Tag Archive | five minute Friday

Learning to Walk

Dec7

GWe3zI5bR96vws1L63pBpA

My almost 11-month-old grandson is learning how to walk. He’s becoming more confident every day as he practices and falls and gets back up again. We’ve noticed something about this learning journey: when he’s distracted and  holding on to something else like a toy or a book, he walks with more confidence. But if he’s only walking and thinking about what it is he’s doing, he’s slower and more hesitant and falls more easily.

I thought this was a really good analogy to my walk with God. When I focus on Him, I find much better balance. If I’m thinking only about what I’m going to do next, where I’m going to put my foot, all that I think I have to do today, or tomorrow, or the next day, then I find myself unsteady and close to falling.

IMG_0696

Balance isn’t easy. By nature I want to get things done before I take time to do the fun things. But sometimes, rest and fun and play are necessary, even when there is a ton to do. I have to remember to keep my eyes on Jesus, to focus on Him, and let the balancing come naturally because I’m seeing Him and doing what He wants me to do.

Like my little grandson, I am learning how to walk, even after more than 40 years of following Jesus. One step at a time, not worrying about whether I’m doing everything right, just keeping my eyes on Jesus.

This post is a part of the Five-Minute Friday link up. Join the fun!

FMF button

Experiencing the Deep

Nov30

 O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,
rolling as a mighty ocean
in its fullness over me.
Underneath me, all around me,
is the current of Thy love;
leading onward, leading homeward
to my glorious rest above.

104_0443The words of this old hymn, written by S. Trevor Francis in the latter part of the 1800s, came to mind first and foremost when I saw the prompt for this week’s Five Minute Friday post. We are finite humans, trying to understand an infinite God, and it’s just not possible.

We try to come up with whatever metaphors we can: a deep ocean, a vast sky, the tallest, grandest mountain. Compared to the living God, these things are puny! If we could only understand that what He feels for us is immeasurable by human standards.

I have 3 kids and 1 grandbaby. I look at them, and my heart swells. Sometimes it hurts to see them because my heart just can’t contain all that I feel for them.

That is but a drop in the bucket of how God feels about us.

Scientists and explorers keep making better machines that will take them to the depths of the oceans. Miles and miles down they go to find what there is hidden beneath the surface that we see. Wonders and intrigues meet their eyes as they go deeper and deeper.

Those amazing discoveries pale in comparison to what we have to look forward to learning about God when we meet Him face to face.

Our minds can’t comprehend it. Our hearts can’t contain it. But my soul can rest knowing that the great God of the universe is keeping His hand on me.

 O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
love of ev’ry love the best;
’tis an ocean vast of blessing,
’tis a haven sweet of rest.
O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
’tis heav’n of heav’ns to me;
and it lifts me up to glory,
for it lifts me up to Thee.

 

 

This post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. To read others on today’s prompt, deep, visit the website.

FMF button

Not My Burden to Bear

Nov9

IMG_2281As the last couple of years have been heavy with heartache, I have struggled with anxiety and feeling out of control. I want things to be “right.” I want everything to work out so that everyone is happy and nobody struggles and flowers and rainbows pop up everywhere.

But you know what? Rainbows need the rain. And flowers have to push their way out of the deep, dark earth to struggle their way to the surface where their beauty can be seen.

IMG_5810There are burdens we simply aren’t meant to carry. That’s been my mantra for the past several weeks as we’ve struggled with the choices of one of our children. “Not mine to carry.”

I picture a small child walking side by side with his dad. But on the child’s back is this huge backpack that is bending him low and causing his feet to stumble and his steps to be slow and painful. His father is right there, asking to carry the weight, but the child, willful and stubborn says in his small voice, “I can do it myself!”

How many times do we hear that from our small children? “Do it myself!”

But when we let the Father reach down and take that burden from us, our backs become straighter, our steps lighter, our eyes on the goal rather than the ground.

The consequences of that child’s choices? Not mine to carry.

The fear of the future and what might be in it? Not mine to carry.

FullSizeRender 5If that father with his child chooses to hand him a notebook to carry from that big ol’ backpack, then that’s the father’s choice, and it is to help make the child stronger. But what he gives his child will never be too hard because he’s got the lion’s share. On his strong shoulders the burden is borne.

My job is to pray, to keep my eyes on Jesus, to hope in Him, knowing that He is sovereign and loving and kind.

God wants me to give Him my burdens. He longs for it. He’s so much better at carrying them than I am. I find freedom. He gets glorified.

Win, win.

This post is a part of the Five-Minute Friday linkup. To read more on the prompt “burden” go to www.fiveminutefriday.com

FMF button

 

Chapter 17—Pause

Oct18

I’m more than halfway through this experiment, using prompts provided by Kate Motaung for the Five Minute Friday community. I went with a story idea rather than 31 separate posts, so if you’ve missed the first chapters of the story, you can start here. It’s a completely unedited free write of at least 5 minutes at day. Comments are encouraged!

