tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38347494872106836642024-03-05T12:16:52.471-05:00Striking Reposepursuing purpose. finding peace.Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-26531794204906505662016-01-14T19:53:00.000-05:002016-01-14T19:53:31.556-05:00New Blog Location<span style="font-size: large;">If you're following my blog on a feed reader or have it bookmarked, please update the URL to <a href="http://marissacthompson.blogspot.com/">http://marissacthompson.blogspot.com. </a>If you're viewing the blog directly in a browser you should be redirected there in a moment.<br />Or you can <a href="http://marissacthompson.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">click here</a> to be forwarded. Thanks! </span><br />
<div>
</div>
Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-74868632744417940152015-07-17T19:29:00.000-04:002015-07-17T19:48:38.743-04:00Dear Aria<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMq6pKmon_QX8voZo1RmyK_QV9RkgOQdlJ9jliWVo6TDQf4c25N0Xb6DXYvw8dSX3NlP1LOpROMdLFfCFvc_VbTbVnYXvED1m3SFJr1touqawMQoic9xoid7Z5ZsErvUascAcAWTq8R-g/s1600/IMG_7916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMq6pKmon_QX8voZo1RmyK_QV9RkgOQdlJ9jliWVo6TDQf4c25N0Xb6DXYvw8dSX3NlP1LOpROMdLFfCFvc_VbTbVnYXvED1m3SFJr1touqawMQoic9xoid7Z5ZsErvUascAcAWTq8R-g/s320/IMG_7916.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Dear Aria, <br />
<br />
Now we wait just eight more weeks or so until we meet you. They seem like everlasting weeks when I think of how much I want to scoop you up into my arms. I know you are safest and happiest where you are now, but I’m feeling impatient to look into your eyes, kiss your tiny nose, caress the smooth underside of two little feet that have been nudging me so steadily. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, though, I think about the future and already wish that whenever you feel sad, I could tuck you back into a hidden place, safe, warm, and very close to me. Out here in the big world, things can be lonely and scary and confusing. But there is so much love and joy and peace waiting for you, too.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
You will find a mama and daddy who love you immensely. You will learn that, as deep as our love is for you, we loved each other first, before you joined us. You will hear the story of how God put the two of us together. By God's grace, you will never doubt that we will keep loving each other long after you’ve moved on. You can expect that in our home, we speak with kindness. We listen with compassion. We feel secure knowing that rifts are always short-lived; because we apologize, and we forgive. We find happiness by serving one another. We’d rather be together than apart, and we like being together at home. We value living simply and slowly. We love God in a way that shapes the words we speak, the songs we sing, the books we read.<br />
<br />
Last night your Daddy read your first book to you, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0745917437/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0745917437&linkCode=as2&tag=strikrepos-20&linkId=5ZKZTBJB2WZ43ZXY" target="_blank">The Tale of Three Trees</a></i>. I think you liked the ending, because you pumped your fists when each of the trees found their place in Jesus’ story. That is what we hope for you—that you grow up to treasure Jesus, to be used by Him, and to point others to Him. <br />
<br />
His love for you is even bigger than ours. We'll tell you all about it, I promise. For now, just know you are being welcomed into <i>so much</i> love.<br />
<br />
See you soon,<br />
<br />
Mama<br />
<br />Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-21517353339820697972015-02-27T13:00:00.000-05:002015-03-16T12:02:42.438-04:00My Moriah <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Il8-EYZaAS02LQ12KABXssB4JjDX_GBMxFNSouTEZN23s_R7gL-M6NjtJyFM8H1Ar7aaJ9nTh3R667KYpaLRLlC8oS3mi7M9Eno8FF3OsbGaWKSj2QtUMSfih-Ag6LcNLTm_467zIjQ/s1600/myMoriah.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Il8-EYZaAS02LQ12KABXssB4JjDX_GBMxFNSouTEZN23s_R7gL-M6NjtJyFM8H1Ar7aaJ9nTh3R667KYpaLRLlC8oS3mi7M9Eno8FF3OsbGaWKSj2QtUMSfih-Ag6LcNLTm_467zIjQ/s1600/myMoriah.png" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I have always wanted to be a mother. My answer to "What do you want to be when you grow up?" has forever been that I want to nurture my own children, to teach them, to love them, to point them to Christ. I assumed I would get married straight out of high school and become a mother right away, hoping my life story would mimic so many mothers I admire. From the time I was six years old, I practiced mothering on whatever younger sibling or niece or nephew came along every few years. Through all of high school and college, I worked in daycares, in schools, and as a nanny, to get even more experience. I took college courses in early childhood and elementary education, attempting to be as well-prepared as possible to home educate my children.<br />
<br />
Ten years after high school graduation, my life story was far behind the timeline I had imagined.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
For a long while, I have known what I held dearer than life, what at times replaced God as my source of hope. Every sermon on idols pierced my heart because I knew the words were for me. Every song about Christ's being enough was unsingable because I knew the lyrics were not true of me. The movie <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000KLQUS0/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000KLQUS0&linkCode=as2&tag=strikrepos-20&linkId=YYKS4RBZQBSVFZEH" target="_blank">Facing the Giants</a></i> made me uncomfortable because of a single line in the script: “If the Lord never gives us children, will you still love Him?” If that question had been asked of me, I don’t know how I would have answered.<br />
<br />
I have been drawn again and again to the account<sup>1 </sup>of God’s command for Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the child Abraham had waited a century for. Even as He voiced the order, God emphasized that Isaac was the son Abraham <i>loved. </i>The Hebrew word translated "love" in Genesis 22:2 means "to desire, to breathe after."<sup>2</sup> God was asking Abraham to climb Mount Moriah, tie down the son he had desired with every breath, and kill him as an act of obedience. <i>What kind of God requires the death of a dream?</i> I would wonder. And the answer would come quietly: <i>One who deserves no competition for my affection. </i><br />
<br />
