Five Minute Friday: Being Knitted

It is Saturday. That Means that I’m a little late this week for Five Minute Friday.
HOWEVER, I AM STILL GOING TO DO IT FRIENDS! First: The Rules:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. 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, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
OK, are you ready? Please give us your best five minutes on::: Race
Ready.Set.GO.

Being Knitted

I pull the needle through again.
Knit, Purl, Knit, Purl.
Over and over, the pattern remains.
It changes by row,
Yet stays the same.
It is the quiet to the “race” in my mind.
To the race of “what if’s” and “when’s”.
It is the focus on,
knit,
purl,
knit,
purl.

Knitting was always intriguing to me.
Something about taking the yarn,
and weaving it into something beautiful.
Soft to the touch,
warm on the skin,
inside the pattern lays the labor of hands,
hands focused on the
knit,
purl,
knit,
purl.

I realized there is something that calms me here,
when I watch this yarn weave itself.
There is a strength to it.
A beauty to it.
A strength and beauty not found in the yarn,
It is found in the weaving of the yarn.
Not in the race of the world,
it is found in the weaving of the yarn.

The race of my mind is quieted.
My focus is caught.

And I wonder,
Am I being woven like this?

Is my Father taking all of my different parts,
and weaving me beautifully?
Into something that has strength,
something that has beauty?

I believe He is.

I believe He is because I can feel it.
The tautness in the growth.
I can feel when I pull.
I can feel when I allow myself to bend.
To pull through.
To cast over.
To slip,
to knit,
purl,
knit,
purl.

I can feel His hands working on my soul.
And I find peace here.
Peace from the race of the world.
The race of my thoughts.

I pull the needle through again.
And find peace in the race,
because I find Him in my soul.

Stop

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Five Minute Friday: Welcome to Our Home

It is Friday. That Means Five Minute Friday. WOOT WOOT. First: The Rules:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. 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, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
OK, are you ready? Please give us your best five minutes on::: Welcome

Ready.Set.GO.

Welcome Home

Hello.
Welcome to our home.

Please excuse any dirty dishes in the sink,
We eat here.
The dishwasher is full.
We chose to watch a movie together last night instead of doing more dishes.
It happens you know.

Please excuse the dog hair on the carpet.
The vacuum broke, we’ll fix it this weekend.
But we love our dog.
Even if he is huge and hairy and drooly.
So he comes and lays on the carpet,
leaving little pieces of himself behind everywhere.

Please too, excuse the books,
and notebooks and pens and pencils on the couch.
We study here.
We read our Bible’s here.
We do our school work here.
We have discussions here, meditations here, and prayer here.
Just move them over and join in.
It’s really OK.

Welcome to our home.

Our walls are painted loud colors.
Because we like color.
We like to express ourselves.
In colors.
And we are loud sometimes.
Loud in conversation. Loud in arguments. Loud in forgiveness. Loud in hugs.
And in laughter.
And in love.

So again, welcome to our home.
Our home with grass that needs to be trimmed a little.
Our home with pictures on the walls of our children.
Our home with movies, books, board games, and random objects.
Dragonflies, because I love them and collect them.

And when you stop by, unannounced,
it really is OK.
Because we don’t mind adding to our laughter.
Adding to our love.
It’s just that there may be crumbs on the table.
There may be papers scattered about.
The floor may not be swept.
The living room may not be organized.
Because we didn’t have those few minutes of warning,
To run and clean and focus and be neat.
We may have actually been in the middle of a tickle fight,
or trying to beat the next level of Mario together,
or playing a guitar,
or singing a song,
or dancing, very badly, yet very happily in the middle of the living room.

Welcome to our home.

It’s our home, because we live here.
We play here.
We love here.
We welcome one another home here.

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Five Minute Friday: Grasping Time

It is Friday. That Means Five Minute Friday. WOOT WOOT. First: The Rules:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. 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, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
OK, are you ready? Please give us your best five minutes on::: Grasp

Ready.Set.GO.

Grasp

Time.
I have difficulty grasping time.
Lay in bed,
thoughts begin.
Childhood. Teenage years. Choices.
Mistakes. Fights.
Trying so hard and feeling like such a failure.

Time.
It never slowed down for me.
Never stopped.
The more time kept going,
the more it seemed I was struggling to grasp.

Why?
Lay in bed, thoughts begin.
Deep sudden inhale of breath.
Stop the thoughts.
Get up. Get out.
Start this day.
My life.
This time.

This is the time that matters.
I move into the kitchen and see this manchild.
His hands used to fit inside of mine.
I used to kiss the bottoms of his feet.
He would see me, and without words, because he could not speak them,
He would run to me.
As fast as little chubby legs could carry him.
Run and grab me, look up at me, smiling.

Does he grasp it?
My love for him?
Will he lay awake in bed,
and find thoughts haunting him?
Will he look back as those early years,
when we were both children together,
mother and son, children together?
Will he have those thoughts he cannot grasp?
Those thoughts he cannot understand?

I look at him now, and again,
I cannot grasp time.
Little feet now bigger than mine.
Little hands now match mine.
Look, there it is,
he ran to the door when I came home after being away all weekend.
He ran into my arms and gave me a hug.
His head bumps against my head,
it hurts us both a little.
He laughs.
Silly man boy.
He forgets he’s grown so much.
Smiles at me, tells me he loves me.
Does he grasp this love I have for him?
This mothers love?
Does he grasp his father’s love for him?
I see this man boy, looking at my husband.
Looking at him to teach him how to be a man.
And my heart quickens at the thought that in time,
he will be a man.

Time.
I simply cannot grasp time.
Some nights I simply find comfort,
falling into the promise of eternity.
And then I realize,
Maybe this is why I don’t need to “grasp” time.
I just need to grasp love.

Grasping Love

STOP.

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