On friday’s, we write for five short minutes without editing and gussying the page. We spill what rises to the surface and share it, bravely with others, and we encourage. We give virtual high fives and hugs and pats on the back, sometimes, we gather in prayer too, for the broken stories, the wounded stories that sneak out when we weren’t expecting.
This is Five Minute Friday, this is how we roll.
I thought I wanted mountain tops and pillars of grandeur.
Sometimes I do still.
I’ve been feeling the smallness of humility pressed down on me in such a sweet way, I can barely stand it.
I hear the Spirit song drift down over me in the quiet moments of my day–of course, these are few, so I’m learning to listen well.
And this tune, this quiet, low, hum of redemption finds me bent over the laundry, and sweating by the grill in the last heat of the setting summer sun.
The sweetness of Jesus drips in, cool, refreshing droplets, nectar of heaven, sustaining me in the valley of small things, and quieter living.
The mountain tops have their appeal, but it’s cooler here in the valley. The stillness opens my ears and the slow, steady tread through gives my heart time to expand.
I caught myself breathing deeply at the table the other day, before the grace. I experienced the entire breath, from the small start, to the wide expanding of my lungs, to the deliberate, measured release of oxygen. I can’t remember the last time I noticed what breathing actually feels like.
How have I been living?
A lightness fell. The song began again.
He’s singing over me, like it talks about in Zephania.
He is here, in my midst.
I’ve never heard Him this way before. I want you to hear it to, redemption songs–
It’s not a summit song. It’s the tune of the descent. It’s the melody of the dessert, the symphony of manna falling and rocks breaking forth with unexpected water. It’s a celebration song for the lying down. A tune for sinners–it’s the sound of chains breaking–that’s what it is.
It’s freedom. It’s healing. It’s sheep treading unafraid, in the presence of a Lion.
How can I make you hear it?
How can I sing it to you? I don’t even know the words.
I’ve never heard it before this season of small.
But I’m listening. I’m hearing things I’ve never heard before.
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