Five Minute Friday!

I have so missed this!  So glad to be joining the Five Minute Friday crew today!  Today’s word is “together.”  Five minutes.  One Word.  Here goes!

Together

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Mommy, may I have some water?

Mommy, I need to use the potty.

Mommy, what does frog mean?

Mommy, what are you doing?

Mommy?  Mommy?  Mommeeeeeee!  Mommy, I called you!

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I do dearly love those two little girls.  I get to spend my all day everyday with them.  It is a blessing and I know it full well.

When I go about my day doing laundry, or cleaning bathrooms, the cadence of their happy little feet mark time behind me, following diligently from room to room.  They volunteer to help even when there’s not much to do.  They RSVP to be by my side even when there has been no invitation extended.  If I sit, snuggled with a blanket, they take it as an open seat, and snuggle next to me.  They want to hold me.  They want to kiss me.  They want hugs.  They want me.

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And as much as I often want nothing more than a quiet moment to myself, I think to myself that one day, they will need the wisdom, love a listening ear and comfort of a mother.  They will need me, but if satan has his way, they may not want me.  I do not want to spend their little years having them practice being sent away to play or be otherwise engaged while mommy has a moment.  There will be moments I get to myself but for now I will love them. And I will enjoy us being . . . together.

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Five Minute Friday: Welcome

Joining Lisa-Jo and the crew for Five Minute Friday today where we write like mad on a given topic for five minutes.  Today the topic was welcome.  Check out my quick thoughts and then scoot over to her site to see what others laid out for us to ponder!

Mother put a yellow bow on the mailbox.  She sang this little song that I had never heard about a soldier coming home.  It was her sweet, simple way of welcoming us.

Brother and sister came home.  Helped us unpack.  Everyone was ready to work.  We went to dinner that night.  Laughed, ate good, laughed.  It was their sweet, simple way of saying, “welcome.”

Other gestures were made, grand and small by people who love and support us.  There were sad goodbyes and sweet hellos, all of it was to send us off into the harvest to be His laborers.  It was all good and it was all needed but I have learned that although there is a part of me that feels like she needs the affirmation and people support– the grandest welcome mat has already been laid out.  He laid it out in the great commission at the end of Matthew.

And He invites us over and over again to do His work, show His love, be a representation of the kingdom in this world.  It doesn’t take as grand a gesture as the one we have made.  It’s a daily life thing, accepting his invitation into the greatest workforce there is–the work of your life because of the life that was laid down for all of us when we had not sense enough to realize or appreciate it.  He wants us all to feel welcome in his love and follow Him and do the work.  When wondering, “Should I help . . .?” pause and realize that He is always looking for us to do his bidding.  You are welcome.  Roll up them sleeves and take up that cross!  Ain’t nobody mad but the devil.

Five Minute Friday: Graceful

Joining Lisa Jo Baker, aka, The Gypsy Mama for Five Minute Friday today.  Check out my post below and click over to her page for more really cool posts rendered in a five minute dash!

Graceful . . .

When I was a young girl, I took African Dance lessons.  It remains, in my mind, as one of the best times in my life.

I was good.  No, ahem, I was goooooooood, honey!  I had so much grace, freedom, poise, purpose and passion in my movements.  I was the girl with the long brown frame who used her whole body to make each movement beautiful, as if the movement itself was just a part of my natural rhythm and sway.

I continued with the dance troop for years.  Followed it everywhere it went.  Danced downtown at festivals.  Danced in plays.  Danced at Spirit Square.  Made the paper.  Mama still has the clipping.  Me on the front, in the African garb looking all authentic and official.

And then classes were offered right up the street from my house.  It was like I belonged to the dance and the dance belonged to me.  We were meant for each other.  That troop and moving my body like that, it became a release.  It helped me see the beautiful parts about myself and love them, own them, appreciate them.

Then Mama and Daddy divorced.  So many things changed.  Mama didn’t want to live in that house anymore, even though Daddy had long left and the air was freer to breathe in since he took so much of the tension with him.

So we moved.

And I stopped dancing.

I haven’t been able to dance like that ever since.

And believe me I have tried.  ;0)

And even though I sometimes think that all I will ever have are the memories of a time when I was a great dancer, all graceful and sure . . . when I hear the sound of a drum beat, I am reminded that with all the things I lost back then, I never lost my gracefulness.