The end of Holy Week – a good time for few words.

Want to take five minutes with me and see which ones bubble to the surface?

Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not. Here’s how we do it:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat with no editing or tweaking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my right side bar}

3. Go and tell the person who linked up before you what their words meant to you. Every writer longs to feel heard. {And if you love us, consider turning off word verification for the day to make it easier for folks to leave you some encouragement}

It’s a great way to exhale at the end of a beautiful week.

And it gives me a chance to give one of you a pack of my very own hot-off-the-presses first ever DaySpring greeting card – a beauty I leant some words to for mother’s day.

Motherhood should come with a cape…A really cute one with sparkles, don’t you think?
Happy Mother’s Day.

It’s based on my twitter tagline and is for sale over at DaySpring; you can pick ’em up here and I’m told there are only 50 sets left.  {Heather won the “Ask, Seek, Knock” wall hanging from last week}.

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes for the prompt:

The Hard Love …


GO

It took a four inch scar to bring my daughter into the world. I cut and bled and she gasped her first breath. Beginnings are often like that, aren’t they. Anything remarkable costs the maker something. I cut into my own life to reach in and draw out hers. Birth dances so dangerously close to death and the hard love surrenders, lays down and says, “Do what you will with me so that she can live.”

That scar aches tonight as I sit in the yellow rocking chair and nurse the baby that gave it to me. Still I pour into her because her life is wrapped up in mine. Only a heartbeat apart.

I watch as she curls into the nook of my arm and waits with perfect faith that I will feed her. And all I can think is this is what He does for us. This is what He did for me. Bled, cut, laid down His life so that I might be born into a new one.

And still He rocks me in His bosom with His scarred and tender hands.

STOP

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