Five Minute Friday ~ Held

This is my first five minute Friday since arriving at college, and when I saw the word for this week I knew I had to write. Because in the midst of working my way through some pretty tough issues these past few weeks, I've also seen so many ways in which I am being held.
There are no words big enough to say how thankful I am at this time for the small ways in which I am being held, by my family at home, my new PRBI family and all the amazing connections I've made in my few weeks here. I am so grateful for each and every one of you, and the ways you hold me.

Because sometimes you can feel like an island

The past few days have been a struggle. Constantly I am being convicted, pushed to grow, forced to move outside of my comfort zone. All of it can feel like trying to navigate my way through a snow storm. I can barely see two feet in front of me, and everything is vague and obscure as I stumble through the nothingness, hopefully towards something.

 And then something happens. There is a hand, reaching into your storm. There are strong fingers that wrap around yours when everything feels like too much. They pull you to your feet, and nod, because they’ve been there too. And something about that moment, the act of being held, however briefly, matters. It is enough to shed some light on what is ahead. It’s not just me, standing alone in the storm, but now there is a sense of togetherness.

 And that connection, it’s an anchor. It steadies me, reminds me that I can stand on my own two feet, that sometimes the only way beyond is through. It points me back to the One who is always standing there, reaching out His hand, waiting to pull me to my feet.

 Sometimes when you are fighting your way through the hard stuff in life, when you can’t even see the next step, it’s a beautiful thing to just be held.

Five Minute Friday: Hands

 When I saw the prompt for this Friday, I knew I had to write something. Because this morning I found myself staring at a pair of hands, and creating a story with mine.
There is so much more I could write on this topic, but given only 5 minutes I could just skim the surface. But I want to keep creating, keep writing stories with my own hands.
My hands were made to touch, to create, to explore the world around me and fall more in love with it with each passing day

I look at his hands as I sit behind my computer screen, typing out an English essay on kindness. It’s not much, but the gentle curve of his fingers is prompt enough to begin a train of thought.

I am reminded of all the places I’ve been, the people I’ve loved, the gentle touches and soft glances. I remember the feeling of being found the first time he looked at me, and how that was a feeling I wanted to spend my whole life remembering. The feeling of found, I wrote that day, is not something I take lightly.

My own fingers are sprawling over the keyboard as I begin to write about kindness, giving it and receiving it and how sometimes you have to dig it up out of yourself. I wrote about it and I watched his fingers and I was reminded of the first day, when I didn’t feel so very kind, and all the different sets of hand prints that make up my story now.


If you peel back my skin and expose my heart, I am also certain you would find sets of fingerprints, all unique but splashed together to create a beautiful piece of art. These are the fingerprints given to me, the stories and touches and smiles I have used to create something beautiful. They are my poetry, my inspiration, my heart beat. They are the words I have created with my own hands.


I think there is something beautiful about hands, and the way they can create and move and touch and express.


With this, I begin to write

Beautiful - a 5 minute Friday guest post

She is amazing. She is beautiful and intelligent and witty and on the bad days she sends me John Green videos. She is one of the most wonderful people I've ever had the privilege of meeting.
This girl is so amazing I would read her grocery lists (On occasion I have!) so I knew anything she would write would be fantastic, so when I asked her to write for 5 minutes straight about being a writer, and when she gave me this amazing little jewel of work, I was overjoyed. I was even more excited when she agreed to let me post her 5 minute, unedited blurb on my blog.
And Sami - thank you for letting me have the privilege of sharing your words with the world. You are amazing, and I am so honored I have the privilege of calling you my friend


"I first became acutely aware of my body image in eighth grade, right before graduation. Lori Anne wrote in my yearbook, "you are the skinniest girl I have ever met," and I knew she was serious - but I also thought her crazy.
I had not thought of myself as skinny since hitting puberty. I danced and had thighs, and if you dance and have things, you are not skinny, at least not when you are young and competitive. I felt lost between accepting a complement and denying its reality and confused about what was reality. Around then, I also had these fancy portraits taken in a brown dress, and my parents couldn't believe I looked so old. I couldn't wait to not look so young. I loved it. I remember looking at the huge portrait when it was hung, and thinking, I look like an adult.
 And I felt like it too, then. If you look like an age, you feel that age, if only for a few moments. I guess it's the same with beauty. If you look like Beauty, you know, with a capital B, like the societal type, then you feel like it - but when you're just you, and the subtler lowercase beauty, it's not so easy or automatic to feel."