Chapter 17

Pause

 

“Oh. My. Word.” Erin gasped. She stood stunned just inside the front door and gaped at the stunning interior of Hazel’s house. Never in a million years would she have guessed from the outside that her house would hold the treasures it did.

Before they went any further, Scott handed her disposable gloves and booties to put over her shoes. Neither of them believed at this point that this was a crime scene of any sort, but it was better safe than sorry.

Hazel’s sunken living room looked like something out of Sunset magazine. Immediately Erin’s eyes were drawn to the huge windows facing the Bay. Though the trees were overgrown and the view was impeded, she could tell that in its prime, the panorama would not have been exceeded. As was typical of houses in the area, you entered on the top level and then stairs would have taken you to the rest of the living area below.

There were French doors that lead out to a massive deck held up by stilts buried deep into the hillside. Unlike the front and side windows that could be reached from ground level, these enormous windows were not covered in plywood, so light filtered through the large pine and eucalyptus trees surrounding the yard.

But even more than the spectacular view, Erin was struck by the beauty and what must have been incredible value of the pieces of art and collectibles around the room. From paintings on the walls to the antique furniture to what looked like priceless glass vases and rare carved miniatures, Hazel’s place was a showcase of art and beauty.

Erin was no expert, but her years of visiting museums with her parents had given her an eye for art. That, along with a general interest in the business end of art galleries, caused her to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was seeing something extraordinary.

“Oh, Scott,” she breathed. “How in the world . . .” She couldn’t even put into words what she was feeling as she surveyed the scene.

“Certainly is unexpected,” he agreed.

“Do you think they’re authentic?” Erin asked as she stepped into the room and carefully picked up a bronze figure of what looked like an Egyptian cat. “How in the world could Hazel and Bernie have afforded this stuff? There’s definitely something we don’t know.”

Heading in opposite directions, Erin walked toward the kitchen to the right of the living room, still marveling at the exquisite pieces she was seeing for the first time, and Scott started in the bedrooms. Nothing looked amiss in the kitchen. Everything was clean and tidy, no dishes left on the marble countertop. She pulled open the dishwasher and saw several plates and a few cups and utensils awaiting washing.

She turned to the refrigerator and saw what looked like normal fare, milk that had not yet reached it’s expiration date, some eggs, a loaf of bread. Jelly. Pretty normal stuff. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until she looked at the wall next to the stove. There, she saw a calendar from the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. That in itself wasn’t so extraordinary. But the fact that is was from 1998 was.

Erin paused before the calendar. Her heart beating just a little faster. 1998 was the year Bryan and Bernie died. In fact, the calendar was still on April, the month of their death. There were a few things written on it: April 4, Madison’s birthday party, 3:00; April 8, PTA meeting, 7:00; April 11, T-ball practice 6:00. That was the fateful day. April 11th. A Saturday evening. Practice must have gone a little late because it was dark when the accident occurred.

How strange that after 20 years, Hazel had not taken down or even changed the calendar.

“Erin!” Scott called from the back hallway. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Remembering the shock she had gotten the first time he had said those words, Erin headed down the hallway with a little trepidation. Scott was standing inside a bedroom on the right side of the hall. As Erin stepped in, she inhaled sharply. “It’s like stepping into a time machine,” she breathed. This had undoubtedly been Bryan’s room. And it looked as if nothing at all had been touched since he had died. Except that it was free of dust. Otherwise, the bed was crumpled and stuffed animals, a small yellow lion and big brown teddy bear, lay toppled over on their sides. Little boy tennis shoes were sitting beside the bed and the bottom drawer of the short wooden dresser was open with the sleeve of a T-shirt hanging out the front.

The bright yellow walls were covered in posters of what must have been Bryan’s favorite baseball players. Barry Bonds of the across-the-Bay Giants, Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco—the Bash Brothers—of the hometown A’s, Ken Griffey Jr. of the Mariners. Erin slowly turned in a circle as she took it all in.

“What’s happening here, Scott?” Erin wondered. “It’s surreal. Did you find anything in the other bedrooms?”

Scott shook his head, “Everything seems to have been frozen in 1998. In the master bedroom, all Bernie’s stuff is still out as if he was going to come home and pick it up again. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The calendar in the kitchen is turned to April, 1998,” Erin told him. “That’s the month they died.”

“Let’s head downstairs and see what’s going on down there,” Scott suggested, leading the way out of the little boy’s bedroom.

Erin followed with one last wistful look at the heart-wrenching tableau.

 

 

Chapter 1—Story

Oct3

Here’s your teaser for my 31 Days of Writing challenge!

