. . . and then some more . . . More life. More Jesus.

Category Archives: Writing

What February’s Teaching Me About Faithfulness (It’s Probably Not What You Think)

February was always a hard month for me. Maybe not always. But at least from the time I was 17.

That’s when my friend’s boyfriend shot himself in the head. Five days later, she jumped off a bridge. When my infant cousin died in her crib just about a week later, it was all I could do to stay sane. Literally.

Over the course of three weeks, I went to three funerals and lost my will to stay faithful to the God I had known since I was five. That will got replaced by a burning desire to do whatever it took to keep my friends happy. And close.

Although it made my senior year of high school super fun, that decision also served as a catalyst for some really dumb choices that made me not want to go to my class reunion twenty years later.

For years, every February when I would realize what month it was, I would enter a sort of subconscious funk that made me dread the coming days and the pain I thought I would always remember.

I’m not sure when that pain stopped hurting. But I can tell you for certain it no longer does.

Still, there is a certain mid-winter funk that happens every year. It makes February feel like the longest month. ever.

Tulips for Feb

I find myself dreaming of springtime and daffodils and hyacinths. Easter celebrations and sunnier days and planting gardens and sitting outside at Chipotle. (My fingers are seriously typing faster with every thought of those springtime lovelies!)

I’d like to say this year I have found a way around the funk, but the truth is I have not. Rather I believe God is using it to teach me about faithfulness.

It’s doing what I know I was born to do even when I don’t feel excited to do it.

It’s just starting. Finding my way to the floor on my face and handing the I-don’t-want-to-do-this to the One Who does.

Faithfulness is choosing to stay committed to my dream even when the thing that does the choosing doesn’t want to choose that.

It’s every step, following God’s next. Believing He won’t let me stray. Trusting He’s showing up inside my every daily offering. My hands as they type. My smile as it turns a stranger’s countenance around. My mouth as it refuses to grumble.

And this is where I stand. Faithful because God shows me how.

What about you? What do you think of when you hear the word faithfulness? What about February? Do you like it? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

What I Forgot (It’s Not About Me)

To become a Christian means to lose our lives.  — David Platt, Follow Me

I have been a Christian since I was five years old. That night in January, 1977, when my dad answered my questions about all the changes I noticed in Him. All the talk about Jesus.


That night I decided I wanted it too. I knew I’d done stuff that kept me separated from God. And I didn’t want to go to hell. I wanted to be saved and go to heaven someday when I die.

My dad helped me pray and ask Jesus to forgive me. Ask Him to please take over my life and be my Lord.

Then we called me born again and we told all our friends and we partied with the angels about my new forever life.

I have been one of God’s children ever since.

There have been seasons where you wouldn’t have known. Like those last years in high school when I wanted popularity and the reputation for fun more than I wanted the real life Jesus offered.

It lasted into college too. That first little while when I loved my independence and wasn’t sure how to handle it all. So I took it and ran with all sorts of fun before I realized it really wasn’t.

That’s when follow me. Deny yourself came into play.


I have long been attracted to the life Jesus offers — the more and better kind than I can ever imagine. But I am realizing that I tend to forget the part where He called me to give up everything.

Deny yourself.

I forgot about the part where Jesus told me to give up my own life.

Like when I know God has called me to write and make Him famous in this little sphere of influence He has let me enjoy. But I fill my hours with other stuff and have little left when I finally sit down to write.

Or I have some extra cash in my wallet so I stop for a coffee. Then I grab some lunch while I’m out. And before I know it, I’ve spent $20 in a matter of three hours. All on myself. For the third time this week.

And then there’s the Goodwill treasure hunting. Because who doesn’t want to spend $3.89 on a still-looks-like-new Gap sweater? Am I right?

And the twitter vacuum. And facebook.

And before I know it, I have to go pick up my kids from school and all my work time is over for the day.

I forgot about denying myself. I forgot it’s not about me.

I forgot that when Jesus took over, my part was to give up. Give up my what-I-want. Surrender my just-let-me-leave-one-more-comment-on-this-hilarious-post-about-what-my-friend’s-three-year-old-dreamt-last-night.

Give it up and trust the alive and perfect Spirit of Jesus Who lives inside me to give me the real life I actually want.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have fun. Or that I shouldn’t treat myself to some time off. It means I let Him have my minutes. I look for what God wants and give up what I think I want. I quit living for me and actually live to do what He has called me to do.

