Five Minute Friday



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.

Join me–



The discarded toys in the yard have a story. A once upon a time I was a favorite kind of story, a once upon a time, I was new and unbroken story.

But things have changed. Time and rain and dirt have rubbed the shine off, and the patina of love looks more like rust and grime.

The cars with their split axles, no longer roll right. Their tires flop through the grass, lopsided, lumpy.

And maybe I feel a bit for them because my story feels a bit broken down too. Creeping into a middle aged season, I’m no longer shiny and new.

I’ve grown a patina of my own, a seasoning of life experiences that have shaped and turned my story inside out from the one I imagined as a child.

It’s not a bad thing, just different, and finding ways to reconcile the differences between expectations and reality can be a challenge, particularly in the rainy seasons, when the mud gathers around my ankles.

Your story maybe looks like mine. But then again, maybe not. Maybe we share moments and memories, but that’s where it ends. We diverge over beliefs and opinions, maybe it’s theology or politics of faith that knot us up–

I don’t know what I thought I knew and so my story changes again. And again.

Words come and go, they drift in and pile up in the corner of my mind, waiting to be untangled and strung out.

I look out at the junk in the yard again. The discarded once-upon-a-time treasured toys, now abandoned and doomed for the trash can.

And I wonder, where will my own story land? And will I be brave enough, honest enough to tell it.

Some days I am certain–yes. On other days, it’s grimy bits deter me from the wide open sharing.

But whether or not I tell you my story, and even if you never tell me yours, I remember God knows. He knows because He’s writing it now. He’s written it already. Somewhere between space and time in the black holes of the universe He has already formed us, in the dirt and mud, He has raised us up and raises us still–

I say this to you, (and maybe mostly to me), tell your story.

Start in the middle. Start in the beginning. Circle around it and hold it out to someone.

It matters.

Bend with me here, in the defunct garden of broken down toys and no-longer-shiny, and lets put our hands in the dirt and say what it is that has brought us to this moment.

Our stories might be more alike than we think–


Sharing this post in community with Lisa-Jo and the Five Minute Friday gang

Five Minute Friday


  1. Ceil

    Hi Kris! Oh, I know that our stories will be the same somewhere. Like knowing that I am not ‘brand new’ either, and carry some rust. But that rust makes us both beautiful and better, and what looks like junk is really shiny gold.

    So nice to meet you today!

  2. Oh, yes, friend – ankle deep in the mud of not quite what we expected or had hoped. The grimy is what we take away with us when we walk away after holding each other’s story – new and shiny doesn’t leave a residue. Happy to get dirty with you anyday my friend.

  3. Kris, this is just so beautiful, so glorious. Thank you for these images. And i just love your closing: “Bend with me here, in the defunct garden of broken down toys and no-longer-shiny, and lets put our hands in the dirt and say what it is that has brought us to this moment. Our stories might be more alike than we think.” Bless you, friend!

  4. Kris, your prayers for inspiration for us all undergirded the inspiration that clearly God blessed you with to write this five minutes. Yes, my story feels a bit pieced together these days- an amalgamation of unexpected parts, people and places. Glad we can share those things. This was pure beauty.

  5. Always enjoy reading your words. I don’t always love my patina, but I’m learning to accept it. Appreciating that even in the mud there is much to learn and see and tell. I think most people prefer the people in the mud to the perfectly coiffed, mint condition varieties anyway. They usually have the most interesting stories.

    Christy @ A Heartening Life

  6. Alia_Joy

    I feel a bit like that as well. Sort of lopsided and lumpy, a bit rusty and crooked. I’m with you, friend, trying to find the beauty in the midst of it all. Indeed, our stories may be more alike than we think.

  7. Mia

    Dear Kris
    Let us not look to far into the future that stays always a few hours ahead of us as if to tease us with its elusitivity. We can only cheris the moments we have now and only those moments, tell a story, even if it is a broken one. But it is our stories and they are precious!
    Blessings XX

  8. Lisha Epperson

    As I dance/dangle into my fifties, the refernce to middle age touches me. neither old or new im in that in-between space where if I look back a little too long all I see is what I’ve been. But my story, our stories are valuable. These stories…wrecked in the living, are redeemed in the telling. So I’ll continue to share and rest knowing the story, isn’t over. Thanks for sharing a little bit of yours.

  9. Tanya M.

    Beautiful words, Kris. It seems so easy to compare ourselves to our broken down “things”, because we, too, may be no longer shiny and no longer new (literally). BUT, I’m thinking it’s pretty amazing that even though we are broken down, we really are shining brightly and made new because of our redemption story that’s already been written. Muddy is the new shiny. 🙂

  10. Sarah Knepper

    “Start in the middle. Start in the beginning. Circle around it and hold it out to someone.” This is where I am at in my story. Sharing it piece by piece until it all comes together to show God’s redeeming love and grace. Thank you for sharing!


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