One Word 41
Neighbor
31 Days of Practicing Faith
In October, I am free writing for five minutes a day—raw and unedited—on practicing faith in the every day. Each day is based on a different prompt from 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.
{Day 18} - Neighbor
"That family over there lives in our neighborhood," I said with a laugh in one of those "it's a small world" moments. My family was enjoying a fun fall day at a farm and apple orchard in the North Georgia Mountains, about two hours from our home. As the lady passed by, I reached out to gently touch her shoulder and say "hello." Her look of surprise echoed mine at seeing someone you know hours from home but then she did the strangest thing. She hugged my sister standing next to me.
"Wait, how do you know her?" we both said. We spent the next twenty minutes talking about how she worked in the same school as my sister and mom (who proceeded to chase her down to say hello in the moonshine museum—yes, that's really a thing here in the south). We laughed as I recounted the story about how she had seen my husband out on a walk with our two-year-old and new baby one day shortly after we moved in five years ago. She tucked away the mental mom of a new mom that had just moved in a couple streets over. A few days later she showed up with two smiling toddlers of her own and a pot of soup she had made for us. As a tired mom, I thanked God for a friendly neighbor.
We didn't become close friends but we follow each other's families on facebook and say hello and exchange stories whenever we meet. But we introduced husbands and grandfathers standing around the farm in the next few minutes like we were old friends. We said good-bye and went on with our fall festivities. Because we had taken the time to get to know a neighbor, the world got a little smaller and friendlier years ago and on an autumn day many miles away. I tucked away another mental note to make a point to meet a few more neighbors. You never know when you will need a friendly face in a sea of strangers.
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Study
31 Days of Practicing Faith
In October, I am free writing for five minutes a day—raw and unedited—on practicing faith in the every day. Each day is based on a different prompt from 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.
{Day 17} - Study
I study the way his hair falls across his forehead. He doesn't really have a part, but instead his soft dirty blond hair grows in a spiral from the crown of his head. I watch his breath rise and fall in regular patterns and his eyes dance under their lids as he dreams. I notice the way he sleeps curled on his side or sometimes will tumble over onto his tummy and tuck his legs under him, the way he did when he was a baby lying in the bassinet next to my bed.
He's my last, my baby. At five he still has some little boy features that allow me to still think of him as a baby. He runs to me to be held when he's scared. In the mornings he doesn't want to get out of bed until he cries out "mommy" and snuggles against me for a few minutes before rising. I study these days like I need to remember each moment, each feeling. The way his hand fits just into mine when he reaches up to grab it each morning while walking down the hall to his classroom. The mispronunciation of words that make him still sound so little.
I know time will snatch these memories from me. They will fade in the background of all the other days that will happen between now and the time he is grown. Maybe if I memorize them now, I won't lose them. Maybe if I hold onto them tightly in this moment, he will always be my baby. God, help me to let go just enough but still know how to hold onto this...
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Little
31 Days of Practicing Faith
In October, I am free writing for five minutes a day—raw and unedited—on practicing faith in the every day. Each day is based on a different prompt from 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.
{Day 16} - Little
I was always the smallest in my class. A combination of the fact that it was in my genes to be petite and that my birthday was the cut-off for students entering kindergarten at age 4, there was a guarantee that "shrimp," "runt," and "little bit" were nicknames I would acquire in school. In dance, I skipped ahead a couple years as well and so by the time I got into the company, I was always the one at the end of the kickline or the front of the group. I sometimes stood out because of my size but I often was looked over.
It took me many years to realize my size had very little to do with my life. I was never created to be little.
My voice was anything but tiny. Full of volumes of words and a volume to match, my spoken and written words commanded attention.
Adorned with fiery red hair and a temper to match, I was little but mighty.
When I finally held that passport in my hands and stepped into the wide world, I felt smaller than ever. But at the same time I knew that with my Jesus living in me, I could take on the world.
He had created me with a big spirit and a big voice, a big hope and big dreams.
There's a little girl who looks remarkably like me. She is the smallest in all her classes and though her hair blonde hangs long and straight, she has the fire of a redhead inside of her. She weaves words into stories and pictures into art. She prays with abandon and sings at the top of her lungs.
Daughter, know this now. You are little. Your God is big.
You were created to live big! Don't ever forget it.
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Move
31 Days of Practicing Faith
In October, I am free writing for five minutes a day—raw and unedited—on practicing faith in the every day. Each day is based on a different prompt from 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.
{Day 15} - Move
I don't know if movement feels so freeing to me because I am a dancer or if I became a dancer because I was born with something inside of me drawn to the freedom in moving my body through space. I have loved dance since I was a little girl and as much as I enjoy watching a beautiful performance, nothing compares to being in the studio or on the stage myself.
I can't explain the way time and everything in the world falls away when I dance. Some people talk about the fourth wall needed as a performer. That is where you train yourself not to see the audience so that you can focus on the performance. That was never an issue for me. When I was on stage it was like everybody else in the world melted away and it was just me and the music.
I don't dance much these days except for fun in my own home. But I have found that I am still drawn to many other types of movement. The rhythms of yoga and pilates stretch me to my limits and I look forward to pushing past them. Walking becomes my communing with God in nature as I speak to Him and admire His handiworks. Don't laugh - zumba is my dancing these days and I love the way I can easily pick up the patterns and fall into them, feeling a certain control over my body that feels less controllable as I age.
In my life movement has been for me, for the audience, for God. It has been a past time, an idol, and finally a conversation with God. Whether I was created to move or I found it on happy accident, I am grateful.
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31 Days of Practicing Faith
In October, I am free writing for five minutes a day—raw and unedited—on practicing faith in the every day. Each day is based on a different prompt from 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes.
{Day 14} - Mail
I mounted my bike and headed down the dusty driveway. The sunlight glinted in patches between the Live Oaks that framed the drive. By the time I reached the mailbox my curls were already sticking to me, the Mississippi humidity as thick as the smell of earth after the rain on the bayou.
The door creaked as I opened it and I smiled as I held the newest postcard in my hands. The photo on the front showed a castle this time. She had made it to Scottland.
My best friend was traveling in Europe before she settled for a few months in the UK and every week a new offering arrived for me. The photograph would tell me which country she was in and her words would be short, but I treasured every one.
I tucked the card into a notebook I had started to catalog her entire journey. I planned to give it back to her when she arrived home, a kind of journal of her year abroad.
I looked forward to those words like they were water in a parched desert. Each one gave me a small glimpse into her days spent far away but it was enough. As I stood on the dock looking over the misty waters, I sent a prayer to her as she stood far away somewhere upon the moors.
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