It means when I hear His wisdom tell me it’s time to get off facebook and get going with what He wants me to do, I heed His advice, sit down at that computer. and. actually. write.

So today right here, I am committing again. Denying myself. I will follow Jesus.

Because I know what He offers is way better than what I can dream up.

Maybe you forgot too.

Maybe He hasn’t called you to write. I don’t know what He’s called you to.

But I do know this — your life is not about you. Not if you’ve ever asked Jesus to be the Lord of your life. Not if you’ve ever trusted Him for real life, more and better than you’ve ever dreamed.

Let’s talk about it in the comments. How extreme do you think Jesus wants us to get when it comes to denying ourselves?


**Linking up today with my friend Michelle at MichelleDeRusha.com where lots of bloggers discuss what God’s been teaching them lately.

What I’m Learning About Making Art

I wake up new. Every morning. Even though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.

I will make art today. I wouldn’t have called it art last month. But Emily’s words are getting to me. What if this living, this dream-chasing life is actually a work of art created for the glory of Creator God?

I will love my kids and kiss my Mann and drink coffee with my friend. I will smile at the Panera girl who takes my plate with the dirty napkin and the chocolate pastry crumbs. I will go to my knees and hand the morning to God, the day.

I ask Him to show me today’s art assignment. Help me pick up the right paintbrush. The one that will make the art of my day. My life. I remind Him I’m no painter.

Truth is, I can draw a pretty awesome happy face. But that’s where it ends. I had a painting teacher in high school tell me the colors I’d chosen for my final assignment were hideous. So. There’s that.

My friend Pamela tells me I can paint. But, then again, she’s never seen the consequences of a paintbrush in my hand. Or the colors I’ve chosen for any given painting.

So I will make art with another kind of paintbrush.


With words and photos and smiles and prayers, I will offer the art that is my life. My breathing. My studying. My writing. My kid-hugging and laundry-sorting and dinner-making.

Sometimes I don’t want to call myself a writer. Because I’m scared of people knowing. But I want to write because I am a writer. It’s the art I was created to create. I am learning to embrace this beautiful dream.

I study Scripture and write about it. I look for Jesus in today. Watch for His art so I can love life more. Find the life He promised He’d give me. Then I offer my words, trusting He finds joy in the art of it all.

Today’s assignment has me planning some Advent season devotions for our church. Figuring out how to lead people into 28 days of celebrating Jesus. It doesn’t feel much like art at the moment.

But as I study and plan and brainstorm and type, I get all happy excited for what I am doing. My heart comes alive as I read about Christmas and dream about families who will read these plans and celebrate Jesus together.

And, really, isn’t that what real art does? It makes our fingers move faster. Our eyes keep the focus as they can’t pull away from the beauty of it all.

So today I make art, and I join in with Emily at Chatting at the Sky as she helps me understand more and more what that means. (I’m linking up there. You should really check it out. Because there are all kinds of amazing artists linking up too.)


Those Four Days I Spent at a Blogging Conference

I flew through Washington Dulles on my way to Allume. The blogging conference in Greenville, South Carolina where 452 women came together last weekend to figure out how to collectively make God famous on the internet. In the world.

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I had an hour layover. So I found a turkey brie sandwich at a Cosi deli and sat down at my gate to eat it. I knew it was one of the last moments I would have alone for four days, so I took some time to breathe and think through my expectations for the weekend.

Then I realized I had no idea what to expect, except for one thing. I fully expected to be overwhelmed. And, really, how does one prepare herself for overwhelmed? So I gave up the thinking-through and struck up a conversation with the woman next to me.

As soon as I got there, my expectations became reality.

Seriously. Over. Whelmed.

It started when my roommate and I rode the elevator with NY Times bestselling author Melanie Shankle and asked her name. (Um, duh! Melanie Shankle. You know, the lady that will speak tomorrow morning? The one whose book you adored?!?)

It came with me to the first meetup, with all the new people, where everyone and everyone else was better at doing what I’m usually so good at. I introduced myself to Tricia Goyer, the amazing author of more that 35 books and asked her name too. (Hello, Bria! Have you looked at any Twitter picture? Ever?)

And, yes, the overwhelmed followed me into dinner that first night. That’s when the awesome Barefoot Mel so graciously saw what must have been the picture of a holy-cow-this- is-a-lot-of-women-and-what-the-heck-am-I-doing-here scream. (Seriously, I felt a little bit like crawling into a corner and rocking while sucking my thumb.) She gave me a hug and asked me to sit with her and her friends.