The ideal of motherhood had become my Isaac, my breathed-after desire yet unfulfilled.<br />
<br />
Over the past four years, I have trudged half-way up Moriah so many times. The best intentions at the foot of the mountain dissolved when the altar site came into view. Oh, but I have made attempts. I begged God to take away the longing for motherhood. I burned journals full of my written aspirations and hid my early childhood education books out of sight and out of mind. I immersed myself in work, hoping to be distracted, hoping to acquire a different dream.<br />
<br />
Only recently did I make it to the top of the mountain. It took a months-long trek through the Word and prayer and angry runs in the orchard where I had tearful talks with God that ended in surrender. But God led me up that hill to a <i>knowing</i>—even if He never gave me children, I would still love Him. <i>He</i> is what I desire with every breath.<br />
<br />
So on December 6, 2014, I wrote in my journal:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>This is my Moriah.<br />
This is where I lay the dream down.<br />
Will You still the hand or take the life?<br />
I will not know until I raise the knife. </i></blockquote>
<br />
10 days later, I conceived.<br />
23 days later, I held two positive pregnancy tests in hands trembling with disbelief.<br />
52 days later, my husband and I first heard our baby’s heartbeat, a beautiful rhythm at 144 beats per minute.<br />
<br />
Today I give thanks for twelve weeks of motherhood—twelve weeks and counting.<br />
<br />
I hold this stewardship loosely even while I treasure it, for now I have been to the top of Moriah. The desire for motherhood is still alive, but is no longer what I live for.<br />
<br />
Though my dream may have come back down the mountain with me, this Isaac is no less <i>God’s</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">1. <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+22" target="_blank">Genesis 22</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">2. <i><a href="http://www.blueletterbible.org/lang/lexicon/Lexicon.cfm?Strongs=H157&t=KJV" target="_blank">Gesenius' Hebrew-Chaldee Lexicon</a></i></span>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-91176473079246529042014-11-25T22:01:00.000-05:002014-11-25T22:01:04.664-05:00Five Lessons from the 31-Day Challenge <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGe7B9yQrbN9ZciROu3ENztfRuumKntEGMov9BImNWYQOKshdjmO3BmY_CKwUWGIePCrfUbKXUEPuUg7mhPApW5qXB-zy5soOUPtaX5GBs_n4YUMYz1LqgkhW0AqZAO5rT3wCibTYcZg/s1600/IMG_5932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGe7B9yQrbN9ZciROu3ENztfRuumKntEGMov9BImNWYQOKshdjmO3BmY_CKwUWGIePCrfUbKXUEPuUg7mhPApW5qXB-zy5soOUPtaX5GBs_n4YUMYz1LqgkhW0AqZAO5rT3wCibTYcZg/s1600/IMG_5932.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Last month I <a href="http://strikingrepose.blogspot.com/search/label/31%20Days%20of%20Five-Minute%20Free%20Writes" target="_blank">took up the challenge</a> to write a five-minute blog post every day of October. My favorite days from that exercise were the prompts <a href="http://strikingrepose.blogspot.com/2014/10/view.html" target="_blank">View</a>, <a href="http://strikingrepose.blogspot.com/2014/10/say.html" target="_blank">Say</a>, <a href="http://strikingrepose.blogspot.com/2014/10/life.html" target="_blank">Life</a>, and <a href="http://strikingrepose.blogspot.com/2014/10/visit-31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes.html" target="_blank">Visit</a>.<br /><br />
Overall, working through the challenge taught me:<br /><br />
1. A blog post doesn’t have to be lengthy to be meaningful.<br /><br />2. Putting thoughts into written words doesn’t have to take long. However...<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />3. Editing is crucial. For me, it’s the most delightful part of writing. It’s what distinguishes the craft of writing from just journaling. The writing process loses a great deal of its joy when I rush the editing. So it follows that…<br /><br />4. Writing every day is a must for me, but posting every day is not. Writing is how I process; for that, I keep a journal. But as much as I desire to share more freely, I also yearn for both the process and the result of <i>the craft of writing</i>. A well-crafted post takes time. I'm happiest with writing when I can explain to you exactly why I chose each particular word I selected. Because this blog is a passion project, and because it is not a journal of life events, I have the luxury of ruminating and refining before I publish. So most of the time, I will do just that.<br /><br />5. Sometimes stress is a choice. I missed several days of the challenge because I was out-of-town without my computer, then catching up on a heavy workload afterwards, then sick. I learned that it was possible to <i>choose</i> not to stress over the missed days.<br /><br /><br />
The past few months have been intense. They have been calendar-full and heart-full. They’ve been months of exploring and experimenting, questioning and re-examining, dreaming for the first time in a very long while. Other than those October posts, my written and spoken words have been few. I feel that like Mary, I’ve been pondering things and tucking them away in my heart. Perhaps a day will come when some of those ponderings, fussed over and endlessly edited, will find their place among others on this blog.Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-41247458464072357832014-10-28T22:25:00.000-04:002014-10-29T22:35:41.512-04:00Wake {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wxP9VkDv8G1gFxpd0Z_8z5bRSnkkZex9SDeUG0A-8le5oUiEErPU7WoUlyIiMZxgKkRMTWWDiOMVqKTrLdpJ6pvPvrFBi8EZWCKbW9gE-SenCfMpTu1K4HTvRiDtJJ7CaHdiCYzNb94/s1600/10489758_1436845186577527_482858777271629674_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wxP9VkDv8G1gFxpd0Z_8z5bRSnkkZex9SDeUG0A-8le5oUiEErPU7WoUlyIiMZxgKkRMTWWDiOMVqKTrLdpJ6pvPvrFBi8EZWCKbW9gE-SenCfMpTu1K4HTvRiDtJJ7CaHdiCYzNb94/s1600/10489758_1436845186577527_482858777271629674_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
"You live your life like a tornado; destruction follows everywhere you go." <br />
<br />
For me, those Sara Groves lyrics bring to mind very specific people and situations. Do you know any of those tornado folks—the ones who seem to spin out of control with no concern for who is affected, who is reeling in devastation from their actions, lack of action, words?<br />
<br />
