Five Minute Friday — Story

On Fridays a group of folk meet here for a free writing exercise.

Just 5 minutes. On the prompt that’s posted here just after midnight early Friday morning. Want to know more – check out the Five Minute Friday back story over here.

And every week I feature a favorite Five Minute Friday post by one of you over there in my side bar. It never ceases to amaze me the creative collaboration that can come from all of us writing on just one word.

Want to join our favorite free writing exercise of the week? It’s easy peasy:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat on the prompt: “Story” with no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on:::

Story…

My story.

My story is more than just a list of facts and statistics. It is about emotion and the shaping of who I am. My story has turns and twists and ups and downs. My story has chapters that only I know have been written. But most of all, as cliche’ as it sounds, I hope that my story has God written all over it.

I love how I can look back at my life and see the Author of my life weaving story lines together building my life piece by piece. I used to wonder when I was 8 and struggling to fit in, in a new town, why God moved our family. I can look back and see how He brought characters to my story into my life in that little town. How they helped shape me in ways only they could. I think of my friends and my teachers. The ones who made a difference and who were there listening to me and rooting me on from the sidelines. I hear them telling me “you can do it” and “I’m praying for you” when I think about the challenges that were brought my way in that small little town.

I can see how God brought me to that small town to meet my husband. And what a blessing that has been!

God is the author of my life. He directs my steps and I trust Him with the pen of my life. As I have learned that He is the one penning this tale, I have become eager to read what the next page holds and where the next chapter will take us. I am never so anxious though that I forget to savor the story on this page, this chapter, at this moment.

Psalm 119:35

35 Make me walk in the path of Your commandments,

For I delight in it.

Five Minute Friday — Path

For five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.
Unscripted. Unedited. Real. All on the same prompt that I post here at 1 minute past midnight EST ever Friday.
Write and see what comes out. There’s no right or wrong.
It’s a #FiveMinuteFriday flash mob! <—click to tweet this!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
::
OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on:

Path…

A path lies before our family. We can’t see it and we don’t know where it’s taking us. We trust the One who made the path and who prods us along on this journey.
We can only see what He chooses to reveal, sometimes it stretches out miles in front of us and other times we can only see to the next bend, the next few feet.
In the last year this path has brought us to trials that we would have never imagined. We have lost 2 precious children in 6 months, but our God carried us through and we learned lessons along the way. We have experienced despair, abandonment, betrayal and incredible heartache at the hands of those who shouldn’t inflict such deep wounds. We have had to learn forgiveness, grow thick skin and learn to walk away all while still loving…because no matter what we do or say we can’t make them see.
And now our path has brought us through the future unknown. The “what next” as we wonder where the path leads. At this point in our lives, we can’t see more than a few feet ahead. But out of obedience we continue to walk together, waiting, discovering and learning. We trust that when we look back at the winding twisted path, that it will indeed be straight, it has been carved especially for us by the hand of God who can see exactly where we’re going. Our job is to be obedient His gentle prompting…”Keep walking”

Proverbs 3:6

In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.

Five Minute Friday — Expectation

Fridays are for writing for five minutes.
Only five minutes.
Stream-of-consciousness style. Like you did when you were in 9th grade.
Write and see what comes out. There’s no right or wrong.
Got 5 minutes? Come and spend them writing <—click to tweet this!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
OK, are you ready? Please give me your best five minutes on:

Expectation…

Prince charming, happily ever after, no arguments, no trouble…wonderful wedded bliss.
Eleven years ago today (June 9) I married my dear husband. We were young (19), in love and full of expectations. I thought we’d settle down, plant some roots and grow our family. Instead, we’ve moved 10 times in the last 11 years (2 of those to the same house). Our current place of residence is the longest we’ve ever stayed in any house…4 whole years! We’ve grown our family, both here on earth and in Heaven.
Instead of planting roots, I’ve come think of us more as a potted plant…easily movable…at home where we are for the moment.
We always joke that we’ve been married for 11 years, 7 of them have been really wonderful. The first few years were filled with unmet, uncommunicated and unrealistic expectations. As we’ve grown we’ve learned to be flexible a bit. Life has a way of making you change your expectations, your focus, your goals and you as a couple.
When I was first married I expected Kerry to be able to “make it all better”, to make up for my inadequacies and failures, to fill holes left behind. I expected him to carry me away and we would live the end of the fairytale. Boy was I stupid!
We are living a fairy tale though. A true to life fairy tale. Filled with twists and turns. Joys, grief, surprises and lessons that we are learning together. Our fairy tale is what has made us the couple we are. Our expectations have changed.
We were told when we were married, by someone who wasn’t crazy about it, that the person you marry when you’re 19 isn’t the same person you’d marry when you’re 26. Well I hope not! I would hope somewhere between 19 and 26 or 36 that you’d grow, you’d change. For us, though, we’ve had the benefit of growing and changing together. Without a doubt, the person I married at 19 isn’t the same man he is today, but it doesn’t matter because we’ve changed together, neither of us is the same we are so very different from who we were 11 years ago, but we are together, we are happy and we are in love.
My expectations for the rest of my married life are to live out our fairy tale together, until death parts us.
A copy of our marriage vows (and we still mean them):

I, Kerry, take you, Erin, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to understand, till death do us part, according to the design of God in creation and thereto pledge thee my faith.

I, Erin, take you, Kerry, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to understand, till death do us part, according to the design of God in creation and thereto pledge thee my faith.

Kansas Trip Pictures

Not totally wordless, but we’ve had a great trip back to Kansas visiting friends and family. We’ve met new friends and made new connections. It’s been a great trip! And while it wasn’t a “no work” vacation (I finished up teaching 2 classes and started teaching 2 while we were here), it’s been relaxing just the same.
Here are some pictures from our visit…

Zeke couldn't wait to get on the combine! He could have ridden for hours.

Walking back to the farm from the field.

My Gabe. He is such a brilliant young man!

Papa Don is always willing to take the little ones for a ride.

Uncle Scott is a sucker for Zeke when he asks for a ride on the 4 wheeler

When I was in nursing school…

In going through and packing up some books, I found a journal that I kept for a whole week when I was in nursing school. It was the first week of the spring semester my first year. Here is what I wrote the night before my first clinical day of med/surg and the day after.
January 10
We had orientation for clinicals today at VCSF (“back then” our orientation was a whole day). I’m going to be doing good if I don’t get lost! That hospital is so crazy. Maybe it just seems that way because Verda took us up every back stairwell she could think of because it was a “short cut”. I’m sure I’m going to end up on the wrong floor looking like an idiot. It was a long day and I’m sure tomorrow will be longer.
I tried to get caught up on some laundry today, it’s so hard to keep things going when I’m so busy with school. We actually have some clean bath towels! I think Kerry was surprised. I should’ve been working on my presentation for post conference tomorrow. I have to present it to the whole class and I don’t want to look stupid.
I’m a little nervous about tomorrow. I get the strong feeling we’re going to be thrown to the wolves. Verda doesn’t seem as “over bearing” as G was, so I don’t think she’ll hover as much. I think that might be scary. I just hope the nurses on the floor are receptive to us being there. The nurses at RS weren’t happy to see us and we felt like we were in the way a lot. I hope it’s different at VCSF. Blech. I should go to bed…I feel sick.
January 11
We had clinicals this morning. I got up at 4:45am to get ready to be at the hospital by 6:30. I am sooo not a morning person. Thank goodness I remembered to switch my scrubs to the dryer or I would have had a lousy start to the day. I think our whole class was a little nervous to start with. I know I was! We were spread out on 3 different floors. Verda gave us our room numbers and the kind of surgery our patient had. That was it. I had a colostomy patient. I thought I would be doing wound and stoma care all day…I felt sick to my stomach this is totally not something I wanted to mess up and I was afraid I was going to feel like a ding dong all day. My nurse told me they had a stoma team for stuff like that and I think I could have hugged her I was so relieved.
My patient threw up all morning and I spent my morning, instead, worrying about him losing staples or trying really hard not to puke myself. Barf is NOT my thing. And then the best part of the whole morning, was right after my patient got his breakfast and he barfed and then coded. Seriously! My first day of clinical and my patient codes, when I was in the room with him…by myself. My first thought wasn’t “ABC” like it should have been…it was “oh my goodness I’m going to fail”. After the code team got in the room I came out to stand in the hallway. Verda wasn’t on the floor so she didn’t know. I walk out and my classmates are all standing there like “are you okay?”. I asked one of them to call Verda. She came down, put her hand and my shoulder and told me to get my butt in the room, that was my patient. I think I could have melted into the floor. Then she announced to the whole room full of nurses and doctors that I was the nursing student and I needed experience. Like the red sea they all parted and the doc running the code told me to keep doing chest compressions. Never ever have I wanted so badly to not be in a situation. I felt like everyone was watching me and all I could think was “if this guy doesn’t make it…I’m so going to fail…” He didn’t make it. I fully expect a call from the department chair tomorrow to discuss my “progress” in the program. I have no idea what happened the rest of today, it’s pretty much a blur, other than I had to be with the chaplain when we talked to his daughter and that I did post mortem care (I’ll bet I’m the only one who gets that one checked off on the first day of clinicals). If Verda wanted to make sure I got the “full” experience…I did. Sheesh.
I was really sorry I carpooled today. All I wanted to do was get in and bawl my eyes out, but I didn’t want my classmates to think I was a wuss so I didn’t. But the minute I got to my car I cried like a baby. Kerry was very nice about the whole thing and is sure I didn’t kill him and that I’m not done with nursing school. I know I didn’t kill him (he aspirated and had a heart attack), but I’m pretty sure I’m done. I guess I can always fall back on being a waitress. I think I’m going to be sick.
January 12
Didn’t get kicked out today. Holding my breath for tomorrow. I guess I should work on my care plan.