I felt a little bit like Nemo. I was really ok, but at the same time terrified. Wanting to sit back and soak it all in, but still wanting to be at the forefront with all the famous people I’d already seen. I didn’t want to see them as famous, I wanted to see them as fellow Jesus-chasers. I wasn’t there to compete. But it was hard to remember.

My thoughts were loud. Super duper loud. And crazy. Ann Voskamp spoke at dinner that night, and I loved what God had her say, but I felt like His voice was a distant echo bouncing off all the loud that was in my heart.

So I found the prayer room after dinner. A big dimly lit, softly music-ed room (did I just make that word up? I think I just made that word up!) full of godly women who wanted to be Jesus with shoes on for those of us who might want to find respite there throughout the weekend.

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God gave me a beautiful new friend who asked if she could pray with me. I said yes.

We prayed for God’s voice to speak. Prayed for clarity of purpose. Then I grabbed my prayer journal and wrote these words:

Dear Lord,

The noise is big. I want to hear You. Please help me hear You. And help me obey.


And then I heard God speak.

Okay, not really like that. But kind of.

Three times last weekend, God gave me specific answers I had asked for. Three no-doubt-about-it times He let me know He wants me all-in. He used three different people (two agents, one speaker) to assure me and to prod me and to tell me to get over it and just do it. Get the word out about Him and the amazing life He wants us to live.

Just. Write. Bria.

Quit worrying about screwing up your motives. Or your kids. Trust that He won’t let you. Trust Him to keep you on track. And just do what God has given you to do. Take the next step. Write the next word. Publish the next post. Love the person right in front of you. Just show them Jesus.

He reminded me that first morning in South Carolina, Greenville Hyatt, room 545’s shower, why I was there. It had nothing to do with meeting famous people or being less than or more of a writer or a networker or even a follower of Jesus Christ.

I was there because He ordained it.

God wanted me there. So I was there.

He gave me people to meet. Women to befriend. Bloggers to love.

And he clarified my purpose in writing what I do. He gave me words of assurance in moments at lunch. At a breakout session. And lunch the next day.

So today I have purpose I hadn’t realized I had. I have so much to tell you about those clarifying words He spoke ever so clearly. But I’m pushing 850 words here, and I want you to come back. 😉 So I promise I’ll tell you. Just not quite yet.

Have you ever felt like God gave you an answer you’d been waiting to hear? Do you think I’m crazy?

What Brianna R Wasson Is About

I’ve been planning and praying and planning some more all over this place called briannaRwasson(dot)com. This place in cyberland that bears my name and resembles who I am and what I’m about.

I mentioned last week that I’d been planning to plan. If you’ve been hanging here for a while you might remember my affinity for all things calendars and notebooks and empty paper that screams fill me up with dreams and hope and whatever else might come out of that brain and through those cool German pens you now own.

You might remember I started praying for some clarity 40 days before we flew home from that year-long vacation from comfortable my family enjoyed in the land of Deutsch. Started asking God what He might want to do through my little home on the web.

So I was super excited when I got my Blog Planning Kit from How They Blog and then signed up for Kat Lee’s Blog Planning Boot Camp. Because I believed it to be a place I could start writing down the dreams and figuring out how to actually go get them.

I was right to believe that.photo (8)

See, God’s got me in a spot where I know He wants to do amazing things with every bit of my small obedience. With my thirteenletters and a little dot com. He wants me to point to Him.

One word at a time. One smile, one step, one prayer at a a time.

There’s a lot going on in the dreaming and the planning still. But one thing is clear. The purpose of this place. 

Every day when I walk away from this computer, I will have fulfilled my purpose if even one of you can honestly say . . .

I want to know Jesus more.

I want to point straight to Him with my words and my life. Want to know Him in such a way that my passion for Him can’t help but spill over right out of me. Right out of everything I do. Every word I say. Every look I give. Every text I send. Every post I write.

I believe with all my heart that everything about Jesus is better than anything you or I could chase or grasp or even think we want. That’s why He promised life to the full, more and better life than (we) ever dreamed of, when we follow His way. Because He is so much better. He gives so much more. His way is so much more full. So much more amazing. Such greater adventure.

It’s tempting to believe the adventure’s on hold. I mean, I just spent a year with my family in a foreign land learning words and culture I knew nothing of, travelling roads and train tracks I hardly knew existed and facing fears I thought I would never, ever conquer.