Every one of those stormy individuals leaves behind a wake of hurting people, who must pick up the debris of a chaos they didn't cause and attempt to go on with life. I have not had such a person very close to me; I have not personally been left in the wake. But the song goes on to say, "It hurts when you hit at the hearts of the ones I love." And it does.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I hurt for the abandoned wife, the left behind children, the verbally abused, the financially taken advantage of, the brainwashed, the emotionally wounded. I hurt for them and feel angry at their storm and helpless to do anything about it. It's a vulnerable, powerless feeling.<br />
<br />
But I do the one thing I can. <br />
<br />
I pray for those left in the wake, for God can both calm the storm and rebuild the ruins.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ltYy5oJLy9Q" width="560"></iframe><br />
</center>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-26705612115531770232014-10-27T22:06:00.000-04:002014-10-30T12:13:19.160-04:00Free {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2SuDlAo1h0oFw9QmwSJf9b6ifydbBgFvJWEhtbCTbAQnju-QdX0_38w1tBZ7zWhw4KHLs0_w2dg0eBmt3Z4Cu7ZJCvmwvdYgOLITw1ynC840dxgg54g9_HjwWGXyg-WjdinhxPkybVY/s1600/2013-11-23+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2SuDlAo1h0oFw9QmwSJf9b6ifydbBgFvJWEhtbCTbAQnju-QdX0_38w1tBZ7zWhw4KHLs0_w2dg0eBmt3Z4Cu7ZJCvmwvdYgOLITw1ynC840dxgg54g9_HjwWGXyg-WjdinhxPkybVY/s1600/2013-11-23+12.jpg" height="316" width="320" /></a></div>
Maybe it’s because I’ve not been feeling well this week. Maybe my thoughts are with dear family members in tough situations. Maybe it’s because I’m reading a novel about the Underground Railroad.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, when I think “free,” I think of Heaven.<br />
<br />
I imagine the crippled diabetic leaving behind her wheelchair, the blind beggar seeing gold-paved streets, the Parkinson’s patient sitting calm and still and steady at Jesus’ feet. I can see the bullied, the neglected, the ostracized, the enslaved, those labels all melting away in the welcome of Heaven. I think of myself no longer struggling against this selfish flesh, nothing restraining me from living out Christ’s character.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I don’t picture the red, white, and blue waving over verdant spaces in fresh air. It isn’t soldiers and grand battles that come to mind. I don’t hear patriotic tunes. <br />
<br />
I hear Negro spirituals.<br />
<br />
I think those antebellum lyricists were onto something when they sang of Heavenly freedom. They, of all people, could’ve written volumes about desiring earthly independence. They could have sung of physical release from shackles, of escape to geography-based liberty. But theirs is a legacy of longing for the true freedom no one could remove them from.<br />
<br />
An eternal free. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-8444667026379016952014-10-26T22:51:00.000-04:002014-11-25T22:09:00.339-05:00Visit {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUm11j6J5Gomx8hLJDXlbS5rHW1LL9IF7g1OTg_v5fkIU__GZDtDUUgo-_D73_OqBEAPCss5rBbGk2Gp3dEdQ5Oys6bbEar-nJqCOMTU8KxLihIpSbpIM3GuWElou9Zl2QMzjoJQqp8Y/s1600/IMG_0827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyUm11j6J5Gomx8hLJDXlbS5rHW1LL9IF7g1OTg_v5fkIU__GZDtDUUgo-_D73_OqBEAPCss5rBbGk2Gp3dEdQ5Oys6bbEar-nJqCOMTU8KxLihIpSbpIM3GuWElou9Zl2QMzjoJQqp8Y/s1600/IMG_0827.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
In the hot, sticky days before school began again, the children fussed—the tiny angelic one, the two elementary-aged siblings, the teenager. And I, aunt and sister to them, fussed too, though I was in the early years of my twenties. We were restless, tired of each other, outraged at the smallest inconveniences and ready to argue for any cause. The strangling heat forced us to stay indoors in one another’s company. And so the bickering went on. It went on until I could bear it no more.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>With no plan but an exasperated desire to interrupt the arguing, if only for a little while, I ordered everyone outdoors. My mind raced for ideas even as I directed them into the Missymobile (my old faithful car had been dubbed this by neighborhood kids) and told them to buckle their seatbelts, fastening in the toddler's bulky child seat.<br />
<br />
I drove and drove; we rode and rode. Irritated but compliant children stared out the windows in begrudging silence. We found ourselves on dirt and paved roads that stretched out eternally, rippling in the heat. They seemed to lead nowhere. Behind the wheel, I myself didn’t know where we were going until we were almost there. <br />
<br />
Far out in the country, past fields of crops, down a snaking, sandy road, we pulled into the grass driveway of a widow from our church congregation. “We’re here for a visit,” I told the carfull. On seeing the surprising troop of all ages that appeared on her doorstep, the older lady seemed delighted. We greeted her awkwardly. She ushered us in and sat us down at her kitchen table before we knew what was happening. Debbie Cakes and orange sodas sprang up before us faster than we could politely consume them.<br />
<br />
I don’t remember what we talked about around that table. We weren’t there long before we piled back into the Missymobile with a more amiable quiet between us. All I know is that in a warm little kitchen on a miserable day, a visit with a hospitable older lady offered perspective, pulled us outside of our own troubles, and reconnected five selfish children with each other and the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-34738679085506756342014-10-25T17:41:00.000-04:002014-10-25T17:41:38.916-04:00Enjoy {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIKaHQpbo7Qdf9esD870MsM8P3Ry86rvUExeovXTAcvTRa_O32Q4UO_9fg0K-jU5pyaVdEr8JB1OWPIHt7vdBH20qld_K-LeX15VZTXMREGgk4Bqz1e5m8DxClKwaeTE5EHH-rxd2LTY/s1600/IMG_6152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIKaHQpbo7Qdf9esD870MsM8P3Ry86rvUExeovXTAcvTRa_O32Q4UO_9fg0K-jU5pyaVdEr8JB1OWPIHt7vdBH20qld_K-LeX15VZTXMREGgk4Bqz1e5m8DxClKwaeTE5EHH-rxd2LTY/s1600/IMG_6152.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
"Enjoy."<br />
<br />
I place the word on my tongue like candy, and as it melts I catch flavors of<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Stealing a nap on a Sunday afternoon </i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Laughing with my sister </i> </blockquote>
<i>Walking through the orchard in horizontal sunlight</i> <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Cuddling in blankets on the couch with Steven, nibbling dark chocolate </i><br />
