Take a deep breath. You made it. It’s Friday.


Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and brave and unscripted.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.


“Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.” ~E. B. White –>click to tweet this.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Be generous and leave an encouraging comment for the person who linked up before you. That’s the best part about this community.

And if you don’t have a blog, feel free to leave your five minutes of writing as a comment. And we’ll love on you there.

Today’s prompt is:



Airports are always a sad song to me. Even when I’m arriving. There is a sigh and a soft exhale of the left behind in every body’s shoes that shuffle past. I’ve slept on airport floors and wondered why they build arm rests into chairs when it makes it so inconvenient to lie down across a row. I’ve cried off every brand of mascara I’ve ever worn at an airport. And one time I nearly missed saying good bye. One time my little brother he was late coming. He was coming from Jo’burg and the traffic was bad and dad and me and Josh and the rest of the crew had already had our pre-departure meal, and photos, and last hugs and I was at the tape.

At the last line of black tape between silver poles with my suitcase on the scale when Luke came running. And dad whistled that wolf whistle so shrill everyone turned and looked and there was my little brother, the one so much taller than me. With his hair all geled into the ceiling and his black hipster glasses and his arms reaching for me. And I was standing on tip toes and laughing and crying at the same time and so was everyone else around us. He held me. He got there in time to just hold me for one last minute before good-bye.

And I carried that song with me all 18 hours of flying time back to college and America and alone and my accent in a sea full of everyone else who fit in.

You sang to me, Luke. With your good-bye. The one that cost you hours of driving and minutes of being.

If I close my eyes I can still hear it. How you showed up.

I’ve missed you. I hear your voice in Micah and it reminds me that we keep showing up and singing no matter the distance.

Always the same southern cross chorus of home.


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PS: The winner of Mom in the Mirror giveaway was commenter #17 Heather Millard who said: One thing I love about myself is the heart for others that God has given me. I can see it in my children too and that is so exciting! When I’m older, saggier, greyer, wrinklier, that will still be there – hooray! x