But the adventure of every next small step, whether in the Land of Deutsch or the hills of the Amish, can only be awesome. That’s what He promised.

So, how about it? You in? Come back on Friday, and I’ll tell you how you can help. How we can be partners in this great big adventure.

Question for you: Do you tend to see life as an adventure or more as a bunch of days strung together to get to the other side of something?


**Here’s where I tell you there’s an affiliate link in this post, so if you click on the Blog Planning Kit link, I’ll get a little bit of cash for Panera. And when I go there, I will think of you and thank God for you. And then I’ll probably write another post. A fun little circle that will then be complete. 🙂



The View That Never Changes

I’ve come close a few times. Sitting on the back porch, pen in hand, journal and Bible open. Ready to put words to the processing I do as I unpack a box, lay in my bed, drive across town, throw a load in the washer.

We made it home to Ohio ten days ago. After a year living abroad, we now move back into our real home. But the clear processing and writing hasn’t actually started.

Somehow the words haven’t made it to my fingers quite yet. The thoughts haven’t formed into actual words.

I know they will. In time.

So much that fills my brain that tries to escape but can’t find words. Memories of there. Pressures from here. Excitement about things like cashiers I can chat with and drive-thrus I don’t have to build up courage or plan out vocabulary for. The strangeness of re-inserting ourselves into life as we knew it, only we’re different and it somehow all seems new.

So for today I will write about how it’s not yet ready. And I will show you the view that I pray my eyes never fail to find, now matter where I live or what I do.


What’s your view look like today? (Beyond the Word of God.) I would love a peek into your world as my eyes re-adjust to my own.


I got to chat with one of my favorite friends last night on facebook. She asked me how many days now. How many days until I’m home sitting in her house eating tacos and drinking coffee. (First tacos. Then coffee. Or vice-versa. But not tacos with coffee. Just to be clear.)

I knew it was two days less than six weeks. So I did the math. It took a minute. Math has never been my strong point.

Forty. I realized last night that I have forty days left.

So I typed it out for her and we both said how spiritual that sounds. And Third Day started singing in my head, and now I can’t get it out.

I did a quick google on the significance of forty, and learned some interesting things. For example, forty is the only number word in which the letters are presented alphabetically. How cool is that? Also, how crazy is it that someone figured that out?

But I was thinking more along the lines of 40 days in the Bible. Like how Jesus was in the desert, fasting for 40 days. Or how it rained on Noah and his family in the ark for 40 days and 40 nights.

So I narrowed my search a bit and found this list that reminded me of so many different times the number shows up all through Scripture. I learned that God used the number to represent periods of judgment or testing.


But I was kind of looking for stories that took forty days to unfold.

Then I saw Exodus 24 on the list and learned that it took God forty days to give Moses the plans for His tabernacle. Moses was up on top of a mountain alone with God for 40 days, learning how to build God’s home for, you guessed it, the 40 years it would take them to get to the Promised Land.

So, I was thinking, what if these next 40 days are like my mountain time alone with God? No, I’m not gonna’ go find Maria and camp out on top of an Alp until June 6. (As awesome as that would be.)

But what if God wants to get me alone and teach me more of Him for the next 40 days? What if He just wants me to shut up and listen to Him in the quiet of rightnow before I get back to my life on the other side of the world?

What if, for the next forty days, I just shut up and look for what He might be using to prepare me for whatever’s next. What if I give up the platform-building and the seeking fame as a writer and the doing my best to present myself as a social-media performer? And what if I just listen. For forty straight days?

It’s a little bit scary because what if my blog falls apart in my focus switch? Or what if you all get bored with whatever it is that shows up here in this little land called briannaRwasson(dot)com?

I’m gonna’ try it anyway.

And, while I realize that you are probably not at the end of some across-the-world journey that has a mere 40 days left, I invite you to join me in the quiet. Forty days of zero fame-seeking, platform-building, plan-making or jumping ahead of God trying to figure out on my own what’s best for this thing called my life. And I’m going to just listen.

I’ve started by looking for what might be hiding inside a certain Psalm I’ve been recently intrigued with. I’m going to ask Him to show me all its treasures. Gonna’ beg Him to help me know Him so well I can’t help but be madly in love with Him.  Pray for Him to prepare me for whatever waits for me at home.

And I’ll check in here time and again. I hope you will too.  It’s kind of weird because I don’t know exactly what it will look like. If you subscribe, though, you won’t miss any updates.

Happy 40 days, my friends.