<a name='more'></a></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Claiming a rocking chair on the front porch during a thunderstorm </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Journaling in the old white swing under the pecan boughs </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Feeling like I’ve genuinely connected with a student </i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Listening to a captivating audiobook while cleaning the kitchen</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Relishing a hot bath while my husband’s beautiful guitar or piano music fills the house </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Sipping black coffee and reading <a href="http://www.esvbible.org/devotions/daily-light/" target="_blank">Daily Light on the Daily Path</a> in crisp rays of sunrise</i></blockquote>
<br />
What does "enjoy" taste like for you?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-80705151685697208462014-10-23T21:06:00.001-04:002014-10-23T21:18:36.285-04:00Look {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-h299czr_pHXxtuZV0FpieYQ8TSzGK6Ur5UQ7t-PjXWXDThrbh74112DK_7u9vTxvEj0M_kufojzQlkkOZnSZ6Zx1txUWAlvl00lnwAsvFDcoEtzqDGzHl_nwGCNZ1OVjnol3ejIX0sw/s1600/IMG_5009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-h299czr_pHXxtuZV0FpieYQ8TSzGK6Ur5UQ7t-PjXWXDThrbh74112DK_7u9vTxvEj0M_kufojzQlkkOZnSZ6Zx1txUWAlvl00lnwAsvFDcoEtzqDGzHl_nwGCNZ1OVjnol3ejIX0sw/s1600/IMG_5009.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Nearing the pecan orchard on a hazy summer afternoon, you may see a tangle of knee-deep weeds reaching lazily up from the ground. But if you look, really <i>look</i>, the scene is a carpet of miniature blossoms—delicate purple star-shaped blooms, pinky-sized roses, lemon-tinted florets as small as sand gnats.<br />
<br />
Maybe you notice movement above, in the branches. But look, truly <i>look</i>. Before you even turned in his direction, the red-tailed hawk lifted majestic wings and launched a graceful glide to the neighboring property. <br />
<a name='more'></a>He swept soundlessly to a new vantage point where he watches you. Also inspecting you are smoke-colored squirrels, who somehow always skitter to the opposite side of the tree trunks just before your eyes can focus on them. The smear of blue in your peripheral vision was an Eastern bluebird whose nest rests feet away. A mockingbird perches on the fence wire, scanning the ground for activity. She will swoop in and snatch up the beetle wriggling right where you’re about to step, and you’ll miss the whole affair unless you slow and <i>look</i>.<br />
<br />
Look up further, patiently <i>look</i>, and see that the cottony clouds you think are white actually glow with yellow and lavender and peeks of silver.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-42466515245628743122014-10-22T21:16:00.000-04:002014-10-22T21:16:01.366-04:00Expect {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglR5BmfJV9SElXKUnDY4UvtGQClycjrAiYZOpWtZ5cb5VG3gKF28UHUC08fVcMOrriZ9wm3xrgiW0KpLEK6bTIrGlYd1RaWDOm5Nup6GIyGhOlkBu2nSeA3F0HCEEbw4WH2sMlIwSSb1U/s1600/IMG_5284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglR5BmfJV9SElXKUnDY4UvtGQClycjrAiYZOpWtZ5cb5VG3gKF28UHUC08fVcMOrriZ9wm3xrgiW0KpLEK6bTIrGlYd1RaWDOm5Nup6GIyGhOlkBu2nSeA3F0HCEEbw4WH2sMlIwSSb1U/s1600/IMG_5284.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
When will I learn that I can expect God to hear me? That I can expect Him to answer, to interject Himself into this story in a big way? Why do I hold myself back from expecting, believing He will do what He has promised?<br />
<br />
Do I think I must protect myself from being disappointed by Him? Do I harden my heart out of fear, worry that I won't be able to handle it if He doesn't respond? Perhaps I'm simply tired of expecting, exhausted by the hard work of hope?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<i>Lord, <a href="http://biblehub.com/niv/romans/8.htm" target="_blank">along with all of creation</a>, let me dare to expect great things. Let me "come with expectation, waiting here for You." </i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>You've always delivered in Your time.<br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <br />
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/J3OEGnH5x8g" width="560"></iframe></center>
<center>
<br />
</center>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-29409979485995989152014-10-20T20:32:00.000-04:002014-10-20T20:32:41.372-04:00Fear [Not] {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOksoTOAftc8gOroriYGJly1x76yz9NRgnep0VJdEJlml82akj2IG-hecFQNBWdWBNF5A-E_yKugy9A53rNM0GQA4im1-a-MEqE5k75P52SF6wKvchrlfQNrJUkJT_GKYNdUsA6T1DwY/s1600/IMG_4008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOksoTOAftc8gOroriYGJly1x76yz9NRgnep0VJdEJlml82akj2IG-hecFQNBWdWBNF5A-E_yKugy9A53rNM0GQA4im1-a-MEqE5k75P52SF6wKvchrlfQNrJUkJT_GKYNdUsA6T1DwY/s1600/IMG_4008.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
What if there’s a natural disaster?<br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Fear not.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if my house catches fire while I’m away? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I’m assaulted, robbed, kidnapped, shot? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if someone breaks into my home in the middle of the night?<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if that family member never changes? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if the government does what I dread most? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if that most despised candidate is elected for office?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I lose my job?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if people don’t like me? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I catch Ebola?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I have cancer?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I die in a painful way?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if my parents get Alzheimer’s? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What If my husband dies?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if my children grow up to hate me?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if my deepest longings go unfulfilled?<o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Fear not.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I end up alone?<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Fear not, for I am with you;</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">be not dismayed, for I am your God;</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I will strengthen you, I will help you,</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i> <span style="font-size: large;">Isaiah 41:10</span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-42959450722345466832014-10-15T14:12:00.000-04:002014-10-15T14:25:29.805-04:00Life {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGk9VZoJwir7QRxboED_S1Tk-KJ9VhAV3CaOpwAE_Uw1dvndItBkW1kEmhciFpmEK_GE2WPfZP1JdQa7wjpgpoJh3oCAfJCagiELOQspWTVchyphenhyphenTXzFv85x2Pb3q929J-tX1tbX8SUAXs/s1600/10-15-2014+01;48;14PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGk9VZoJwir7QRxboED_S1Tk-KJ9VhAV3CaOpwAE_Uw1dvndItBkW1kEmhciFpmEK_GE2WPfZP1JdQa7wjpgpoJh3oCAfJCagiELOQspWTVchyphenhyphenTXzFv85x2Pb3q929J-tX1tbX8SUAXs/s1600/10-15-2014+01;48;14PM.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