Five Minute Friday: Writer

I haven't done five minute Fridays for a while, but today my friend dared me to write about today's word, and I agreed. And while it's too messy and unruly for my perfectionist self, it is mine.
Today's word was writer, and here's what I think of when I hear that word


There are days when I don't feel like a writer
days when I trip over my metaphors and choke on the words that I am trying to birth and every attempt to get this story right comes out forced and complicated
There are days when it feels like I am barren, like there is nothing left inside of me. These are the days when writing feels more like a curse than a blessing. I wish I could turn off the flow of words that are in my brain.
Being a writer is insanity, it's humbling and awe inspiring and I am so grateful for the opportunity to be welcomed into this secret community of other budding writers
Being a writer is frustrating, and I have quickly become my own worst critic. It is constantly tripping over shoelaces and tying up loose ends, maybe just as much as it is birthing this precious story I have been given
Carrying this story is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Drawing on my personal experiences to tell this story that I feel so profoundly inside of me is something that is taking more courage than I thought I possessed
Today is one of those days when I don't feel like a writer.
I am letting the world happen to me, despite wanting to control every unruly bit. I am falling in love with music and jotting love poems down onto napkins and staying up too late reading a book that makes my soul sight "Yeah, I've been there."
But I think maybe this is all part of becoming a writer too.
If I want to stand on my own two feet I must expand as much as I withdraw, must push out as I bring in. It's a gentle give and take, a craft I am still learning
But despite it's hardships, it is a craft I am proud to be a part of, something so beautiful and vital to my survival
Writing is like breathing, like wild chaos, like a beautiful disaster
and I am in love with every minute of it

Five Minute Friday - Present

Not too long ago I had a conversation with a friend and said that I have a tendency to edit my words a lot. In writing, you can edit, delete the bits that don't sound good, add pieces to make it more coherent. But very rarely do I write exactly what I think, no edits.
So, when I found 5 minute Friday's - where you write for 5 minutes, unedited, about the topic given, I thought I'd give it a try.
So here it is, my first ever five minute Friday. If you want, feel free to join in and give it a try.
Today her topic was present, so here we go...



Present...
I'm not really sure what to say about this word, which is how I knew this entry would start.
The word present reminds me of a gift under a tree, all wrapped up in paper and bows. But it also reminds me of something else. That place between the past and the future. The right now.
The present is the stormy clouds outside my window and the carpet under my bare feet. The present is my fingers clicking on the keyboards, being vulnerable and writing words without editing. This is the present.
The present is happening in this moment, and yes, it is a gift. It is something I could easily look over if I blinked in the wrong second. I could miss this wonderful gift of a moment I have been given.
I could miss the way eyes sparkle in the sunlight and fingertips touch as items are exchanged. I could miss the present, the gift. If I am so focused on the future, on this other place, this other reality I think I should be living in, I can miss the one right in front of me.
There is no reality, no present, other than the one I am in. And if I spend all my time wishing I was somewhere else, wishing for the past or the future, I can miss the time I have right in front of me.
Because the present is all I am guaranteed. The present is all I am given. And the present is a gift. It isn't wrapped up in pretty paper but it is tied together with beautiful things, things like sun beams and the way the light falls on sparkling eyes and the communion and the touch between two people.
This is the present I could miss if I looked away.
This is the present that is a gift.
This is my present, the life I am living right now, the reality I am a part of.

And... STOP!

So there it is, my first five minute Friday. Feel free to join in, I would love to know what you think about the present.