How To Find the Bigger Picture

I sit for cappuccino and a butter croissant. Nothing like a late morning snack to get the writing going.


I choose my place carefully so I can see more than just a wall. Someone walking up the stairs to approach the barista and the little cafe part of the Hugendubel bookstore I have loved since the first time I stepped inside.

I sit near the railing that overlooks the main floor. Not much going on today. The barista’s reading a newspaper, at the ready with a Hallo! Or a bitte shoen and a glass for whatever request a new customer might bring.

She’s not real warm. But polite. She chats with customers she recognizes. Not with me, though.

I place my bag on the floor, re-arrange the little table to make room for my mini laptop which I bought for such occasions.

I’m overlooking the beautiful bags that hang by the stairs in the children’s department. Every time I see them, I touch them and dream. My kids would look adorable carrying those bags through these German streets. Or across the world in an airplane. To school in Ohio.

If only they didn’t cost so many euros.

My eyes move beyond the stairs to the wall behind. A mass of book covers from who-knows-how-far-back. Yellows and reds and white and blacks. A few pink ones and purple and blue and brown.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I try to read the titles, but most of them are German, so I can only sort of understand them. Each looks fine on its own, but random at best, were it not for the bigger purpose they serve.

I only see it when I adjust my eyes for the bigger picture. Take a step back to see the whole of the wall-sized display.

Each cover acts as a pixel for the bigger picture. Each serves a purpose for which it did not know it was ever intended. Not to point to themselves but to create something entirely different.

I switch my focus, make it wider and bigger. I must step back to see it, so I do.


That’s when the outline shows through and the individual points fade. The display on the two-story-high wall suddenly becomes prominent in my gaze. The gaze I cannot seem to break.

It’s a man. A poet. An author of long ago.

It’s brilliant, this display. I’m enamored with the detail. That someone could take individual pieces of art and form them into something entirely unexpected. Unintended. Unknown from the first.


That one little piece of art could play a part in one much bigger. Could display a beauty entirely different from the one each author at first intended. That books called Silver Sex and Stop Smoking Stay Slim could play a part in the bigger picture of this silhouette art.

We don’t accomplish anything in this world alone . . . and whatever happens is the result of the whole tapestry of one’s life and all the weaving of individual threads form one to another that creates something.       -Sandra Day O’Connor


I sit across from it, and I can’t stop looking at the details of each book cover. Each color and design and word inside the complete picture that is this wall.

And the deeper truth does not escape me. The truth about real art from the One Who invented it.

I think of the tapestry cliche I’ve heard so many times. The one about the tapestry God is sewing and the whole picture none of us can see.

The truth that minutes make up days and years and whole lives. And the picture God is painting looks altogether different from the one I think I’m drawing. The art on which I work with such desperate intentionality to serve my purpose in these minutes. In these rightnow’s.

I consider His intentions. For this year. This life and every life with whom I intersect.

What if God, the Sovereign Perfect Artist that He is, has an altogether different purpose which I cannot possibly recognize but for the eternal focus He asks me to fix. A complete design He’s got all planned out in which He will use these minutes I call my life? The ones you call yours?

That’s really it, isn’t it? The serving of His purpose. The making of His picture.

The trusting His working of the design He has purposed.

The book cover pixel I create even now. Contributing to the big wall picture He is purposing to draw.

There would be a void without any one of those book covers. A blank hole where there should be color. Because each of them serves to complete the bigger picture.

And faithful calls loud as I realize its importance. Who am I to hold back from the book cover I now paint? In the form of this life. This living and telling and loving and serving. How could I not be faithful to fill this point in the picture God is using me to help paint?

Aren’t we all just pixels in His wall-sized silhouette? He chooses the color and the shape. And I paint as He asks. By living what He gives. Keeping in step with His Spirit. Making lunch for my kids. Typing words on a computer. Giving money to a beggar. Going to coffee with a friend.

When we are faithful with every rightnow, His picture gets more beautiful. More complete.

Living according to the way He gives us, we fill that pixel spot up on that wall. The spot He is saving just for us.

What pixel are you? How will you fill that hole for the whole? How can I encourage you to be faithful even today in this very rightnow?

The Story I Will Tell

I flounder and wane with the block of a writer. Not knowing what to say.

Unsure how to separate this mess of thoughts all wound up tight inside my head. It’s like a ball of dreams and worries and wonders and what-about’s all knotted up and scary-ugly.

