The Party That Never Quits

... Adam brings me skittles. When he strokes my face, kisses the tip of my nose and draws me in for a hug.  When he organises the dates and the babysitter.  When he cleans the kitchen.

When I get tweets from people letting me know I crossed their mind. When real mail arrives with my name on it. 

When I can just be with someone. When I feel safe enough to tell my deep things... well, as deep as I'll allow... and know that they will just smile, and nod encouragement to keep going.

When I sing worship. There is nothing else that envelopes me in love more that the Lord when I sing to Him. When I sing for Him. The truth of His great love permeates through the words of every song.

When my small children stroke my skin as they sit next to me.. small, feathery reminders that I am their all right now.  That they enjoy being with me.

When my cat curls up in my neck and rumbles his affection into my ear. 

When I'm curled up in bed, next to my husband, and we drift... off... to ... sleep... secure.





 Here’s how the game works: you simply stop, drop and write for five minutes flat!  Set your words free. Don’t edit them, don’t fret over them, don’t try to make them perfect.Just let them be you. 1. Write for only five minutes.
2. Link back at Lisa-Jo's and invite others to play along.
3. Go say hi to the five minute artist who linked up before you.** These words were c&p'd from Lisa-Jo's blog, The Gypsy Mama

I don't like looking at myself in the mirror. But i still do. Of course, I much prefer it when I'm all made up.

I'm pretty then.

When I'm not, I sense more and more that I'm really all just paint and lights, and I wonder how Adam finds me beautiful.

I see dark circles. I see spots, uneven skin and um... eyebrows that need plucking.

I see all that extra weight. I try very hard not to use a full length mirror.

My pastor keeps shoving a mirror in my face and won't take it away until I've said "I'm beautiful" enough times to convince him I mean it. Usually he does this after I've been crying for an hour

I'm not an attractive cry-er.

How do I take what I see and even it out to the way I feel? How do I acknowledge the beauty of me on the inside, when I don't think the outside agrees?

Beauty is only skin deep, but seriously... do we need an attractive pancreas?

God sees the inside. But he made the outside. 

Not an experiment apparently.

Fearfully and wonderfully and deliberately made.

So... yeah. Dunno how to end this nice.

Go

This is the first time I've done this, and quite frankly, it scares the bejeezus out of me.

Because I have no idea what I'm supposed to write about. Which is probably the point, but whatever.

Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to have a picture prompt.

Oops.

Oh well.

I avoid writing here, I think, because I know how flawed I am, and to be authentic, I'd have to write a whole bunch more about how I ignore the voice of God, and quite frankly, that doesn't look too good on my resume.

I've not felt well the last couple of days. My joints ached and it hurt to write.

I'm out of practice with writing. I used to all the time. Now I don't. I read beautiful blogs, and I know I don't measure up. They have stories they tell so stunningly, and I don't even know what mine is exactly.  I have a bunch of kids, I live in Australia.

Riveting.

What would you like me to talk on? Give me ideas? In what way would you like to know me?

30 seconds left...

I love my husband. I love my kids. My God is close to me, even though I feel far from him.

I love that.

Stop.