On a May evening when I was twelve years old, a phone call prompted my parents to usher my younger sister and me out the door for a two-hour drive. My older sister was at full term expecting her second child, and had gone to the hospital in labor. We arrived there, too, and we waited. I went in to talk with my sister as she lay in the hospital bed. I went out to the waiting room again. More family arrived. More waiting. I think I slept. <br />
<br />
At last, a door opened and a thrill came over the family-filled room; the baby was here! Yet more waiting followed that news. I waited while nurses performed various standard checks and procedures. I waited while the grandparents held her. I waited while other relatives older than me held her. It felt like I waited while everybody else in the whole world held that little one.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Finally it was my turn.<br />
<br />
Though I was young, this should’ve been routine. In the six years leading up to that day, I’d been at the hospital for the births of a younger sister, three nieces, and a nephew. This time, though, exhaustion or maturity caught up with me.<br />
<br />
As I marveled at baby Lily’s feathery eyelashes and cuddled her warm, impossibly light frame, awareness flooded me. Here was a being who didn’t exist just nine months before. This was not merely a fragile tiny body, but an everlasting soul. In my arms I held eighty or ninety or one hundred years of potential.<br />
<br />
Down the face of a preadolescent aunt who rarely cried, tears spilled without reserve because of the beauty and gravity of life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-76982960733589842802014-10-14T20:43:00.001-04:002014-10-14T20:50:39.481-04:00Away {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtErQ18sivQo5CYovpT6B0gRIffBfyo1eIMOeVcIp94BaKMXL-tlpWwEM8JH13wsxgWpOfDR86b30AUPK-JClD4wCMi9tHLpqr3VNo-ihlyjbWCKtfv5JuJxGumqBEED3I0pUBHL_58do/s1600/IMG_5061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtErQ18sivQo5CYovpT6B0gRIffBfyo1eIMOeVcIp94BaKMXL-tlpWwEM8JH13wsxgWpOfDR86b30AUPK-JClD4wCMi9tHLpqr3VNo-ihlyjbWCKtfv5JuJxGumqBEED3I0pUBHL_58do/s1600/IMG_5061.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>Two of my greatest desires in this life are for purpose and peace.<br />
<br />
While there is magnificent purpose in living in the <i>imago Dei</i>, there are earthly obstacles. There’s friction along the path of glorifying God and enjoying Him. I feel I will never be able to do so wholeheartedly, with no reservations, no hesitations, until I’m somewhere else. Somewhere Other. <br />
<br />
Somewhere <i>Away</i>. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
While there is great peace in Christ, I don’t walk in that peace in every single moment. I forget Who He is, I lose that peace, and I need to be reminded again. Even in my most peaceful moments, potential anxieties tug at the back corners of my mind. I don’t think I’ll ever fully realize the peace I long for while I’m flesh-bound. I wasn't meant to find it here.<br />
<br />
I’ll find it somewhere else. <i>Away</i>. <br />
<br />
In <i>Mere Christianity</i>, C.S. Lewis had something to say about the <i>Away</i> I long for. <br />
<br />
“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-34430114337489198992014-10-13T23:09:00.001-04:002014-10-13T23:11:08.660-04:00Work {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kIfUneRqPsTSTVtw-BN9GYR5ECfo0kXAzpDAwK-8RwFkQBze2gnERpP7YY0fesKbASmjIeECdgEXWCnLZmDkkKfjbBJXa-dgHMhg5RwC8900i3DZ8JlxJAF3LcIvj4BIW6H7Cl2QIOY/s1600/100_4901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kIfUneRqPsTSTVtw-BN9GYR5ECfo0kXAzpDAwK-8RwFkQBze2gnERpP7YY0fesKbASmjIeECdgEXWCnLZmDkkKfjbBJXa-dgHMhg5RwC8900i3DZ8JlxJAF3LcIvj4BIW6H7Cl2QIOY/s1600/100_4901.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I love to learn of people’s childhood aspirations, what they wanted to be when they grew up. Always, always I wanted to be a mom. But there were other pursuits that appealed to me, too.<br />
<br />
I wanted to write from the moment I first held a crayon in my chubby little hand. I penned boxes and boxes of homemade books, written and illustrated at four and six and eight and on and on. The illustration tapered off in middle school. But the writing continued, now on journal pages and floppy disks and flash drives stashed away. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Not to the exclusion of writing, I also wanted to be a storm chaser. I distinctly recall standing just inside the glass back door of my childhood home, watching my dad walk around the backyard during a lightning storm. He was completely unafraid, and I remember deciding at that moment that I wasn’t scared of weather either. To this day, in thunderstorms, you’ll find me on the front porch watching the action.<br />
<br />
There was a brief astronaut phase, thanks to watching “Space Camp” with my cousin. The desire faded when I realized how much math would be involved in the college education of an astronaut. I still love to gaze upwards on a starry night, though, or to lie in the grass in the wee morning hours for a meteor shower.<br />
<br />
When you were a child, what did you want your grownup work to be? <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-82234569251077836212014-10-12T23:59:00.000-04:002014-10-12T23:59:00.071-04:00Rest {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_SqYpydnPAPNaQCXBx2tKFkPiYmfPZnx7nyyqQtxot-rww7z95f8byhc_VbmxjhVcKSrpOcLC2W1XpMLA7ADoSW01a4hzF-zWudPbENgIt88YU1yJCMjHk75U_E0gsbhALbEeVAw9ME/s1600/IMG_0887%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_SqYpydnPAPNaQCXBx2tKFkPiYmfPZnx7nyyqQtxot-rww7z95f8byhc_VbmxjhVcKSrpOcLC2W1XpMLA7ADoSW01a4hzF-zWudPbENgIt88YU1yJCMjHk75U_E0gsbhALbEeVAw9ME/s1600/IMG_0887%5B1%5D.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
