). You looked down at the scale, not sure what to expect, then smiled when the display showed a number–your weight.  You were delighted and clapped your hands with excitement.  I was struck by this sight: you with your precious grin that makes my heart squeeze tight with love, on the scale, instrument that I love to hate. I have felt many things while standing on that scale, but rarely has the scale made me smile, but you don’t know any of those feelings yet. To you, the scale is just a toy, something fun to play with. You have not yet experienced the agony that comes with seeing a number that is anything but smile-inducing. You have not yet experienced the hurt of an unkind word or mean glance.

Sweet daughter of mine, I pray that as you grow older and the world’s opinions of beauty start to creep in, you keep that smile on your face and know that you are cherished, loved by your mommy and loved by the Father.  

Five Minute Friday: Real

{I’m participating in Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday for the first time. It was really hard to stick to that 5 minute limit. And I may have done a little deleting, but I will do better next time!}


We are a society obsessed with reality TV. You don’t have to flip too many channels to find some reality program on. But those shows? They’re not real.

If you were to ask me if I have a problem “being real,” I would tell you no. But I would be lying. As much as I pride myself on being real on my blog and in person, I am often anything but. I like to self-edit, pick and choose those parts of me that are most likely to be accepted, most likely to be praised.

Sometimes I don’t even know how to be real anymore.

I stick the not-so-lovely bits in a dark place and hope they never come to light. I worry that if I finally muster the courage to be truly real, if I truly bare it all, then I will scare everyone away. So I keep those bits tucked away and wonder why I’m lonely.

Being real is scary. Being real is vulnerable. But being real can also be freeing, and who couldn’t use a little more freedom in their life?

I think of the lyrics, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine” and think that I’ve been doing an awful lot of hiding under a bushel. It’s time to let the light in. It’s time to be real.