It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is WHAT MAMA DID. 

Mama captured moments and put them in place to be treasured.

A lifetime of memories quietly tucked away in books.

Photo albums mama made for each of us. Her days more than busy. Too busy. But mama took time.

The baby days, little feet and piggy tails and buggies and bottles on feet. A golden birthday celebrated in a little white chair. Daddy and mama, and sister came along too.

In the early days, smiles shined brightly on the pages. The girl full of energy and spunk. The girl who didn’t care what anyone thought. She was there with all the grandmas and the grandpas and the special trips made to Disneyland and Disneyworld and all the great mountains and geysers of the states. And brother was born. So tiny in her big elementary arms.

The birthday parties, they passed one by one. Angel cakes with mountains high of frosting. Bear collections and 4-H projects and sweet girl memories with Sara and Claire and Abbey.

And as she grew, mama captured all that too. Grandma played her last piece on the piano, and the girl turned adolescent. Awkward stances turned into tennis matches and prom dances.

And she was growing into herself, she loved to dress up, even then. Some days she was curly, some days she was straight. She had life in her, but did what she was told. Concerts and recitals and musicals a plenty. The days were good and filled to the brim. Graduation in a gym with grandpa and auntie, and sweet buddy Charlie and tear-filled Jamie.

College days were here. Wisdom teeth were pulled, grandma celebrated her last birthday, and this girl-woman got engaged. Graduation and showers and a wedding in two months. A move for school, another two years, and a stadium with thousands marked the end for women who knew how hard they worked to earn that graduate degree.

Time passed, and passed some more. A baptism was on that last page. She had her first, a new chapter. A baptism meant it was time for mama to stop filling the pages. But mama? She continued to mark each day, each memory, each moment in her heart. And although pages were no longer filled by mama, a new mama had been birthed, and she did what mama did. She filled pages with a lifetime of love.

From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.  Ephesians 4:16

Amy

For the most part, they were crazy kids. They met that first week of school in August. He says they were “trolling for guys,” she says they were exploring the campus and happened to pass by. It wasn’t until April that they started dating. She was 18, he was 21.

The girl he dated was much different than the woman he’s married to today. In her deepest moments of insecurity, she wonders if he’d still marry her today knowing she’s not nearly as “fun” as she was when they dated.

But she knows truth. For souls are bared across the years. Near 18 years of moments shared.

For they have gone down this road together. They have lived and grown up together. They have shared a life like no two before.

Vows made. Homes built. Babes born. Jobs started and jobs ended.

Money tight. Families in years of unexpected chaos and trauma.

Real time together luxury. Vacation alone near impossible with three kids.

Deepest dreams shared. Insecurities bared.

Frustrations at the end of a road. Tears no one else has seen. Stories no one else has heard.

But this love is a gift. This baring of souls is beautiful. For through these moments, through the years, there’s no replacement for two bearing life together, baring souls together. For to bare your soul is to bare your true self.

Those crazy kids knew not what they would bear, but were brave enough to bare. Are brave enough to bare.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  1 Corinthians 13:7

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is BARE. 

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is AFRAID. 

I watched them in the gym on Wednesday.

Like robots, walking across the gym floor. One arm up, one leg up. The other arm up, other leg up.

They carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Balls over their heads. Up, down. Up, down. Lunge. Lunge. Balls over heads. Up and over. Up and over. Never letting it go.

Revelation Song played on my iPod.

As they sat, I caught a glimpse of souls.

The woman in red at the end? Full of insecurity. Isolates herself, as if she doesn’t want to be noticed.

And the one with the cute logo on her shirt? A people pleaser. She’s been that way her whole life.

The woman with the perfect braid and the chest that seems too big to be real? She’s all about perfection. Always trying, harder and harder to meet the unattainable standard.

And the woman in green that carries herself as if she’s not so sure? She’s experienced a lot of pain and she hurts. She’s compared herself and she doesn’t meet the standard. She’s a survivor, but she feels inferior.

I crossed paths with this magazine. GQ. For men. Beyonce on the cover. Her body perfect. Seriously, perfect. She had her first baby just a year ago, just a couple weeks before I had my third.

