Five Minute Friday
“There is a bit of every season in each season”
Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Painfully turning over some point in the night, I take a peek at #fmf party, checking for the one word prompt. Expect.
Slowly moving through darkened pre~dawn, I pour coffee, listen as words stream through my mind.
Lines from yesterday’s Morning Write. I heard Emily Freeman once call it Mourning Write. I myself, think of the process as my word dump, neatly penning random words across the page.
“Windows open, birds singing loud in the rain. Lola, guarding from her perch on the bed, me at my desk. Damp earth, spring rain carried by gentle breeze, mingles with lavender. A bright red cardinal greedily feeds on seed left for him.”
I expect story to come easy as I think of the place God intersected my day with sweet communion in an unexpected way. Almost as if story writes itself.
When I show up on the page what spills out, story held greedily in my heart instead.
Surprised, a precious gift of similar, yet different threads weave slowly together. Through a span of barren years, unspoken words, broken hearts, God weaves.
God weaves story in hurting places.
The weaving, a process, will continue ’till I breath my last breath. The process, the weaving, a thing of raw and tender beauty.
I have held it close, tended it as fragile glass. Folded it tightly in my heart.
A bit of season past, mingles with present day, weaving a gift of grace I did not expect.
Gifts of Grace
photo courtesy flicker.com