Scripture abounds with rest. Have you noticed that? <br />
<br />
Yes, there are admonitions to work hard, to worship, to fight the good fight. There are also words about rest.<br />
<br />
This theme has been cropping up in my Bible study. Finding rest in God is a motif repeated in the Old and New Testaments. It’s beautiful. I still have delving to do as I study the topic, but I've made a few observations about resting in God.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Resting in Him isn’t napping while the world deteriorates around you. It isn’t burying your head in the sand and ignoring the work that must be done. <br />
<br />
It’s a state of the heart that is attainable in quiet reprieve or the buzz of commotion.<br />
<br />
It’s the sense of peace I find when my mind stops racing to figure things out, because I trust that He’s got the solution. I don’t stop seeking Him for the answer, but I can seek calmly because I know He has it. <br />
<br />
It’s when I no longer feel suffocated by the impossible burden of striving to please God, because Christ has done that for me. I still live for His glory, but I find repose in the certainty that Jesus <i>will</i> complete the sanctification process He started in me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-48101886332721952612014-10-11T20:40:00.000-04:002014-10-12T20:49:10.474-04:00Teach {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIm-XMYouPIqlf4tspZDbAOFxOydHPJ6BsmRuLW6Mgr5DTTyPgHJIAMXE6wGAuAIBbMM83e32SFTdlpc-23qCdvvI-Juk44TQQUkrMDCxbWhZer8wVdreLp-8YMNVGJT85We8O6MjCZzk/s1600/IMG_0993%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIm-XMYouPIqlf4tspZDbAOFxOydHPJ6BsmRuLW6Mgr5DTTyPgHJIAMXE6wGAuAIBbMM83e32SFTdlpc-23qCdvvI-Juk44TQQUkrMDCxbWhZer8wVdreLp-8YMNVGJT85We8O6MjCZzk/s1600/IMG_0993%5B1%5D.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I had an extraordinary experience with being homeschooled. My parents poured out teaching day after day for twelve years and beyond. In the second half of my homeschool experience I also had video teachers who taught Algebra II and Chemistry and British Literature. Later I had college professors who drilled Bible and United States History and Early Childhood Development.<br />
<br />
When I think back on those teachers, I recall a few specific facts they instilled. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I remember my mom using mayonnaise jars and gallon milk jugs to teach me units of measure in first grade. I remember Mrs. Schmuck teaching poetic meter in eighth grade, her voice gently exaggerating the emphasis on stressed syllables. In my sophomore year of college, Mr. Willems expounded on genetics with a level of humor and nonchalance that only a bespectacled Frenchman can achieve.<br />
<br />
But these aren’t the chief impressions those teachers left with me.<br />
<br />
What I remember most is that each of them cared about me and they wanted me to care about learning.<br />
<br />
I think that is what it means to truly teach. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-85144886743631196542014-10-10T23:00:00.000-04:002014-10-11T18:50:26.043-04:00Care {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi0ze0vpsHkq-3g9vcd_T3SY1FOmbedfg_cYSgvc9IA5uzw3SwMJb5zEpmSPxVSGtFQq-A-4LKQ7c868xBzbAm7V_BJctxpYGy9VYSvmaYhNhsoewDv2yMQJTihF-M1hVjV6R6MLfToU/s1600/IMG_3837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi0ze0vpsHkq-3g9vcd_T3SY1FOmbedfg_cYSgvc9IA5uzw3SwMJb5zEpmSPxVSGtFQq-A-4LKQ7c868xBzbAm7V_BJctxpYGy9VYSvmaYhNhsoewDv2yMQJTihF-M1hVjV6R6MLfToU/s1600/IMG_3837.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Are we weak and heavy-laden<br />
Cumbered with a load of care<br />
Precious Savior, still our refuge<br />
Take it to the Lord in prayer</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
—Joseph M. Scriven</blockquote>
Those lyrics and their melody played in my mind upon seeing that the writing prompt for this post was <i>care</i>. It annoyed me. Those lyrics are frustrating because they're far more easily said than done. They make it sound so simple to rid oneself of that “load of care.” Just pray about it. Bam! Cares gone.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The lyrics are Biblical. We’re instructed: “Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you” [1 Peter 5:7].<br />
<br />
But it’s so hard. Casting cares is not as easy as casting a fishing line. <br />
<br />
And yet… casting a fishing line was quite difficult for me before I practiced it many, many times. It was exasperating because most of the time the line didn’t even cast; it just floundered in the air near my head and then landed in a tangle.<br />
<br />
I must still be in the process of learning to cast my cares. So many times when I attempt to give them to the Lord in prayer and be done with them, I find they’ve only tangled around me yet again. <br />
<br />
Like the art of casting a fishing line, perhaps casting cares only comes through practice. <br />
<br />
I won’t give up. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-67861056007202622982014-10-09T20:43:00.000-04:002014-10-09T20:51:39.130-04:00Join {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeb_EzDqgoZ1BSHYHM1QAyZGmtg_pPaO6hb-o-2qi-JmkaBvGlcJ5jtICEb7G0VmCU6patqICO0KepFQhWlUwKDfeefty4gGujqwLThDWxVIMtIMe8fKZqlVHpXsmSdxacPPogneJdUk/s1600/168461_1585585032697_1708664_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="photo by Candace Williamson" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifeb_EzDqgoZ1BSHYHM1QAyZGmtg_pPaO6hb-o-2qi-JmkaBvGlcJ5jtICEb7G0VmCU6patqICO0KepFQhWlUwKDfeefty4gGujqwLThDWxVIMtIMe8fKZqlVHpXsmSdxacPPogneJdUk/s1600/168461_1585585032697_1708664_n.jpg" height="320" title="photo by Candace Williamson" width="320" /></a></div>
We have this huge framed photograph hanging in our living room— our two hands joined together on our wedding day.<br />
<br />
You can see the edge of my white dress and his black vest. There’s a scarlet church door behind us. But there are no faces, no feet, no hair, no veil. Just our two hands tightly clasped. <br />
<br />
I look at that picture often. I’ve gazed on it in good times and thought sweetly of the friendship it symbolizes. I've glanced at it as I passed by on mundane days, and remembered the permanent promises we made. I’ve glared at it in more strained moments and hesitatingly accepted its reminder; we are joined, he and I.<br />
<br />
Not just our hands. Our lives. <br />
<br />