I struggle to take off the three pounds I gained at Christmas, and now an extra pound on top of that, leaving me still seven pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight. And this Beyonce? She’s already on the cover making it look all easy and she’s perfect.

The men reading this magazine? They see Beyonce, knowing full well she gave birth last year. Do men, in their heart of hearts, wish we looked like that? And the women who cross paths with these images? Do they see Beyonce, also knowing full well she gave birth last year, and expect themselves to look just as perfect? Even though it’s near impossibility?

To carry the weight of the world on our shoulders is a burden too heavy to bear. I’m afraid we can’t live up to your standard, GQ. For Beyonce probably has a personal chef and a personal trainer and a nanny that helps care for her child every day, and a butler and a maid who tend to every whim.

I must ignore these images of perfection, because they are not real. Women bearing the weight of the world are full of insecurity, inferiority. They want to please, they want to perfect. And it’s not going to happen. We can’t be perfect. We aren’t perfect. So stop making us afraid.

There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. 1 Corinthians 15:40 

Amy

Today, I am so excited to introduce you to my childhood friend’s mom, Barb, who has stolen my heart with her homemade pickles since I was a little child!

Again and again and again. I could eat those pickles all day long, every day, all year round.

Those pickles, there when I was a child. On the island when we would come in from swimming in our kiddie pool. Pickles with tuna salad sandwiches. Pickles in the basement after a birthday party game of pin the tail on the donkey, all cut up in a little bowl with sloppy joes. Pickles at graduation parties and Christmas parties and family nights all gathered around on couches in innocence. Pickles after swimming in the sun, pickles after we stuffed our mouths full of Skittles, pickles all around.

Those pickles, there in the early years of our adulthood. That night we came to visit, childhood friends all gathered, now me with baby in hand. Pickles were there, yes indeed.

Those pickles, there at the wedding table. Sunflowers and tents and faces from the past. Childhood friends now women all grown up, at a distance. Girlish memories undeniably strong at that childhood home, yet faint in the presence of husbands and fiancees and teachers all retired. We’re adults now. Lives have moved forward, but the pickles? They remain the same. On the wedding table, ever present, ever drawing me in to take more and more, just as delicious as always.

Those pickles, on the table at an unforgettable baby shower. The guest of honor not present, my heart torn and conflicted and unsure and worn down, and desperate for answers and understanding. The familiarity of that pickle, the familiarity of that house and those faces, all at odd ease to embrace a little hope child in the midst of much uncertainty.

Those pickles, often on my mind. A basket of pickles at a silent auction reminds me of Barb. I wish I knew how to make pickles like that, like Barb. Thoughts of my ideal self surface. The mom that cans pickles, the mom that brings her children and her childrens’ friends delight in such simple goodness.

Those pickles, a surprise. At Christmas, an unexpected gift. To: Amy. From: Barb. Barb gave mom a can and sent a can for me. A smile, a real smile. What more could I ask for but a can of the best pickles ever?

Those pickles, I finished the last one last week. Treasured each bite again and again. Stood still in my kitchen and soaked it in. The awesomeness of that last pickle.

In all the change, the pickle remains the same. It has always remained the same. Always predictable, always delectable, always just right, always satisfying, always a delight.

Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. Proverbs 31:31

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is AGAIN. (OK, I admit, I went more like 10 minutes today instead of 5! Forgive me, I had a lot to say about those pickles!)

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is CHERISHED.

I dreamed of sponsoring children since I was a child myself.

Years passed, and that dream never faded.

Last August, we sponsored little Bethchaida from Haiti. Knit in her mother’s womb, handpicked by our family to love from a distance.

Last week, we received a packet for little Djino, our sweet correspondent child from Haiti. He has a sponsor, but we have the privilege of encouraging him through handwritten letters sent miles through the mail.

I want to love on these little ones, let them know they are precious, worthy, cherished.

In 2013, I have a goal to clean out my life (literally and figuratively) and start saving creatively for a Compassion International sponsor trip to Haiti so I can visit one or both of these precious children. We landed in Haiti just one day, and I feel a strong call to return. It is time to let these little ones know they are cherished and worth any and every sacrifice.

But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first. Matthew 19:30

Amy