Writers Are Thinkers

Have you ever asked someone how they think?

The answer might surprise you.

Long ago I realized that I was a slow reader...waaaaay back in the 1960's. There was a box... a cardboard file box filled with stiff, shiny cards...sitting on the windowsill in my fourth grade classroom. Upon these cards were short, encyclopedia-like blurbs about things like engines and planes and spaceships. The cards were color-coded, and depending upon how FAST you were ~ or how much you comprehended ~ you got to read the better colors. Always somewhat of a rebel, I quickly realized that I didn't want to compete to read. I wanted to read to understand. And that takes time. 

The writer in me was born in fourth grade.

When I read, I hear each word in my head, making it impossible to read fast. Not only that, but I re-read to give me time to think about what I'm reading.

In my teens, I told my sister about hearing words in my head whilst reading.   

"Really? You hear words?" she smirked.  

"Yes, don't you?"
"No." 

My sister is an artist.

This started me thinking...(which I also do in words).

How is it possible NOT to think or read in words? Words are the only medium of thought that I can imagine.

I like to think. And I like to think long and slow. 

Hence writing.  

Writing is the ultimate tool of thought for me. Why? Because a writer is able to probe thought, tweak it, purify it, CREATE with it. A writer can paint on the canvas of someone else's brain, forming pictures of thought in another person's head with her combination of words. She can teach, share, bring forth emotion, explore, document, heal, bless.

A writer is a thinker. 

Stop.

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking the opportunity to write (and think) for 5 minutes on the prompt provided by:
lisajobaker.com Five-minute-Friday

An Open Letter to Mom on Her 87th Birthday

(Instructions for Mom: 

Click on the blue title in the email so you can read this online.  It is much more fun!)

Dear Ada Jane,
That chubby little girl you were holding when you were 30 years old -- 57 years ago -- your baby -- the one who is hiding behind the dimpled hand...she will always be grateful for your youthful, energetic, exuberant, smart, faithful, resourceful, clean, cheerful, positive, generous, loving, and God-fearing example of what a woman can do with her life.

(Don't pay any attention when she is a  teenager and says nasty things to you.  She will grow out of that stage, I promise.) 

Today you are eighty-seven!  Happy Birthday!   

Sometime soon, could you please carve a few hours out of your busy schedule, you know:  the mile-long walks, the paper route, the dog training, the computer teaching, and Bible study leading, the teaching of open-hearted 3rd graders at church, the managing of a household and garden...could you please save a few hours to tell your "little darling" the stories of your youth?

Oh, please say yes!

You see, I only know a few of your memories.

I know about the time you were late to school; I think you were about 5 or 6...were you playing with a kitten?  You told your teacher that you had, "run into a dear old friend."  Now that phrase sounds a lot like my grandmother.  Do you think she laughed when the teacher told her about your.... ahem.... 'excuse?' I need to hear more of this story of long ago, when children of this age could walk safely to school.

And your memories of walking home in your teens on wintry evenings, feeling warmed by the light your mother left for you in the window. Please tell me more about the house where you grew up and the people who lived there. 

I remember hearing about your "friend of 40 years," a term you coined that made me want one too.  What did you and she do together all those years? 

These things 

I simply MUST find out!

Will you write them, or shall I?

Oh, here's your birthday present.

You told us not to buy you anything because you have more stuff than you need and don't want more. But you liked this photograph, and so do I.  Since you are a computer wiz, I know you know how to save it to a file. I like the photo at the end of this post, even better.  

~Blessings from your 

"darling daughter."

P.S.  I think Downton Abby, season 3 is over now, but maybe we should also talk about a better time for me to call on Sundays. ;)

Other posts about my mom.
Because of Mom, I
Don't You Dare Leave This World Without Reading This

Watching rain, your last night at the cabin

I'm sharing this post today on 5 Minute Friday, as the topic just happened to be Moms

Afraid of What?

Last evening I cuddled (under an electric throw) in a favorite chair with my 4 year old granddaughter while her mommy fed the chickens at her house a few blocks away, and while my prince picked up pizzas for dinner.

I love warmth.

Cozy is my favorite place.

Looking for me in winter?

This is where I'll be found.