Blank

I sit here with a blank screen in front of me, waiting for something to come, something of substance, something to be read. The truth is, very little of what is running through my brain these days seems “publishable” to the general population. Most of the time, I’m thinking about stuff that would hack some people off, stuff that I’m not quite ready to share and stuff that just doesn’t seem to gel, instead it flies through my head like little snow flakes skittering to the ground.
Little snippets of thoughts race through and I can’t quite seem to grab enough of them to make sense. I have so many things to write, so much I want to say, but I start to edit them in my head before I ever write them and decide they’re not worthy to even put down. Then I have those posts that are written, but are not likely to ever be published. They are raw, what I “really” think about some things but some words are likely to hurt no matter how true they are, or they’re words that will stir conflict and strife. They are the things I wish I could say. I write them just to get them out of my head, because I was taught if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all. But I have to write it or it will all come tumbling out in words I actually say and will regret later.
So I sit here, blank…trying to think of something…anything…

Five Minute Friday — Real

For some reason this didn’t post like it was supposed to on Friday. So here it is again…
When last did you write for fun?
Not to impress anyone, not for blog hits or comments or Pinterest pins?
When last did you just write?
On Fridays over here a group of people who love to go all out buck wild for the fun of the written word gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
If you have writer’s block – we have the cure <—click to tweet this!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.
OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

Real…

Being “real” with others is so difficult. I have learned to put up walls to keep from being hurt, feeling vulnerable and being different. I was thinking tonight on my way home, how much more I’ve learned to put up walls as I’ve been teaching and as a wife in the ministry.
There is always a barrier there, I never quite reveal who I am completely. It’s a protective mechanism really, but it leaves me feeling isolated and like I’m never able to be quite who I am. I’m always on guard, always protecting myself and keeping my fences up.
Real means being okay with not being liked all the time, with putting yourself out there and being okay with the messiness of life. Being real means you’re not so focused on yourself that you forget to ask how the person you’re talking to is doing. Sometimes it means smudging your make up and hugging someone else. Real is comfort with who you are and who God made you to be.
Real doesn’t change who you are, it embraces who you were created to be. Real is a scary place to be, it isn’t easy and it’s a process. Sometimes a long one. For me, it means editing less and writing more. It means being willing to share, listen and just be. Real is praising God for the person He created me to be and striving to be everything He desires.

Five Minute Friday — Community

So let’s spend our five minutes of writing today, sharing about community. Fight it, love it, hate it, hurt or healed by it, we were certainly built for it.
Set a timer and just write. Don’t worry about making it just right or not.
Go all in with your words.
Are you ready?

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.
OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

Community…

I grew up in a small community, 500 people. There were good things and bad things about growing up in such a little place.

We had lunches made in our school, by our “lunch ladies” who also happened to be moms of kids going to school too. I was so thankful they put out a cookbook. I’ve made many recipes for my family that I remember eating as a student. I know now, how blessed we were as students to be cared for each day.
We played 8 man football. Our basketball team one year only had 6 girls out, just enough for a substitute. We had a stellar band and choir.
If you shot a deer in the morning before school, you could probably miss the first 2 hours while you drug it up to your house. It wasn’t uncommon for kids to come to school in camo with a gun in their gun rack. We weren’t worried about getting shot, we wanted to know what they shot and where.
We didn’t have homework on Wednesday night usually because everyone went to church.
We had a spring concert with a huge BBQ for the community. We walked to the nursing home for social studies when we were in junior high.
We have a Threshing days celebration every year that is an impromptu class reunion for anyone who happens to be visiting. The band marches, we eat, we watch sand volleyball and we catch up. I knew the name of every person in my high school and really, for several years before and after me.
Our school was “haunted” and our art teacher was a great story teller.

