Five Minute Friday: pause

In Marilynn Robinson's beautiful novel Gilead, Reverend John Ames remarks, "I don't know why solitude would be a balm for loneliness, but that is how it always was for me in those days." These days seem harried and hectic, and solitude is an elusive gift, but I've found a slice of it this afternoon, a place…

Five Minute Friday: adapt

Adapt. It's a good word to explain all the days -- weeks, months? -- when I haven't written here. The shift of life that comes to a household with two babies now, instead of one. The larger one brings me gifts of rocks and clover blossoms as I stand with him in the yard, bouncing…

Five Minute Friday: beauty

He's up before the sun, a snuggly body in footie pajamas beside me on the couch, and somehow I'm singing him a personalized version of "You Are my Sunshine," ending with the sentiment that he'll be mine always. And he echoes "always" at the end, and insists that I sing it "'gin! 'gin!" So I…

Five Minute Friday: simplify

  Simplify -- the word rings with New Year's resolutions and comes with all the lovely Pinterest images of minimalist, white rooms. I did -- sort of -- organize a closet last week, and as a toddler mom who expects a new baby in six weeks or so, simplification sounds good. But I didn't make…

Five Minute Friday: different

3:03 in the afternoon, and at last the sun has managed to penetrate our gray cloud ceiling and come slanting in the window to cast my shadow against the red couch. I've been waiting for it all day. It's amazing how much warmer 40 degrees Fahrenheit feels when the sun is shining, and how little…

Five Minute Friday (on Monday): only

The Christmas tree in the corner, surprise snow on Friday, a schedule quickly filling with festivities of all varieties . . . . somehow, weaving in and out through all the carols of glory this past week, I've had a crucifixion hymn singing. Stricken, smitten, and afflicted, see him dying on the tree. 'Tis the…

Five Minute Friday: silence

6 am. The baby sleeps. So there's just the sound of the noise machine through the monitor, the ticking clock, a squeak of a bird somewhere outside. I used to live in these long spaces of quiet -- before marriage, before babies -- just me and my thoughts, and I thought lots of thoughts and…