Five Minute Friday: Opportunity

Around here we quick-write for five minutes on Fridays--unedited, uninhibited, unpolished:

Opportunity?

Gulp.

It's been such a busy week that I had not really had time to think about the opportunity that has dropped in my lap.

I wanted it.  I asked for it.  Now I am terrified because of it.

I am terrified that I will not live up to my expectations for the task.  I am terrified that I will not live up to anyone else's expectations for the task.

I am worried sick about it--worried enough to pray about it.

Oh, yes.  That is where I should have started.

Pray.

Lead me, Lord, in Your Name.

Direct me, Lord, that whatever I do be to Your Glory.

Humble me, Lord--well, I am quaking in my proverbial boots; job accomplished.

Teach me, Lord, what You would have me learn from this opportunity and to do this opportunity.

Thank you, Lord, for this opportunity.  May I glorify You so that those affected by my actions may be drawn closer to you.

Grant me peace, Lord.

Grant me joy, Lord.

Grant me wisdom, Lord, that everything I do be

In Your Name and for Your Glory.

Thank you, Lord.

Five Minute Friday: Perspective

Around here we play along with Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Friday meme and write for five minutes--unedited.  Today's topic is perspective, so here we go:

Perspective

I've always been encouraged to see things from a different perspective:  walk a mile in the other person's shoes, see things the way God sees them.

But, mostly, I seem to wander around in an idiocentric myopia--so focused on my beloved goals and "things I need to do" that I forget to take care of the people around me.

I'm more faithful to "feeding" my blogs that to feeding my husband.  In my defense, however, he's a better cook than I am.

I'd rather read one hundred pages than hear a human voice speak one hundred words.

I'd rather trade one hundred emails than have one hundred conversations.

Hm.  Light bulb moment.

I keep people at arm's length.  I don't like synchronous communication.

Why?

Control?  Certainly.  I can wait to respond until I've formulated a proper-to-me response.

Fear?  Yup.  What if I do or say something mortifying?

Excuses?  Oh, yeah.  I'm positively swimming in them.

Remedy?


Feet.  Face.  Ears.

Go to people I love.  Face them; be present in the moment with them.  Listen to them.

That's more terrifying than anything I can imagine.

Do it anyway.

The birds may have a great view from the sky, but it's only a view.  To accomplish anything, they have to come back to earth.

Do it.

Do.  It.

Today.

Five Minute Friday: Identity

Around here we write for five minutes on Friday--unedited, unplanned.  Here's today's effort:



Who am I?

I am a mother, a sister, a wife, a disciple, a writer, a teacher, a singer--

But each of those is an action, something I do to "earn" membership in that category.

Who am I?

I am lazy; I am an overachiever on the things I enjoy.

I am easily dissuaded when obstacles crop up, but I can be determined when I think something's important.

I am solitary in a crowded world.

And I really like it.

Inside my head, it's quiet and peaceful, most of the time, while the world bangs and clangs along without really getting anywhere.

I am tired.

I am worn.

I am hopeful.

I am planning for tomorrow, next week, and next year.

I am.

Me.


See more Five Minute Friday musings at TheGypsyMama:

Five Minute Friday: Real

Around here we free-write for five minutes on Friday.  Here's the unvarnished result:

Real.

As in reality.

As in the stuff that happens every day.

As in the concrete block that weighs down my dreams either sending them crashing to the ground, or preventing them from floating out into the exosphere for sheer lack of planning.

Reality can be so disheartening, so concrete, so real.

Reality can be so grounding, so concrete, so real.

The possibilities of life are myriad, swirling, dizzying midway lights from the merry-go-round on a balmy spring evening.

Reality is the stuff that happens every day.

Make it purposeful.

Make it

Real.

Read other musings about real over at Gypsy Mama's: