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31-Day Writing Challenge—Day 25 :: Think

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“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing much.”

It was a lie—a big, bald-faced lie. In truth, he was thinking thoughts so weighty they almost terrified him. How could he possibly put that burden on her? Not now—already there was too much fear, too much insecurity, too much uncertainty … too much of too little.

Besides, the thoughts weren’t even formed in his own mind; words to express them would certainly fail. The thoughts were mere wisps of cloud; speaking them would be a breeze distorting their already-shapeless being. In the very act of speaking, the thoughts would dissipate into nothingness.

(It’s funny how that works, isn’t it—how we think in words, but verbalizing our thoughts fundamentally alters them?)

“You look deep in thought.”

“Sort of,” he lied again.

“So what are you thinking about?,” she pressed.

(Does it always have to be about something? Can’t we just think? To think about reduces the transcendent firmament of thought to a single, inconsequential subject line.)

“I don’t know—random thoughts. Nothing in particular.” At last, truth. (“Clouds” wouldn’t have been incorrect.)

“Well, can’t you think out loud? I want to know what’s going on inside you.”

(Be careful what you ask for.)

So slowly, haltingly, the words blew out. Wisps of ideas scattered. Unformed thoughts took shape. Fears peeked out as if from behind night-darkened trees. The words were, as expected, insufficient, inexact, incorrect. They described ideas he hadn’t had, distorted images that had been crystal clear before being breathed out. He wanted to retreat again, into the quiet refuge of thought.

(How is it that words can so befuddle a wordsmith’s thoughts?)

And as the words spilled out haphazardly, confusing and distorting the very thoughts she’d asked to know, her own thoughts joined with his, creating new thoughts, new life … and, yes, new fears.

“What if …? What about …? Could we …? What do you think about …?”

In the precise imprecision of language, thoughts give way to ideas, possibilities, hopes, dreams.

“So what have you been thinking about?,” he asked.

It’s her turn now.

This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.

31-Day Writing Challenge—Day 22 :: Still

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[I’ve missed a few!]

Shhh…. Be still, my child. Abba’s here. Abba’s got you.

I know it hurts. I’m so sorry you’re hurting. But I’m holding you. I love you, and nothing can ever change that. I will never let you go. I will never stop loving you. No matter what anyone else says, no matter what anyone else thinks or does … I love you.

(But you have to love me—you’re my Abba.)

Yes, I have to love you … because I’m yours, because you’re mine … because I AM … I have to love you. I want to love you. I do love you. I love you because I love. I love you because I am love.

(That doesn’t count. I want to be loved for me.)

Yes, I understand—I want to be loved for me, too. And I know how it feels to not be loved for me. It’s hard. It hurts. So much, in fact, that I could just die. But—oh wait, I did die. I loved and loved and loved so much that it killed me. (Literally!)

My child, you will never be enough for others to love you for you. After all, if I’m not enough …. But you’ll never have to be enough for me—just let me be enough for you.

(I’ll try, Abba. I love you.)

I love you, too, my son. Now hush … be still … and know … that I am God. And I love you.

This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.

31-Day Writing Challenge—Day 3 :: Peace

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It’s quiet now. Late. Dark. Peaceful. It wasn’t always. But it is now.

I like the quiet. Crickets chirping in the dark. Cars in the distance, far enough away that they are nothing more than a soft hum. Some nights the stars go on forever, reminiscent of the fireflies of my Midwest childhood. Tonight, though, nothing above but an almost-midnight blue blanket … that I can’t see for the blinding white of my screen, the only interruption of the peace.

These moments alone, unhurried moments. Early morning or late night. This is peace.

This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.

31-Day Writing Challenge—Day 2 :: Content

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“Contentment is learned,” he said. But how? Like patience—tested by waiting and the temptation to impatience? Is contentment learned through discontent, through wanting, through thinking that more will satisfy? Or is it learned through having—and finding dissatisfaction (or even fear and anxiety) in the possession?

“Give me enough that I don’t steal from real need,” wrote the psalmist, “but not enough that I don’t need You.” And “with You as my shepherd, I am content—green pastures, running water, protection … nothing lacking.”

And it’s good.

Oh, that I may be discontent with my discontent—and content with my content.

This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.

31-Day Writing Challenge :: NEED

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Need is a funny word. So short. So used. So abused.

“I need a drink,” says one after a long day at work. “I need it!” wails a child, reaching with its whole body for the toy just out of reach on the store shelf.

I need coffee. I need to eat. I need you. I need ….

Every plaintive cry reveals our poverty—not real poverty, of course, just a perceived lack of something, or someone, without which our life feels less than we’d like.

And it is less. Not for lack of a toy or a drink or a partner, but for want of contentment, of satisfaction.

What I need is is contentment. Without it, I will always need more.

This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.