Five Minute Friday: Brave.

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He’s all grins as he holds on to the handrail and tries to take the step.

He stumbles, of course, short legs longer in his imagination than they are in real life. I wonder how tall he thinks he is in his head. Surely longer than the 25th percentile they tell us at the doctor’s office. My poor little shrimpy guy.

He scurries up stairs again, eyes set on the prize: the slide, the biggest one he can find. And yet, when he gets there, he can’t remember how to sit down. He needs Mommy – before Sissy finds him and shoves him down.

My David-bug is the version of tough and brave you only are at nearly-15-months: irrationally, spastic, and overwhelmingly sure that you can do everything. The place where I’m not quite sure whether to let him attempt the hard climbs or rescue him before he kills himself.

It’s my first taste of son-raising. Libbie was typical-girl-cautious. She certainly had her stair-tumbles, but never the moment of staring at me, smile canyon-wide, stepping down without fear of falling.

STOP.

31 Days of Reading Well: Day 14 – Catch

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I don’t feel like writing today, so I am giving myself five minutes to tie in the BOOK theme with Gypsy Mama’s five-minute friday theme of “catch.”

31daysbutton

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The last comment I received in my inbox was from someone who was slightly embarrassed the book they’ve been meaning to read was Water for Elephants. Being that it was popular a few years ago and not right now, I suppose. I feel the same way, often. I did read Water for Elephants a few years ago (pre-movie), but often there are books where I fall behind the times, catching that ball long after it has lost its bounce.

No one is talking about The Kite Runner anymore. Life of Pi, Wicked, My Sister’s Keeper? Even fewer words about them.

(Can I have an extra minute? I just had to go kill a big nasty spider crawling on our ottoman. SHUDDER.)

When it comes to popular fiction, you catch the wave as it comes. Perhaps for those of you like me, you take pride if you catch it at the beginning and can say with airs, “Oh yes. I’ve ALREADY read that one.”

Yes, I am a book snob. It horrified me how long it took me to read The Help and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. AFTER the movies were being made – or even out. The ultimate shame.

This is one thing about myself that is laughable but true. How ridiculous am I, about something so insignificant? I’d never look down at anyone else for being slightly behind the times, and yet I beat myself up about it.

I have a complex.

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Joy {Five Minute Friday}

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redredrose

source: antaean

Last weekend, I went on a women’s retreat with some ladies from my church. It was a last-minute decision; I had been hesitant because we’re still moving things from our house. But a few days before, I decided I couldn’t NOT go. I needed some female fellowship. I can’t complain about not having friends if I don’t try to make some.

One the last sessions I went to, a dear woman shared about Paul’s thorn in the flesh — and what she believed her own thorn to be. Word by word, she picked apart Paul’s writings and examined the passage.

I shared that I feel my thorn is depression. It is a constant plague to me, for the most part, and some days it takes over my brain, seemingly acting from its own will. It sure feels thorny.

Seeing it as a thorn, though, allowed by God gives me a new perspective. Because of depression, some days I have to believe things I know to be true even when I don’t feel them. I have to decide each day that the joy of the Lord IS my strength. It doesn’t matter how I feel that particular day. I choose joy.


Inspired and linked to Five-Minute Friday at The Gypsy Mama.

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FIve Minutes on Mail

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A Strange Keyboard
It always astounds me when I get e-mails from people who read this blog, long emails with advice or compliments or suggestions for what I should write my next grammar post on.

I recently told someone how it freaks me out a little bit when I find out people I know read the blog–especially male people. Cause sometimes I put it all out there. Even about, ahem, my upper body.

It’s not like I ever forget this is out there for the general population; it feeds into my personal Facebook account and is linked at the bottom of each of my e-mails. And yet I choose to ignore that those closest to me can read it–along with our leasing agent, the workers of our former day care, choir members at church, and anyone else who darn well wants to.

There’s a comfort in writing. I keep writing because I have to. Long ago I used to think it was strange that I narrated my own life in my head. Now I just write blog posts in there instead. Changing my life, tweaking it to make it digestible for general consumption. Adding quirky tidbits and baby pictures.

I do love those emails from the unknowns. It warms my heart that someone cares about me and wants to minister to me. One recently said, basically, “Been there, done that, praying for you. It gets better.”

I believe you.

Keep writing.

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Nonsensical, perhaps, but with 23 seconds to spare. Part of The Gypsy Mama’s Five-Minute Writing Exercises. [After I wrote this, I realized it was last Friday's prompt. Oh well! Posting anyway.]

(photo source)
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