Wanna-be-writers welcome. <–Click to Tweet this

This is where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ’em over here.

How to Join:

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

Featured Five Minute Friday:

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 #FiveMinuteFriday”? Yea -that could be you! Hop on over and visit some folk who make fireworks in just five minutes. They inspire me.

Meet the #FMFParty Writers:

And did you know there’s a whole community of writers that connect online before the prompt goes live on Friday nights? They use the Twitter hashtag #FMFParty and are about the most encouraging group around.

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..

Oh and Ahem, if you would take pity and turn off comment verification, it would make leaving some love on your post that much easier for folks!

OK, are you ready? Please give us your best five minutes on:::

Small…

Untitled

GO

Your day can end with sorting the recycling from the regular trash and then trying to find that stray pair of flip flops so you can haul a Glad Trash bag down the three front door steps and out to the trash can. And then maybe you find that the trash can is actually inside the garage and the garage door is still broken since it got damaged in your move last month and you have to put the trash down and walk back through the house to haul the whole thing open by its hinges.

And it’s about then your own hinges can ache and sigh and groan because when the three empty pizza boxes you’re loading into a recycling garbage can are the end of your day they can feel like the end and full stop and split of you.

Don’t forget how one child accidentally peed on your brand new after fourteen years of marriage mattress and there’s that pile of laundry waiting down in the washer to get switched to the dryer and put back on the bed. But in the meantime you’re lying horizontal any chance you can get because the Doc tells you you’ve sprained your back and is surprised when you tell him it’s been hurting like this since Sunday. Because today’s Thursday and you’re only now carving time out to see him because moms don’t get sick and they sure don’t lie flat on their back with their knees elevated. Not with three kids and enough crazy to last an afternoon.

So you break your no-sugar vow and open up a fruit roll up and feel good when your tongue turns bright red because it’s proof of how much you love your kids’ candy and how you might still be twelve at heart. But your body says different and your back screams righteous frustrated at all those hours you log at a desk and you are humbled by what you can’t do.

Friends write about their wrestle with a Savior who feels like He isn’t quite up to saving them, at least not when it looks like moving them out of their small house when they have the means but can’t find a landlord who’s willing. And you feel all of life like this desperate wrestle with the God who isn’t afraid of our desperate hands and who is willing to bless right there in the thick of the weary, every day roller coaster of wrestling through one day into another.

This thing is not going to break you.

And none of this makes you small.

It makes you real good and human and someone who knows how to love their neighbor because their life looks relateable. All those things that try to break you, to tell you that you don’t measure up, those are the promises that you are connected to the stories of every person that is intended to matter just to you.

STOP

{Pst, if you’re reading in an email, we’d love you to join us – just click here}

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