It’s #FiveMinuteFriday!

Where a beautiful crowd spends five minutes all writing on the same topic and then sharing ’em over here.

Want to know how Five Minute Friday got started and how to participate? All the details are here.

And every week I’ll pick a post that caught my eye and share it down there in my side bar – see where it says “Featured Five Minute Friday”? Yea -that could be you!

I also have some Five Minute Friday stories from readers I’m going to start sharing with you each week – they’ve meant so much to me and really, they’re because of you. So thank you – for loving on each other so well.

This one’s from Sheila:

I am new to FMF. In fact, today will be my third time to participate. Last week’s word was “beyond.” I had JUST found out that my uncle passed away and I wrote about that. On Wednesday I sat in his beautiful service to celebrate his life and the preacher read my blog. I was so touched and honored. Several people came up to tell me how much my words had meant. I have to say that it was weird hearing what I wrote read in public but it also brought closure for me. It was a way to say “goodbye” to an uncle that not only loved his community, his country, and his God, but loved his family as well.

The testimonies around a five minute writing exercise continue to blow me away.

Got a FMF story you want to share? Just shoot me an email thegypsymama1(at)gmail(dot)com.

Now, set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.

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 me your best five minutes on:::

Stretch…

:

GO

Every evening this week I’ve walked into a place that pulls my comfort zones in new and uncomfortable ways. It turns out that one can love one’s own children deeply, passionately and still struggle in 100 new ways to understand and cherish the ways of other people’s kids. So I serve and I bend and I feel all stretched out and squidgy around the edges juggling games and memory verses and what feels like a thousand small girls who want to sit on my lap and pet my hair.

I am surprised at my own surprise at how hard it is.

How you can feel tired in places you didn’t visit often and like so much taffy that’s been pulled in so many directions all you want is a nap right there between the kids singing and the kids playing tag.

But then a moment will whisper into the whirlygig and you remember why you’re here. You remember the invitation to the little children to “come,” to always come. And it’s not a grand moment. It’s more of a sigh as they slow down for enough time to listen to the story of what brave can look like. And how love always shows up.

So you clutch the clip board on your lap a little looser and wrap an arm around the little girl with the side pony tail sitting next to you on the steps. You remember that sacrifices are designed to burn away the bits of us that are no good and you wink at the boy who’s related to you and delighted to be calling the teacher, “mom.”

STOP

OK, show me what you got! {Subscribers, you can just click hereto come over and play along}



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