Mommy returned. The pizza arrived with toppings a-glory, served on paper plates (because they are bio-degradable). We filled our bellies and then my prince and Izzy played Mr. Potatohead.

That's when it happened. Izzy asked Mommy to help her turn on the bathroom light switch.

  "You can turn on the switch, Boo," said Mommy.

Photo by rLohr Originals

I look into Izzy's big browns as she pleads with them, again, this time covering her ears. "But, I might turn on the wrong one!"   

The realization vibrates in my head, like a tuning fork!  

THE FAN!  

She is afraid of the sound of the bathroom fan! My heart leaps ... (still under the blanket, mind you.) But my heart gets it.  I know what it is like to be afraid of things that might happen if I hit the wrong switch. In fact I have those feelings every day. (I was born two weeks late because I did NOT want to leave the womb. These tendencies start early and stay put!)

I assign Papa, AKA my prince, to turn on the light for Izzy.  (Administrative skills, here.)

The evening concludes.  Papa is at the door, ready to see the girls home. (I make sure Izzy has a warm coat to wear.)  Papa informs the girls that in our day, we used a real potato to play Mr. Potatohead.  Mommy makes a face. (When he says this, he looks right at me... and our earlier conversation about recording our memories of childhood replays in my head.) 

"See," he says, I-told-you-so's darting from his blue eyes, "That's why we need to write this stuff down."

(That's me, under the blanket, behind Mr. Potatohead.)

This morning I awaken.  Warm under blankets. Praying.

"God, you know me.  You know everything about me.   I DON'T know what to do with the next part of my life. You do! "

ABBA Father, please turn on the right switch. 

Joining the Five Minute Friday gang, where a bunch of bloggers freewrite for 5 minutes, unedited, on a given topic. Today's topic is AFRAID.  click on the link if you would like to read more stories about this word. Go ahead...don't be afraid :)

Next Time You Look...

"Look at it this way,” I advise, tapping at lettered keys.  “See it my way,”

...I silently plead.

Looking at outward appearance is not going to tell you what’s inside.

...not always

 A life-changing gift can be wrapped, deceptively small.

...a prayer, perhaps?

A house can fit inside an envelope,

...a cure inside a nut.

But, next time you look...

...See

Sometimes we look with our eyes closed , 

expecting things to appear as we have conceived. 

But truth has a discernible shape

...a shape that can be relied upon

If  you look with your heart,

...especially.

________________________________________

                                   

I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday

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..

Oh and Ahem, if you would take pity and turn off comment verification, it would make leaving some love on your post that much easier for folks!

OK, are you ready? Won’t you please give me your best five minutes on:::
Look…

Day 19

WELCOME

The door will be opened.

I receive and accept you with pleasure.

You will not cross my threshold unnoticed.

Your presence is something I cherish.

Your face is a welcome sight; 

your voice a welcome sound.

I welcome your advice.

You are welcome to the blessings each day brings.

You are welcome to my love.

Forgiveness.

...to our gratitude.

... Liberty.

Feel welcome to grow here.

And to just be you!

Linking up today with: 

Five Minute Friday

Where writers spin words right from the heart for five minutes flat.  

and The Nesting Place

Where bloggers are writing on a topic for 31 days.

and Dandelion House

Where people write about topics relating to home and garden.
and Katie's French Language Cafe
C'est la vie

Day 4

Join Hands

When my little butterfly (third of 4 daughters) was seven, she wrote a poem that was published in the Sunday newspaper.

I treasured her poem in my heart... as I treasured its meaning in my intentions... as I worked to develop this little darling into the woman God wanted her to become.  She wrote it the year our family began an adventure in home education that would last for over 14 years. 

One night, near the end of our first week of school-at-home, I announced to my prince that I had fallen in love with our children all over again.  The first 3 girls had been launched each morning onto a bus for several years, and the school had become their family for most of the day, the teachers were the daytime mommy, the bus drivers the aunts and uncles, the classmates the siblings.  But I didn’t know this until that first week...the week we joined our hands, our hearts, and our heads...the week our home became school...the week God became principal, Mom and Dad teachers, and Siblings became classmates  -- and friends for a lifetime.

My little butterfly was the middle child...quiet, determined, sometimes looking a little lost in her quietness. This little girl loved touch, so we hugged a lot. We invented hugs for every occasion. That is how I made sure she was noticed and acknowledged.  She was and still is the best hugger I know.  And you know what else? She became a pediatric nurse when she grew up, attending to little children in the same hospital where she was born.

You, who are teaching little people... hear ye , 
hear ye!

Look for those little sparks of interest in your children and gently blow on them, giving  them oxygen and fuel, remembering always that there are three major roles in your task and each one must do his/her own part. 

God. You. The child.
Each joins in the great and awesome project of taking the little sparks which join other little sparks to create a flame.

I love you, Vanessa!

My little butterfly hugging her niece.

Stop, drop & write. It’s #FiveMinuteFriday ! <—–Click to Tweet this

Where a beautiful crowd spends five minutes all writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.

How to Join:

Want to know how Five Minute Friday got started and how to participate? All the details are here.

Home-schoolers might also like to hop: HERE

Wherever Here Is, You Are

Here is now and now is the time for which I have been given Grace.  What is past is only memory; what is to be, only a dream.  Here comes my prince, ready to scramble some eggs, recently collected from our backyard chickens.  Here is my cup, covered in hand painted sunflowers, filled with coffee, milk and cream – all produced far from here.  Here is an opportunity to think about the present, to pray, to plan the day.  Here is the keyboard receiving instructions to translate my thoughts into language...thoughts that can be shared far from here.

Oh Father, God, I praise you for putting me here in this time and place!  Thank you, that wherever here is, you are there. 

sparrow falls: there you are

diagnosis discovered: there you are

first breath fills tiny lungs; last draft, expelled: there you are

stretch class: there

war zone: there

sunrise: there

wherever here is, you are there!  Thank you!

~Dear Reader: 

I am participating 5 minutes of free writing...you can guess the topic.  You might like to read more about this topic, or you may like to do some free writing, yourself?  If so click on the link:  HERE and HERE.

~Blessings upon you. 

Beyond Home

Beyond is farther out...farther out than you are now.  Beyond is somewhere seen or unseen.  Do you want to go there?  Do you want to avoid what is beyond?  Do you know what lies beyond life? Would it change how you live if you did?

What stops our view of what is beyond? How do some people forge ahead even when they know beyond is full of pain and suffering? How does the soldier continue up the hill under fire?

Interestingly, beyond is never behind...beyond looks forward.  Moving forward is required to get beyond and once we are there, it is no longer beyond, but a place farther out takes its place.

This year, I chose the word STEP as a concept to ponder. It has caused me to think about any opportunity to advance, move forward, move beyond.  This is good for me, because I am a homebody.  I like to stay where I am comfortable and safe.  In an ocean of ships, I am the dock.  On a farm, I am the barn door.  Staying put, staying home, staying safe.

I admire those who go beyond.  I like to watch them come and go from my safe little place.  And though my steps rarely take me beyond the safe place, I wonder...is that a bad thing?

As a woman covered by the Grace of God, I could go anywhere in this world and ultimately be safe in God's hands.  Beyond this world, according to His Word, I am promised a better place, because my Lord has made it so and has prepared it.

As a woman committed to family, home is a good place to be.  All boats need a port.  And the barn door is a welcome sight to the weary workhorse. Home is a place to rest and gather strength, to nourish and grow strong, to learn and pray and plan.  A home manager is a valuable person, for she enables others to go beyond, knowing they have somewhere to return and rest their weary heads and hearts.

Though it is good to go beyond many things: beyond illness, beyond hardship, beyond addiction, beyond fear, it is beyond me to imagine life without home, faith, country. So I am okay with being a homebody.

I recently read a blog post written by a young woman who has looked far beyond Bangladesh, but has found beauty Two Steps From Home Here's what she said:

                          The Beauty Of Dew On Paddy Crop

I've visited far miles and many countries.

Saw oceans and hills.

But did not see opening my eyes

Just two steps from home

The beauty of a -

Dew drop on a paddy crop.

Photo courtesy of Two Steps From Home

What I find fascinating about this, is that my God has made it possible for this woman and me to go way beyond our homes with our hearts, our thoughts and our photographs to learn, grow, bless, comfort and share.

I am so thankful He has done this.  No, I am BEYOND thankful.

To read more, click on this link: BEYOND.

Love,
Becky