September 12, 2014

Ready {Five Minute Friday}

Here goes another Five Minute Friday post.
The prompt: Ready

I thought I'd be ready at 18, like the other women in my family. I had always thought I didn't need a plan; that script was already written on my heart. (The years proved I was I wrong.)

I thought I was ready at 20, poring over books, devouring lectures, drinking in preparation of every kind, eager to leave behind the study and put it into practice.

I thought I was ready at 22, head so full of knowledge and 5 Steps for Success and Biblical principles and proper techniques, practicing my dream when others were gracious to allow me, and thinking I knew better than they. (I see now that I was not ready then.)

I thought I was ready at 24, when things finally started falling into place. I made vows and stepped into the future, full of ideals and naive expectations. Maybe I was ready then. (Apparently not.)

I thought I was more than ready at 26 when everyone else seemed to leave me behind, when suddenly I was the only one in any circle who couldn't join that conversation. In those spring months that were darkness to me, I grieved every day the slow death of a dream.

I think I'm beyond ready now. I don't try to resurrect the dream, all but emptied of hope and tears. Not only my peers, but those I held in my arms as babies themselves, they go on to live my dream. I can't imagine they ever wanted it as much as I did, but I suppose they were deemed ready and I was not. 

If I knew that in Heaven it would finally be revealed
that was never part of Your plan for me,
that it wasn't about readiness at all,
am I ready, Lord, to praise You now anyway?

September 5, 2014

Whisper {Five Minute Friday}

I've been perusing Five Minute Friday posts by other brave writers for quite some time. I've always envied their boldness in pressing that "publish" button after just five minutes, just 300 seconds of typing on an assigned topic. That seems almost an act of brashness to a girl who can spend days perfecting a post before even considering making it public, who hoards five times as much of her writing as she'll ever share.

But I have gained so much from reading the knee-jerk thoughts of others. Their unedited paragraphs have challenged, encouraged, impressed. At last, they have prompted me to take up the challenge and just write. So today I do.

The prompt:

The still, small voice. The one you strain to hear when all the world is yelling. The one you’ll miss if you’re not listening.

The voice that can take a room of noisy children from an uproar to silent curiosity. 

The voice of a mother passing words of affection—or perhaps words of admonition— to the wiggly young girl sitting next to her on the church pew.

The voice of a lover, spoken so close to your ear you can feel the breath, the sound waves.

The voice of God swirling from pages of black and white and red, rising in the quietest of moments when you pause to be still and know, pricking your spirit to smile at that stranger and ask how she is.

More powerful than a shout. More urgent than a scream. More compelling than a text message in all caps.

He whispers, and I only hear it when my soul is quiet. When my soul is at rest, trusting Him.