We are as joined together as my own pair of hands, the same flesh in complementary partnership.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-81152641556142279852014-10-08T23:38:00.000-04:002014-10-14T17:52:12.335-04:00Say {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHntJGNChdPcNBL1pwM6ghyphenhyphenEy9v_YeHxtLs2o_zfw9JhLmnZ5femiKmJ2koatYpi-uJFhuETASNuRsJMce7wan3PXjfoT0XvZgWN9MDhBbjJdF9lBZYaWl5D-Q0m6PTrXz9WoWrZ7e94/s1600/IMG_4984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHntJGNChdPcNBL1pwM6ghyphenhyphenEy9v_YeHxtLs2o_zfw9JhLmnZ5femiKmJ2koatYpi-uJFhuETASNuRsJMce7wan3PXjfoT0XvZgWN9MDhBbjJdF9lBZYaWl5D-Q0m6PTrXz9WoWrZ7e94/s1600/IMG_4984.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I don't usually say much. <br />
<br />
For as long as I remember, I've been told I should talk more, say what I'm thinking, "be more outgoing." I know I need to reach out more. I work on it. <br />
<br />
I'm under no illusions of being special. Multitudes of folks out there were made by the Creator with similar <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307352153/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0307352153&linkCode=as2&tag=strikrepos-20&linkId=63TJG4TLQTM7VJ5G" target="_blank">quiet ways</a>, Andrews in a culture that favors Peters. So with writing as my medium of "saying," I have a few things to say about not saying much.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
If I say little, it's not because I am afraid. It doesn't mean I don't like you. It certainly does not indicate unhappiness. It's because I'm thinking and learning and processing. It's because God designed me to take in the world gently, pondering in my heart what I haven't yet synthesized.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's different from the way God made you. If so, I absolutely adore that fact, because I love to listen. I love to watch. I love people.<br />
<br />
All my listening and watching and people-loving makes me good at praying for people. If I know you, I probably already pray for you in solitude. I will pray <i>with</i> you <i>one-on-one</i> in a heartbeat.<br />
<br />
After we part ways I'll think of things I wish I had said. I'll write them in my journal, maybe text them to you. <br />
<br />
But in a moment of interaction, if I say little, I'm probably being myself with you in the most real way. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-64667726147959114872014-10-07T17:17:00.002-04:002014-10-07T17:17:33.656-04:00Go {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrJGHYJG5fvu8M0j6s8fTFG1f2TZEvGWzer8oy8Fox9MlGx23VvYimp6jAsqlKcwPngOgcTtKlZEGcsU8kGOki2_6jlVH588tVcTDzp5x-_T6Lmp4BbvuG5Ufd3sdVR1-Ow9x8KjGBJs/s1600/IMG_4939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrJGHYJG5fvu8M0j6s8fTFG1f2TZEvGWzer8oy8Fox9MlGx23VvYimp6jAsqlKcwPngOgcTtKlZEGcsU8kGOki2_6jlVH588tVcTDzp5x-_T6Lmp4BbvuG5Ufd3sdVR1-Ow9x8KjGBJs/s1600/IMG_4939.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>No, <i>stay</i>, I say. Don’t go.<br />
<br />
It never stops, the <i>going, going, going</i>. <br />
It’s the natural leaning of life to go.<br />
It’s what we end up doing if we don’t make a choice otherwise. <br />
<br />
Let’s be different, you and me.<br />
Let’s linger, remain. <br />
Let’s cherish here and now, just the two of us.<br />
Let’s stick around this little town and call it home.<br />
Let’s sit on the front porch and talk and laugh and <i>stay</i>. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
We’ll see others go out and about, always hurried, ever busy. Let’s stay in. <br />
We’ll see couples go their separate ways. Let’s stay together. <br />
We’ll see dear ones go from earthly life to heavenly. And even though we’ll miss them, let’s stay behind as long as we can. <br />
<br />
No, <i>stay</i>, I say. Don’t go.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-31152406455573305982014-10-06T20:23:00.000-04:002014-10-06T20:23:08.963-04:00Know {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1ohOYdF9OCOccLFLHHAy7-zGtJnBtsYMmB_D3EHca8mtOzWzIVsyUZxaI6j2I31XkAoJNUUNJRReyvPK0BaRiJP3ygMj5Rhv4GZcvQR65D4YRS4Cj427DO_C11fC-sipMp9P1izB0Xg/s1600/IMG_4899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1ohOYdF9OCOccLFLHHAy7-zGtJnBtsYMmB_D3EHca8mtOzWzIVsyUZxaI6j2I31XkAoJNUUNJRReyvPK0BaRiJP3ygMj5Rhv4GZcvQR65D4YRS4Cj427DO_C11fC-sipMp9P1izB0Xg/s1600/IMG_4899.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
“But what do I know?” We say it as an afterthought, trying to soften or disclaim an opinion just spoken. <br />
<br />
It is a question I’ve asked myself often of late. What do I really know? <br />
<br />
There’s a lot I <i>thought</i> I knew, so many inferred rules, extracted principles, formulas. And one by one, they’re proven unfounded or exaggerated or ineffective. I’m left wondering, with all of that fallen away, what do I actually know after all?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
He shakes everything that can be shaken so that we can see what remains [<a href="http://www.esvbible.org/Hebrews+12%3A26-29/" target="_blank">Hebrews 12</a>].<br />
<br />
And what remains—what I know even in the most doubtful moments—is that God exists. I know He is huge and powerful and owns this place. I know that I would be terrified of Him if I didn’t know His Son and know that to know His Son is to know Him [<a href="http://www.esvbible.org/John+14/" target="_blank">John 14</a>]. I know that He loves me and that He loves you. And if you and I knew nothing else in the world, knowing Him would be enough.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-64521573013372193612014-10-05T22:10:00.000-04:002014-10-05T22:10:17.625-04:00Stuck {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6yhWT7gnkFwks9aNkI-amyyS1pj4gRBAtslSlugsU73mKh0_bzQJzT9NBES13HcFEChJvD4aOtReIUHQuEBRKGq5Kc_dfm01gXWbVGp0A1Txlh7S-Uh9HqLzrAkuZ0z-KWdsZo-dE-I/s1600/IMG_4700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6yhWT7gnkFwks9aNkI-amyyS1pj4gRBAtslSlugsU73mKh0_bzQJzT9NBES13HcFEChJvD4aOtReIUHQuEBRKGq5Kc_dfm01gXWbVGp0A1Txlh7S-Uh9HqLzrAkuZ0z-KWdsZo-dE-I/s1600/IMG_4700.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I’ve been stuck for the past three years. Stuck in one place, in so many ways. Stuck in bitterness because of that. <br />
<br />
At first I prayed relentlessly that God would change things. He didn’t. So over time I prayed less, lost faith that He was hearing me. I tried to be at peace with being stuck, but the trying was always in vain.<br />
<a name='more'></a> <br />
A week ago I felt His prompting to pray again. Falteringly, I did. It hurt to pray, because it meant reaching out again for the hope that He would work; it meant risking the desolation and vulnerability I felt when He didn’t. <br />