What shall I write today? The expectation I’ve come to force upon myself. The one that says if I don’t show up, I will lose my craft. I will lose my readers. I will lose.

And the grace I used to give myself hides behind the expecting. This new found forging of the career I think I want has somehow become a tangle of prideful motivations and people-pleasing efforts I have not known since I’ve become an actual adult.

Still, I show up. Put my butt on the chair. And I write.

Because somehow I need to get through the tangle. Somehow I must emerge past the knotted-up motives and the confused where-am-I-headed’s. And I must write.

I open up email before I start. Today’s devotion shows up, and I click over to read. I notice my own name in the author’s box. I wrote these 300 words weeks ago for the series we’re doing on Jesus’ life.

I read it over like I often do, check for typos and mistakes I might not have caught earlier.

All the while, I’ve been asking, Lord, what do I write? What can I say? How shall I untangle even a thought into words for this white screen staring straight at me?OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I read the devotion, and soak in the words. Jesus and the disciples and the storm that came up. Mark chapter four tells the story so well.

They took him along… in the boat… A furious squall… and the waves broke over the boat … Jesus in the stern, sleeping on a cushion…

He rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. (See Mk. 4:35-41.)

I notice notes in the margin of my Bible. Notes I wrote when I studied it last month. The word megas in Greek and its repeated usage here.

Megas squall. Megas calm.

It means large, great, in the widest sense. As in: when the wind died down, the calm was just as great as the storm that popped up.

And all because Jesus Christ spoke three small words.

I read fear in the disciples, panic as they wake Jesus up. It contrasts so well with the terrified they know after it’s all said and done.

They’d been fearing a mere storm, when they should’ve just feared the One Who could restore the calm. The One sleeping on a cushion in the back of the boat. The One Who could stop hurricanes with words.

I wonder as I read if He can do that to the whirlwind in my head.

And I know He can.

So I find myself back to where I always end up. Right in the middle of God’s Words for me.

It’s all I know how to write.

My thoughts alone are not enough to keep you interested. So many authors have such amazing words. Such incredible stories. But my story is different.

It’s the story of a life without clear direction. The story of my needy, full of wrong motives that need cleaning. Prideful thoughts that need purging. Fear-filled panic that needs adusting.

It’s the story of me finding real life in God’s Word.

I keep coming back to the Bible, and I realize that my writing is all about that. I can’t fill it with thoughts I can untangle and describe for you. Not like so many others whose eloquence gives way to beautiful prose and bestsellers. Those to whom God has given a different story. 

I’ve been chasing that story for myself and am left wanting for words I cannot find. Thus the flailing and the floundering for a writing topic for today.

Because my job is different from theirs. My call in this writing is to live God’s truth. To tell about Him. Who He is. What He says. My task is to make God famous in the way He has shown me.

It’s the job we all have, really. The making Him famous however He deems appropriate.

For some of us it’s writing novels. For others it’s flying planes. Or raising children. Or designing mechanical things and using geometry and physics and other mathematical skills.

I’ve been asking God for direction. What should I write? How do I do it?

He keeps pointing me back to where I began. Like today with the devotion. It’s the only thing I know to keep writing. Real life as God intended. How God’s Word  looks in skin. Finding Jesus in the now.

And this, I am finding, is the story I will tell.


Five Minutes of Ordinary

It’s Friday! Got five minutes? Join Lisa-Jo’s party and write for 5-minutes unedited. Then check out all the other awesome people doing the same thing. Check it out here.

Today’s word: Ordinary

Sometimes I wonder if the wanting to do something feels better than the actually doing. It’s easier, that’s for sure. Easier to hope in a dream than to take steps to make it real.

And I think I’m learning it’s ordinary, too.


Ordinary is often easy. Comfortable, at least. And deep down in my innermost me, I do not want to be ordinary.

But am I willing to do what it takes to step out of the ordinary and the comfortable and the super-fun-to-think-about-how-someday-maybe-I-will? To be brutally honest, sometimes I wonder if I have what it takes.

Because ordinary is easy. And I like easy. Always have.

But after a while the easy ordinary turns into difficult drudgery.

It’s difficult to write this deep-down-in-my-heart-what-do-I-really-want kind of stuff. And know that in less that two minutes I will hit publish. A little bit scary. The raw of the ordinary in  me that does not want to be, well, ordinary. (Could I say ordinary a few more times? Perhaps. But I will spare you.)

I type this and the depths of the truth still remain.

I am not ordinary. The God of the universe carried a tree on His back to make sure I knew it.