Here we go again–Five Minute Friday challenge, this time, on a Sunday afternoon! And this time, later than usual as we were away for the weekend, and I, being the all-or-nothing person I am, wanted this weekend technology-free. Which mostly, it was. I was very proud of myself for how few times I checked my phone. 🙂
So, there’s the explanation for the time lag, and below, is the late-ish installment of Five Minute Friday…
For a reminder-it’s a weekly writing “game” from my bloggy friend Lisa-Jo Baker, who blogs (and writes heart-breakingly, beautiful words and stories) at http://lisajobaker.com/
So, here’s the challenge, should you accept it: you write for 5 minutes with freedom like you have no fear or shame. Or propensity for run-on sentences, like I do. Pretend those don’t exist or don’t matter. (Ha!) And then you have to be brave (or at least pretend to be) and link up to her blog. Encouraging the writer who links up before you is part of the deal, too. This last rule is crucial, as we all need to encourage others. Why encourage another writer? Because at one point or another in our lives, we all need encouraging too.
Each week is a new word, a new thought starter, and you have 5 minutes to write….and are you ready? go-
Here, in the midst of a happy Sunday, in the midst of a mini-family reunion, finally home from a conference, living in what I wish my daughter would have done—hug me overwhelmingly, bone-crushingly hard, with lots and lots of words about how much she needed me and missed me, here is where I live today.
Here, in the midst of too many words and too few minutes, always too few moments of time to write, to practice the what most days is the chicken-scratch writing from my soul, over-drenched with too many feelings and too many commas for any “real” writer to acknowledge, here in the imperfection, is where I live.
Here, where there is too much life, so much graciously abundant overflowing life, and not enough time to catch up to it, to ponder over it, or reflect on it, on how very lucky and blessed I am, here I am.
Here, where there is too much laundry and not nearly enough time or dedication to do it, here where there are messes made clean, repeatedly, but with great sighing, here, between the imperfect and sustaining love of a good man, here between the crayons and the play-doh droppings on the floor, here between the grooves of perfection and the spotless baseboards of what life tells us life should be: perfect, here, between all of those moments, here is where I really live. In dusty, mostly messy and chaotic cycles of life, the loose ends of the unfinished business of living, here is where I love to live.
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