Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.

We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.

On Fridays we just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. Won’t you join us? (<—Tweet this!)

    1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
    2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
    3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them.

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:




There are days when the stories I hear from friends hurt so bad it’s hard to breathe. These are things of nightmares. The reasons I wake up sweating and smelling my fear in the dark. Micah has climbed into the bed between Pete and I, his warm back all pressed up against mine.

I swallow, turn over, and put a hand out to draw comfort from all that innocence sleeping in the bed next to me, just a pillow apart.

I would build a fortress around him if I could. I would dig a moat around my Micah and Zoe and Jackson to wall them off from this world of horror stories.

I am not brave.

But I don’t have bricks thick enough of shovels strong enough, and besides, I’m sure it’s against the zoning regulations for our neighborhood.

I’m supposed to pray, they tell me. To trust these three pieces of my flesh and blood and sweat and tears to the God who was there when the bad stories I heard this week unfolded.

Trust him.

I fold my hands tightly across my chest and glare at the emptiness in front of me, all tied up in my own un-trust. Tight fists feel good. Strong. Un-surrendered. These are my children and I will fight you for them.

If only I had grown them on my own. If only I could lay claim to building their DNA with no outside help. If only I weren’t steps removed from the dust and dirt and grime of this earth that bore me first. Shaped out of God’s hand, what if I just give Him my fists.

What if I don’t try to unfurl them. What if I just clench them in the palm of His mighty Carpenter’s hand. Maybe we can fight for them side by side. I know He will not go down fighting. Even when His strategy looks different than the one I would have chosen.

He is a Father too. He knows how to fight for His children. Especially when it means surrendering Himself. I think He knows the surrender and the fight and the “Why did you forsake me?” cries.

He knows and he suffered and I am afraid but I am also drawn to His courage.

I want Him to wrap me up – this whole ball of frustration and worry – in the palm of His hand where I know it will be alright.

Even when it isn’t.

PS: I got all caught up in this one and it was 7 minutes of writing before I looked up. But 7 minutes non-stop and un-edited – typos included. Love, LJ



OK, show me what you’ve got.
{Subscribers, you can just click here to come over and play along. And if you don’t have a blog? Feel free to leave your five minutes in the comments}


I love that you visit here. Truly. And thank you.
And if you’d like to get my posts by email? It’s easy and free {just enter email address}

Delivered by