Chapter 1

Story

Everyone has a story. Erin Harrison just wished hers was more like an epic “Wuthering Heights” or “Gone With the Wind” than the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of the terrible “List of the Lost.”

In her little corner of the village of Clairmont on the outskirts of Oakland, California, Erin did her best to keep her plotline going. Whether it be at Be My Bagel, the 60s-themed bagel shop she ran for her hippy Uncle Harry, or with her adorably scatter-brained English Lit professor-wannabe boyfriend, Cory, Erin made the most of her days.

And some days were definitely more interesting than others.

Take Tuesday, October 2nd, for instance.

 

The early Autumn day started out like many others. Her double-belled pink alarm clock woke her with a heart-shaking clatter and she slammed her hand onto the lever to turn off the blasted clarion. Why could she never remember to order a new alarm clock that might wake her slowly with the sweet sound of twittering birds instead? Well, at least it was effective.

With that surge of adrenalin crashing through her veins, Erin threw off the bright orange comforter that didn’t help calm her brain any with its effervescent sunniness. Stumbling in the pre-dawn darkness to her small bathroom at the end of the hall in her tiny one-bedroom apartment, Erin groaned as she caught sight of her sleep-deprived face.

Darn that Sue Grafton for writing such captivating stories. I gotta get better at putting down her books before midnight.

But mysteries were her downfall.

Erin felt a silky softness caress her bare legs and looked down to find her orange tabby, Einstein, wrapping around her legs.

“Give me a minute, baby. I can’t even see what I’m doing yet.”

Einstein jumped onto the top of the toilet tank, sitting and staring as if to say, politely of course, because he was always polite, “I’ll wait for you, my dear, because I know you’ll never forget about me.”

Several minutes and lots of cold-water splashes later, a few swishes of the brush through her long blond hair, Erin grabbed her black-framed, round glasses from the counter and headed to the bright yellow kitchen to get them both some breakfast.

The sun was just beginning to peak through the high clouds as Erin pulled out the white wrought iron chair that sat at her small kitchen table. Since the window faced west with a stunning view of the San Francisco Bay, she only knew that by the tinges of pink stretching across the sky. These early mornings weren’t her favorite, so she was thankful that she only had to open the shop 2 days a week. Every other day, Uncle Harry did the deed, although he was hours after the bakers in charge of creating the deliciousness arrived to start their bagel-baking process.

With her automatic coffee maker dripping away, Erin poured brown pellets of kitty food into Einstein’s bowl next to the table, and refilled his water bowl. He gave a soft mew of appreciation and set out to satiate his hunger. His mouse hunting in the night must not have yielded him anything. Thankfully. In an over-the-garage apartment in a well-established neighborhood in the hills high above Clairmont, one could never be too sure what creatures would make their way through her doors.

But she was very grateful for the accommodation. After graduating from Berkeley with her business degree, Erin had wanted to stand on her own, not depending on her father for housing. Besides, Gordon Harrison needed his space for the lovely Ellen to visit when she was in town. An economist for the city of San Diego, Ellen had entered Gordon’s life one sunny spring day during an economics conference. As a tenured economics professor at U.C. Berkeley, Gordon was a keynote speaker. Ellen tried to visit at least once a month. Erin adored her and hoped that marriage might be in their future. Her dad had been a widower for far too long.

The scent of Peet’s cinnamon coffee brought her back to attention, so Erin got her favorite “It’s no mystery, I love coffee” mug and filled it three quarters full, adding half and half from the throw-back refrigerator to fill it out. Popping a piece of sourdough bread into her teal toaster, Erin sipped her coffee and mentally check-listed everything she had to do that day.

Yesterday, Harry would have taken care of the order that would be delivered today, so when that came in, she would need to inventory it to make sure it was correct. Bills would be paid, salaries for her five employees would be calculated, and she would need to post an update to the shop’s Instagram and Facebook accounts. Which bagel flavor should she highlight today? Creedence Clearwater Rebagel or Pink Bagel? Seeing that it was early Autumn, maybe the cinnamony goodness of the CCR would be appropriate. She’d see to that first thing.

 

As she made her way down the hill to Clairmont Village in the early morning mist, Erin tuned the radio in her little VW Beetle to NPR. Sometimes that was the quickest way to catch up on the happenings around the world. A tsunami in Indonesia. Very sad. Politics, turmoil, flu season starting. Is there ever any good news? She didn’t have a very long drive. The winding roads that got her off the hill only took about 15 minutes. Not very much time to cover everything.

As she pulled into the only parking garage in the village, a short 2 block walk to the shop, the last bit of news she caught was about a crime ring in Berkeley. A crime ring? In Berkeley? She thought. Drugs maybe. Or protestors? But a crime ring? Huh.

Without giving it too much of her attention, Erin closed the door of her Bug, locked it with the key, because, you know, crime rings, and headed toward Be My Bagel.