Five Minute FridayHere’s the deal. Five Minute Friday. You go find the little prompt at the wonderful Lisa-Jo’s blog, set the time and write for five minutes, and then just stop. Where you are, no edits, just publish raw words. 



The gentle breeze blowing through hair as you sit outside, quilt spread wide, staring into the blue sky filled with clouds that look like wisps of powder and cotton.

A smile and a hug from a dear friend as we sit on dorm room beds and share what God has done in our lives, our hearts, this summer.

Laughter on a park bench, kettle corn nearby, and schedules cleared to make sure we find time for each other, even when the to-do list runs long.

Waking up early to read the Word, even though there is much to do and sleep has become a hidden treasure.

original source // here

It’s all worship. All the glorious, beautiful little ways we choose to live our lives in the every day.

It’s small, but small can be brave, too. We worship with our lives, even when our hands aren’t raised nor our tongues rejoicing.

I am learning again the truth of what it means to worship in the storm.

Life is full of wonder and awe, side-splitting laugher and tears of joy…but it is also full of ache and pain, knees hitting the floor while sobs rock our bodies even when the tears don’t come.

There are days when I don’t want to get up. Days when my bed seems comfier than the outside world and online seems safer than stumbling over words that can’t be backspaced. The phone rings and I stare at the name on the screen, amazed and breathless, scared out of my mind for what I’ll hear.

I have been broken and He has mended much, but there are still so many pieces that snag and pinch, pulling at the newly healed spaces and trying to tear back into what He has declared whole. I struggle to move towards the future while releasing the past and living the present. The future that I see right now is bright and vivid, but inside there are so many paths yet to be followed, so many hurts hidden in closets.

The world is reading my Story, but I am living it. There are paragraphs I could read a thousand times, pages I’ve dog-earred and underlined for emphasis, and there are entire chapters I’d like to erase, hurts I’d like to un-do and have un-done. But I can’t. I can’t un-do, it can’t be un-done.

I don’t hold the pen.

But I trust the One who does.

When I answer the call and say hello, I pray grace and forgiveness with every breath inside of me. As my knees hit the floor once more, every prayer already prayed and empty hands raised to the One that fills for each day, He writes another line.

It’s not about the storm, it’s about the Story.

And that makes all the difference.

When I find myself knocked down to my knees, I’m in the perfect position to pray, worshipping the only one who deserves praise. He is Faithful in all things, in all ways, at all times, so I will consider bruised knees grace that I can even approach the throne of the most beautiful.