Five Minute Friday #26 – GRASP

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: GRASP


I see the trees turning colors — minute by minute, hour by hour they change and become yellower and orangier and in about a week they’ll be in full glory casting a perpetual sunkissed-glow that feels like it lasts for approximately one minute.

I walked through these trees one day, feeling the warmth of the glow and in front of me one leaf fell. A sweet, yellow leaf gently fell from the half-green, half-yellow tree and billowed softly to the ground without a sound onto the graveyard of leaves lining the road that rustle and float with every passing car.

And I thought about that tree and how it had lost a leaf, a vital part of itself. Was it sad? Did it try to grasp onto that one yellow leaf for dear life, desperate to hold on to something since it had already lost so much? As it finally lost its grip and as the leaf fell did the tree silently cry?

There are days I feel like my leaves are falling everywhere and it’s painful and I’m trying to hold on with everything in me. Leaves of dreams and leaves of wishes and even branches full of habits falling softly and gently to the ground and I stand there with silent tears watching them fall. And I know it has to happen because without it there wouldn’t be the joy of new life and new dreams and new wishes and new habits.

It doesn’t make the pain of losing leaves any easier. But how can I stay mad when the Leaf Maker is the one directing the score? He is the Creator of not just the leaves but of the tree too, and His ways just aren’t mine.

So I watch that tree and I see her precious leaf fall with barely a whisper. And I whisper to her, “I know, me too.”  And as I walk away I look to the sky and see a hawk flying high above, alone in the sky. And I stand and watch him fly sweeping circles getting higher and higher, and realize that in the three solid minutes I stood there, that hawk only flapped its wings once. It soared effortlessly the entire time riding on the currents of the wind, climbing and climbing. And I realize I can’t climb while weighed down with unnecessary leaves. I can’t soar when my wings are continually flapping — desperate to do it on my own. Instead, I have to let go what I wasn’t meant to carry and let the currents of His wind carry me.

I have to grasp the Leaf Maker, not the leaf.


Partaking (Thanksday #80)

I was out running early this morning, while the dew was still on the ground. And I thought more about how the manna fell with the dew in the night (Numbers 11:9). And I thought about how the dew leaves everything so wet and hydrates the grass and the plants and the flowers, and how the manna fell with the dew.

Isn’t just like to God to send daily bread with water? Throughout scripture it’s always the bread and the water, the bread and the water, the bread and the water. Physically we can’t survive on just bread and we can’t survive on just water — it’s a balance of the two. Always. And spiritually it’s the same thing. We daily have to get our daily bread — the word — and drink the living water — Jesus.

Always. Both. Together.

Eat this bread, for it is My body, broken for you. Drink this blood, for it was shed for the forgiveness of your sins.

Always. Both. Together.

And so when the dew fell upon the camp in the night, the manna fell with it.

Always. Both. Together.

Bread and water — the two most basic needs for our survival as humans, and the two most basic needs for survival as Christians on this earth.

 “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” – Jesus

Always. Both. Together.

The Bread was pierced in His side and at once came out blood and water.




I’m thankful for this today.

What are you thankful for this week?

Running (Thanksday #79)

The breakfasts were ready and the lunches were packed and the backpacks sat by the front door ready to go. I kissed little heads goodbye and kissed the scruffy cheek goodbye and left to gather up my manna for today and run.

The weather was crisp and breeze was cool and the leaves have already started turning colors a little bit here in the mountains. And I jogged along, my breathing shallow and loud and I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. No music, no distractions. I didn’t look even once at my phone to see what my pace was or what time it was or how much distance I had covered. For the first time, I decided to just enjoy it. And I discovered that the birds chirp louder before 10 am and the cicadas are still here singing their songs and the dew stays wet longer on the left side of this particular road and if someone were to hear me run they’d worry I’m about to collapse. And there was some blue sky and some gray clouds and I noticed too that the leaves that have started changing color are brightest against the gray sky, not the blue.

And that’s what I made out of my manna today: It’s the backdrop of gray and rain and discouragement and disappointment that makes the colors of our true character shine the brightest, not the sunny days when everything looks wonderful.

What I love most about running isn’t the actual exercise but everything else that goes with it. The time totally alone and to myself and the fresh air and the sunshine. With each pounding step I take, my thoughts shake to the surface of my brain and escape into the air, and the ridiculous and mundane thoughts get skimmed off and the good stuff sticks around and takes root. The stuff God shows me and the stuff I learn about myself and the stuff I see in His creation — that’s the stuff that sticks.

Today marked three weeks of starting running again, and while I’m so very, very far from the half-marathon training runs I used to do, I noticed the past few runs have been smoother. I’m getting stronger and a little bit faster and I’m running more than I’m walking. And today was the first time I got to the top of the big hill and didn’t have to stop to catch my breath…I was able to just keep moving on. And for the past few runs, it’s actually felt really, really good to run and I’ve felt like I could go on forever. That’s what I like to call “progress.”

I’m thankful for legs that are strong enough to carry me for two-mile runs. I’m thankful for a husband who’s willing and supportive and does what he can to make it possible for me to pursue the things that excite me, like running. I’m thankful to live in a gorgeous part of the country where it looks and feels like fall in the fall, and that each week I get to see the progression of the season a little more at a time, up close and personal. And I’m thankful that God speaks to me when I’m there.

What are you thankful for this week?