No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation. Just painting with words. Finger-painting even.
So now on Fridays over here a group of people who love to throw caution to the wind and just write gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
Your words. This shared feast.
OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on: SEE
It’s fading now. Much lighter than years before.
Once purple, raised, and knotted like thick cord. It has closed in, disappearing into a faint white line.
I barely remember to see it, low on my belly and curved like a slow smile.
But this is where they were brought out from me.
My life has been carved out of this very scar. Like Adams rib being drawn from his side, this part of me now walks and talks and feels in loud tones and quiet whispers and giggles. They gather in my arms, and heave their growing bodies into play, they ponder and form thoughts all their own.
I am their home, where their story starts but they are growing to see with their own eyes and I won’t always be here to direct their vision to the heavens and wonder at the glory and grace as abundant as the stars blinking down on them.
But family is where our stories begin and I hope they see. I pray they see.
See past the mess of this mourning world in wait for it’s Savior.
See through to the wondrous grace patching the cracks and filling the voids.
See all the scars brought harsh and violent, slashed through humanity, and know that life brings beauty out of the pain. God writes glory into our scars.
See that their story started from a scar and oh, the beauty, it blinds this mamma’s eyes.