<br />
But this time, He did. <br />
<br />
And now I’m stuck in a different way. Stuck because I have so little faith that I hesitate to believe the change is true or that it will last. I’m cynical, expecting a turn for worse even when I've seen God work. I’m like the Israelites who, when they’d just eaten miracle manna and meat, grumbled and doubted He would come through for them in their mere thirst [<a href="http://www.esvbible.org/Exodus+17/" target="_blank">Exodus 17:1-7</a>]. <br />
<br />
But I don’t want to be stuck here in unbelief. I want to embrace God’s change, believe it’s real, and move forward with Him. I want to cry out with the desperate father of that demon-possessed boy, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!” [<a href="http://www.esvbible.org/Mark%209%3A14-29/" target="_blank">Mark 9:14-29</a>]<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-86810842756162557212014-10-04T19:23:00.002-04:002014-10-04T19:47:09.241-04:00Learn {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0eaVAaZBl7CYl80zOXh7MQSmBHsEcMF1FLjM9hfwLebJdrP_e79Fg9Bsv1UoY-kJN_VdXR4ZIOPupWWqUWjB7pcxXaZJ3U4J_XYN0AbiiFZiRUfWCO_xsnXSkNmpTlZskL3sGYxelNA/s1600/IMG_5232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0eaVAaZBl7CYl80zOXh7MQSmBHsEcMF1FLjM9hfwLebJdrP_e79Fg9Bsv1UoY-kJN_VdXR4ZIOPupWWqUWjB7pcxXaZJ3U4J_XYN0AbiiFZiRUfWCO_xsnXSkNmpTlZskL3sGYxelNA/s1600/IMG_5232.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
I’m learning that almost anything can be learned. <br />
<br />
Even concepts I used to think only came inherently to a chosen few. Things like contentment and joy and being a good listener, like trust and gentleness and a quiet spirit. <br />
<br />
I should’ve known.<br />
<br />
After all, Paul said that he had learned to be content in any condition. The Proverbs were written to be learned from, and they exhort me many times to listen well. And if you can be instructed to adorn yourself with a gentle and quiet spirit, surely that must learnable too.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The thing about most learning is that it requires discipline. It requires the tough choice to take the action that’s most opposite your inclination. But over time, those hard decisions become easier, become more natural. And suddenly one day you realize that you’ve learned—that you’re learning—to be more like Christ. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-58822032029608765992014-10-03T13:07:00.001-04:002014-10-03T13:07:24.408-04:00New {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PIQQ-5ohCdWoLJmIN5kVVADCyr9YGC4Gogv6vxVeVEgVH2_CEIfn0iiKj2r6P_6WEYsAY1IQrFqpXWGUYztQUmB6ktVqfZWdCVNljQnrTPMF73kt4yAQPuKMNZkiG291AHwBJ6XLKTw/s1600/IMG_5074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PIQQ-5ohCdWoLJmIN5kVVADCyr9YGC4Gogv6vxVeVEgVH2_CEIfn0iiKj2r6P_6WEYsAY1IQrFqpXWGUYztQUmB6ktVqfZWdCVNljQnrTPMF73kt4yAQPuKMNZkiG291AHwBJ6XLKTw/s1600/IMG_5074.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>The new is uncomfortable and delightful.<br />
<br />
It’s different, scary, unpredictable. It’s refreshing, exhilarating, stimulating. <br />
<br />
New shoes not yet worn in are fun but hurt at first. A new house is fresh and clean and you get to decorate it, but you may also forget which drawer holds the toothpaste or stub your toe in the night on that wall you forgot exists. A new marriage is full of joy; but there are also a million ways in which the bride and groom will have to change and a thousand terrifying things they’ll learn about each other over time.<br />
<a name='more'></a> <br />
Being a new creation in Christ is that way too. <br />
<br />
It’s having a nature you’re not accustomed to transplanted into your soul, one that brims with joy and promise and peace. But it also wants frighteningly counter-cultural things, craves the unpredictability of following Christ, asks the Spirit to “lead me where my trust is without borders” [<a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/0pyFGkud9i0wVzHiq8mu0N" target="_blank">listen</a>].<br />
<br />
The new is uncomfortable and delightful. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3834749487210683664.post-58386529215185055972014-10-02T14:02:00.000-04:002014-11-25T22:06:34.877-05:00View {31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrYNhYviuReHylyG8DzSfgVsMSZfpkeCgf69BUisqbjaBwLqHkw4XxoxYqb0p9kLaEXYaLNvf5NPyDuff4vEyCHpe2hcMQwviY463NZPtqjAtbFBh-baw0YiotHIIWERN2uYpdXy8UmQ/s1600/10268874_671061736262529_1038333171_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQrYNhYviuReHylyG8DzSfgVsMSZfpkeCgf69BUisqbjaBwLqHkw4XxoxYqb0p9kLaEXYaLNvf5NPyDuff4vEyCHpe2hcMQwviY463NZPtqjAtbFBh-baw0YiotHIIWERN2uYpdXy8UmQ/s1600/10268874_671061736262529_1038333171_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
The view from my kitchen window changes with the seasons. <br />
<br />
In summer, it’s all green up high and shade down low, thick grass under thick branches under thick blue sky. The entire scene wavers and shimmers with heat. The old grey metal barn radiates thickest waves of it. <br />
<br />
Fall thins things out. The sky is a thinner blue, the leaves thin from the branches, and the grass’s green thins. Sunlight dims. Shades of brown creep in. The old grey dilapidated barn is a thinner grey.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Winter hardens. Up from the brown ground, spidery bare branches stretch to the wan canopy above, their barely visible shadows etched far across the orchard. The old grey brittle barn wears ice. <br />
<br />
Then there’s spring, and life. Overnight, dandelions dot the greening land. Tiny chartreuse buds grace limbs. Cotton clouds punctuate azure above. The old grey lovely barn teems with dew-dappled Charlotte's Webs and bees and lovebirds' nests. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMjdQ4J3quNbaqMwtGbmJyE6REB4qLiJcOEYkYCMlIMhCJwv2TPVXvQwJRH7yp1i4cTd9NWUiOpecfYLm5UoDOwDhiE_E5R-DMW2Yk5CmADVeX3YBD2-UNnCN7KIqUQHeq_t6u_lcAU8/s1600/Five-Minute-Free-Writes-button.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>This post is part of <a href="http://katemotaung.com/31-days-2/31-days-of-five-minute-free-writes-link-up-here/" target="_blank">31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes</a>, an exercise in writing a timed, prompted post every day during the month of October. For me, it's a challenge to move beyond prideful perfectionism, to write more freely, and to share more openly. </i>Marissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07031845536663689457noreply@blogger.com0