I link up with The Gypsy Mama on Fridays, where writing solely for the fun of it is the priority:
“On Fridays over here a group of people who love to throw caution to the wind and just write gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real. Your words. This shared feast.”
Today’s topic: RISK
To hold it close then let it all go. To remove the mask and show the real. To stop the game and just play.
It’s hard — living on the edge of the abyss — where the known is secure and the unknown is exciting and ridiculous and a passing vapor of a wish.
Heaviness swirls in penetrating black clouds whispering, “Who are you? There’s so many better, so many more talented. Why you?” And they’re right, those whispers. I am nobody with nothing special to offer. The others have a gift that’s brighter and shinier and deeper. There’s no real reason why me. None that I can think of anyway.
But after years of The Same, the whispers aren’t as powerful as they used to be. The curiosity of What If beckons me from afar like a ferris wheel at the fair. It’s so big that I don’t think I can get on and ride. But the squeals of delight from others who ignored the whispers dance in my ears. The smell of their corn dogs and cotton candy waft in my nose like a song — the music telling of the joy of the ride.
The Ride isn’t about how it begins or how it ends or how long it lasts. It’s about getting on and having fun. It’s about letting go and admiring the view and seeing how small the whispers are from the top. And then, with every pass at the very top, being the one to squeal with delight, writing my own song about the joy of the ride.
I’ve purchased my ticket and am standing in line.
It’s my turn to ride.
“Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays. We write because we love words and the relief it is to just write them without worrying if they’re just right or not. So we take five minutes on Friday and write like we used to finger paint. For joy in the process. No matter how messy the result.”
Today’s topic: LIGHT
I toss for the third time in bed and finally look at the clock. Three am. Why am I awake already? I turn back over and start deep, rhythmic breaths that usually lull me back to sleep. They work this time.
When I open my eyes again, I can see the bluish-gray haze through the blinds, telling me it really is time to get up and start the day. That first morning light…it starts as a blackish-blue, and then a grayish-blue. And then it’s day. The the sun permeates everything reminding me I can never escape its presence.
As I sit here on Good Friday, the concept of light takes on new meaning. My life can at times feel like it’s midnight — dark and black — and my circumstance can feel oppressive. But as I continue to walk in faith and trust and obedience, the sun starts to rise. The black gives way to blackish-blue. I can see silhouettes now. There’s just enough light to make out shapes and see reality.
Then blackish-blue gives way to grayish-blue. I can see colors in the trees and details in the flowers.
And as He fully has control over my circumstance…as I finally relinquish control of my circumstance…it’s suddenly day. I see everything around me in full bloom. And it’s beautiful.
Just as darkness is a natural part of the day, darkness is a natural part of life. But the sun never stops shining. And morning always comes. And with it…joy.
Darkness came to earth all those many years ago. Sin took over and thought it removed the sun completely. But death did not have victory. Because day came on the third morning. In full bloom in all His glory. And He’s never stopped shining. And He brought joy.
And He’s beautiful.