But there were drawbacks. It was sometimes hard to find a niche’ where you felt like you belonged. I moved into that little town when I was 8, third grade. I remember feeling like such an outsider. Like there was some kind of secret I was supposed to know but didn’t about being there. When I graduated 9 years later, I still felt like an outsider. It was a shell I never felt like I could break through. The town motto painted on the side of the grocery store was “Small town, Big heart”. Sometimes, it could feel like it was the other way around if you weren’t born there or were just a little bit “different”.
There were people though, who did their best to make everyone feel welcome. I remember my bus driver stopping me before I got off the bus so she could zip my coat for me. We had a long driveway and the wind was cold. When she retired, we were blessed with another bus driver who came to my wedding. I had a math teacher who invested in my future and who spent lots of time with me helping me understand trig. I had a wood shop teacher (yes, I took wood shop), who would spend late nights at the end of the semester helping students finish projects. He’d also draw all over the top of your board to make sure you sanded it good enough.
I met and started dating my husband in our little community. We were 15. We made an unlikely pair because we were so different. I am so blessed though in reality we couldn’t have been better matched.
When I think of community, there are so many different things that come to mind…church, family, work, school. But most often what comes to mind is the little community I grew up in, in south central Kansas. The place where I learned about making friends and enemies, acceptance and rejection and that no matter where you go small town living has no rival. That little community taught me far more in terms of “life” than any other place I’ve been. I’m thankful for my experience growing up there and as a parent I try to capture and teach some of those same lessons to my children while living in a much bigger city.

I am me

Seems simple enough. To borrow a line from Popeye “I yam what I yam”.
But sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. As I try to navigate this road of discipleship with my children, homeschooling them and leading them, figuring out how to be a mom and keep my house clean, I sometimes feel like I’m not enough.

I read books, blogs, articles, watch movies to help me try to figure it all out. I get some great ideas, but sometimes I just feel bad. I hear folks talk about how they’re teaching their kids history and I think “I haven’t even really started that yet” or I hear the fun activities they do for unit studies and I can’t help but think “I wish I had the energy/time/imagination to do that stuff with my kids.” And I wonder if I’m failing them. Sure they did fantastic on their required standardized tests this year, but for some reason that doesn’t feel good enough some days.
It is so hard not to compare yourself to every other homeschooling mom, working mom, stay at home mom out there. But you know…I’ll bet there is something undone at their house. I’ll be they have dirty socks under their beds, or maybe there is a fine layer of dust on their book shelf, oooh! or maybe they hide their dirty dishes in their oven when people come to visit. The truth is, as much as we’d like to, no one has it all together. Even the families on the covers of magazines.

I have be concentrating on not being “perfect” but in having realistic expectations for myself, my boys and our home. As much as I would love to have a spotless house…with 4 boys I’ve decided it’s just not going to happen. Truth be told, there are days when I wonder why I even try…and then I see a mouse run across the floor and I remember. I can’t do every cool unit study out there we don’t have time and I don’t have the energy. So for now, we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing (after all it is working).
We’ve made certain things a priority for our family, our home and our boys. Those are the things we focus on and we do the other stuff when we can. We’ll work it all in somewhere. But our priority is not to have them know every little fact about world history before they get to 5th grade.
There are some days that it’s easier said than done. I still walk away some days feeling like I’m missing something and failing some how, but I “yam what I yam” and for right now that has to be enough.

Five Minute Friday — Good Bye

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.
I’ve said a lot of good byes this year. Some of them were with the hope that we would see each other again, some were good byes until eternity and some were painful good byes because choices had to be made.
This past year we said good bye to Kerry’s grandmother Stella over Thanksgiving break. We celebrated her home-going and while the good bye was sad because we will miss her, it was joyous to think of her rejoicing in Heaven.
Little did we know that week while we were visiting is likely when our son Knox died. Within a week of returning home from saying good bye to Grandma, we said good bye to our precious son Knox. That has, for me, been the hardest good bye of my life. There were, and still are, so many unknowns, fears and unanswered questions yet. When I think back to the month or so that followed, the only thing that comes to mind is “numb”. I don’t remember feeling anything but immense sorrow and numb. Kerry’s birthday, Christmas and the New Year were all over shadowed by that good bye and that loss. We still don’t understand it, but we have found peace, we continue to trust our God for the healing only He can provide. And slowly, we come to terms with our good bye said too soon.
I’ve said good bye in a sense to some family involuntarily. They are good byes that are still very raw and painful. I have yet to reconcile it. They are good byes that had to happen because we are all accountable for our choices.
And yet other good byes have been bitter sweet. In quitting my job this semester, I have said good bye to a certain time of my life. I have enjoyed teaching students, I have delighted in seeing them learn and be successful. At the same time though, I am anxious to be home with our boys full time and to teach them, disciple them and be home here. I’m thrilled at the prospect, but I think too I will miss some parts of teaching. Others…I will not.
Good bye can mean so many different things. It can mean a closure to a relationship, but at the same time it can mean so many new opportunities. Good bye closes doors and opens them. It breaks hearts and heals them. It writes stories upon our hearts.
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