Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.
We set a timer, throw caution to the winds and try to remember what it was like to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.
Want to play Five Minute Friday?
1. Write for 5 minutes flat on the prompt- no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: Light
There is the glare, harsh and unforgiving, like fluorescent lighting accentuating every pore, every wrinkle, every flaw, every cell wasting away a little more each day. This is the stuff of dressing rooms and hospital corridors. The light that leaves us stumbling unseeing as we stare into the depth of our imperfections.
When blinded by the false brilliance of a manufactured thing. The threads of the bulb pulsating the message that what we see is not good enough. That we will never be enough. That we are sick and rotten. That we will never find healing.
There is no escape from this light but eyes squeezed tight to the reality we see.
But there is also the light of a breaking dawn, emerging on the horizon blistering with color as the world comes alive. The shadows driven out as the sun climbs into the sky and perches with it’s warm glow and bodies rise to the day and eyes that were closed in slumber see clearly.
This is the light of the world. That we see where the light is coming from, there can be no mistake because the Son shines gloriously from the heavens.
That the shadows are driven out. Those night things, the things which hide seething within us are not only revealed in His light, they fade as the Son rises.
That the warmth of that blazing Son covers all of our imperfections in crimson flames, burning away bodies of slumber, and awakening new creations, bathed in radiant light.
Ok, now go link up at The Gypsy Mama and be sure to read her Good Friday Post because it is beautiful and it gave me chills. I make it a rule to never read her posts before I write mine or else I would not be able to write anything as I wonder at her word weaving skills. Cuz, she’s got skills , folks.