Five(ish) Minute Friday #34 – AGAIN

I link up with Lisa-Jo on Fridays for a writing flash mob…throwing caution to the wind and gathering to share what a few minutes of free writing can buy. 

Today’s topic: AGAIN

GO.

TRUTH-2

I’m tucked away in the corner where my back can be to the wall and I’ve got a great vantage point of the room. Straight ahead of me is a hipster couple in their early 20s enjoying bread bowls and pastries. Just past them are the group of three friends who’ve been laid back in their chairs and laughing in between every sip of their coffee/tea/water, respectively.

Next to them is either a mother/adult daughter or mentor/mentee combination — I’m leaning toward mentor and mentee by how engrossed in conversation they are, and how it seems like quite a deep discussion and the mentee is picking absently at her bread while studying each word that comes out of the other woman’s mouth.

Then I notice how the adult daughter/mentee is wearing tight-fitting yoga pants a cool shirt and I wish I had her body. And one of the girls in the group of friends has amazing bangs and I’m not sure I could ever pull that off. I watch the hipster 20-something eat her pastry and her bread bowl and get annoyed at my apple and low-carb salad because I don’t have her metabolism. I wish I looked as good in a hat as another woman I hadn’t noticed until this very second and then her…a tall brunette walks by tall and poised, and there’s just no way I will ever be that graceful or look so poised.

And there it goes again, the broken record stuck on repeat of self-loathing. The never-enough, always-too-much, quit-pretending number one hit that is so ingrained, so comfortable, so normal to me that it takes at least half an hour of it replaying in my mind for me to even recognize it.

And by then it’s too late.

In that moment the three miles I ran earlier in the day doesn’t matter. The healthy food choices I’ve made for the past month doesn’t matter. The increase in energy and amazing sleep doesn’t matter. All I can focus on is I’m not enough, I’m not doing enough, I’ll never be enough and the cycle repeats again and again and again.

I hate that song. It’s a stupid, redundant, uncreative, overplayed, wore-out, dead wrong, untrue, lie-filled, ear-deafenting tune and I hate it. How did it get to be so popular? I never requested the stupid song, not even one time. And yet is just shows up uninvited and barrels its way into my subconscious and like hypnosis causes me to act and react without my knowledge.

I need strength to break the record in two and throw the pieces over the edge because this? This tango-samba-two-step? It isn’t working anymore. There’s no room for it in my playlist of gratefulness or my playlist of joy or my playlist of goals. It’s outdated and archaic and on vinyl and no one uses that anymore. So in order to drown it out I crank up the song of Enough and it blares through the speakers of Redemption and fills my mind with notes of Beautiful. (<=tweet that)

SONG OF ENOUGH-01

grab this

Because that’s the truth.

STOP.

*I’m pretty sure I went over five minutes. I kept getting super-distracted by amazing people-watching.

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Five Minute Friday #33 – CHERISHED

I link up with Lisa-Jo on Fridays for a writing flash mob…throwing caution to the wind and gathering to share what a few minutes of free writing can buy. 

Today’s topic: CHERISHED

GO.

He used to be fuzzy and bright red but now after three years his fur is matted and the color is dark and even though I wash him regularly, there always seems to be some sort of an odor to him. Paxton can’t go to sleep without him. His name has even changed  — he’s not just Elmo anymore, he’s Better Elmo.

ELMO 1 copy

Oh, be still my heart.

We walk into school and he’s always hesitant at first, saying he wants to go home with me. We hang up his backpack and take off his coat and he greets his other friends and gets excited about playing dinosaurs. “Mommy, look! It’s T-Rex! Rawwrrrrrr!” and before he speeds off I remind him to give Elmo a hug and a kiss and put him down for a nap in the backpack. He cradles him close and kisses his head and lays him down.

ELMO 2

Oh, be still my heart.

I pick him up from school and he bursts forward from the throng of kids with a “Mommy!!!!” loud enough to rattle my heart just enough and he leaps into my arms with the biggest hug his little arms will give. And after a snuggle and a kiss he is as predictable as my mediocre cooking and says, “I want Better Elmo.” And we pull him from his quiet slumber and Paxton squeals with delight and gives him the biggest hug Elmo’s worn out body can handle and plants a huge kiss on his head.

ELMO 3 copy

Oh, be still my heart.

His love is pure and simple and unwavering and his joy is pure when he’s with his Elmo. He doesn’t care how tattered and beaten he gets; when his mouth is ripped open at the seams and he looks a bit like Santa…when the back comes open and the lost stuffing leaves him skinny and emaciated…when he’s covered in leaves and dirt from bringing him with him to play…it just makes him love even more.

Because right there, before my very eyes, is God’s love for me. He has never let me go. He squeals with delight when I’m with him. Even though I’m tattered and beaten and often ripped open at the seams, He doesn’t care. It just makes Him love me more. In fact, He calls me Better, too. (<= tweet that)

Oh, be still my heart.

I joke often that Elmo is going to be hidden in his wife’s bouquet someday when she walks down the aisle, and that she’ll tip her flowers to him just enough to see Better Elmo smiling at him once again, mouth wide and matted fur even darker red than he will have remembered. A reminder to him and to me that cherishing the broken is simply being like Jesus.

STOP.

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