Sabrina J-R

Her nameplate must have read ‘Wall Flower’ because that’s how she felt.  Who knew that it was possible for grown adults to behave as though the workplace was an elementary school playground.  There were harsh tones and lots of finger pointing when it came to how the business operated.  The complaining attitudes grated her nerves.  It baffled her why someone would return from a planned errand and complain incessantly about the service when it was all their choice.  She chose to do differently and not complain.  Her lifestyle choices of abstinence from alcohol and cigarettes almost turned against her, making her a social outcast.

One day, near the end of her time there, she got brave.  As usual, most of the staff had gone out to lunch together; as usual, she was not invited.  She turned to another office mate and casually asked her why she hadn’t joined the crew.  I refuse to go out with them, the reply started.  I don’t like the way they treat you.

At that moment, she was grateful.  Grateful for the honesty.  Grateful for the reassurance that what she suspected was indeed true.  It was not all in her head.  She was very grateful that her days there were numbered, knowing that she would never return there once she left.  Grateful for prayer, as she prayed for hearts to change; theirs.

And hers.

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I’m joining in with the Five-Minute Friday community today.  Come along to read other stories about ‘grateful’.

My first instinct around mess is rarely ever the right one.  Some messes are easier to tackle than others.  Transferring dirty breakfast dishes from the table to the sink, easy.  Putting away the foods from the counter, simple.  But do I transfer the dishes to the dishwasher immediately?  Not always.  Does the counter get wiped and the floor swept?  Not as often as I’d like.

Yet there are other messes where my first instinct is to hide them.  In the moment, hiding is the fastest and easiest way to deal with the mess.  But it’s never the safest way.  The unorganized pantry?  The messy bedrooms?  The laundry room?  Close. The. Doors.  Sounds like a great plan, right?  Let’s try this:  Messy thoughts?  Messy heart?  Close the door of my heart.  Paste a smile on my face.

Does it change the mess though?  Nope!  The mess is still there, waiting for me.  When I get few moments, I can tackle the laundry, the pantry, the closet.  Working on my heart?  That’s a never-ending effort.  Working on my mind?  Under constant renovation.

If we’d dare to be more honest in our mess, I’d know that I’m not alone here.  Everybody I know has a junk drawer or a catch all spot in their home, often hidden from plain sight.  In other words, I’m not the only one.  Through our mess, we can encourage each other.  We can hold each other accountable through the challenging cleaning process.

Most of all, we can talk about it.  Don’t settle in the mess.  Let it become a message of love.

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Joining this five-minute Friday community today.  Come and check out other perspectives on ‘mess’.

A liquid substance available in a plethora of colours, paint has many uses.  It can be used to tighten up appearances, as one applies a ‘fresh coat of paint’ wherever needed.  A quick way to revive a room is to paint it, even if only one wall in a bold hue.  The formula for paint has changed so much over time.  Its purpose has always remained the same—to add colour, enhance, decorate, cover up.  It can now be made in low-scented ways, with a variety of compositions and sheens. There are different formats too—watercolour, homemade, oil based, spray can.  Paint in a can or bottle has little effect.  It must be applied to make an impact.

This reminds me of God’s love.  It must be applied to make an impact.  We are the applicators for this paint.  Each person is different, like painting utensils.  There are brushes in all shapes and sizes and bristle types.  Soft or hard.  Thick or thin.  Long or short.  Very full or only a few strands.  There are rollers, foam applicators, sponges and fingers.  Anything your heart desires can be used to apply paint.

Without application, the paint remains in the can.  The blank canvases that await cannot paint themselves.  Ugliness stays in the forefront if nothing is applied to cover it up.  And the paint cans sit in a pile, gathering dust.  Yes, some pre-work may be needed.  Laying down of protective covering to protect the areas that are already good.  Some painters tape to enhance designs.  Some priming if a previous colour was too dark.  Old clothes to protect the painter…

Don’t get distracted by the process.  As you paint, keep your mind on the end result.

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Linking up with this five-minute Friday community today.

In her moment of weakness, she reached out for prayer.  Eyes bloodshot and head throbbing, she had nothing left to give.  If it were up to her, she’d cave.  The temptation was too great for her lonely heart.  Yet, there was a tiny bit of strength left.  Farther than she could reach, she knew that power didn’t come from within.  It had to have been placed there, by Someone bigger and stronger.  Someone Mighty.

The decisions that are best for us often seem to be the most challenging.  They go against our grain, contrary to our nature.  If we’re honest, we would admit that we are flawed, hence why the good seems so wrong.  It’s easy to get settled in a rut.  Except that it traps us, making us captive.  It’s hard to escape from these ruts.  They’re everywhere: unhealthy lifestyles, stagnant relationships, dead end jobs, unfulfilled purpose.

God Almighty, who spoke the world into existence, did something different with us.  He got down in the dirt and handcrafted humans, in His image.  We’re too precious to be rut-dwellers.  Handmade items have a high value.  Everything associated with us is valuable to our maker.  He wants the best for us.  When we fill ourselves up with poor imitations of what seems best, it saps our strength and weakens us.  But He never abandons us.  God restores and reequips.

That is mighty.

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I’m linking up with this Five-Minute Friday community.  Join us for more interpretations of ‘mighty’.

Joy is a term that has an evolving definition within my heart and mind.  It goes much deeper than happiness, and is neither ever-present nor ever-lasting.  Sometimes joy feels like an emotion; other times, it’s a state of being.  You can be smiley and pleasant looking when you have joy.  You can also shed tears and have the ugly cry face when overwhelmed with joy.

Once upon a time, a friend had made a positive choice for their family.  Impressed to share their excitement, my friend shared their feelings with me and encouraged me to consider making the same choice in my family.

But I could not.  I was glad that things were going well for them.  However, this was not the time to ‘keep up with the Joneses’.  My friend’s decisions were not a proper fit for my family.  While I lacked the words to explain my contrary thinking, I also did not feel impressed to defend my choices.  We, like them, were doing the best for our family too.  Everyone’s best will never look like a carbon copy of one idea.

Fast forward a handful of years later.  Things have changed and their previous choices had to be altered.

I felt peace as I listened to my friend speak.  The words were confirmation that we truly did make the best choice for our family.  God is always asking us to trust Him.  To surrender to His perfect will for our lives and to obey His perfect ways.  Many times, His ways seem to make absolutely no sense at all.  Yet, He doesn’t require us to defend Him like a thesis paper.  No.  God speaks for Himself.  We just need to do what He says.

God showed up today in an unlikely manner.  All of it is joy.

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I’m linked up with this joyous Five-Minute Friday group today.

The assembly of people moved together, following their subject.  Sticky with sweat and anticipation, they were anxious to see what would happen next.  Would He notice his smile and carefully coiffed beard?  Perhaps the garment she carefully selected that morning would catch His eye.  While each person hoped to be noticed, there was one who was out this day only because there was a crowd present.  Feeling unloved, unapproachable and untouchable, she feared people.  Rarely was she treated with kindness, her illness made her marked to society.  It was much easier to stay indoors, at home in solitary confinement where there was no risk of rejection.

Hope was alive in her empty life.  There was nothing else crowding her heart and mind other than being well.  She heard He was passing through and knew this was her one and only chance.  Gathering all the strength and emotional courage she could muster, she slipped out the door and joined in the crowd.  Threatened by the idea of being noticed, she mixed in as best she could.  She would not lift her voice and join in the chorus of voices greeting this Man.  Keeping her eyes on the ground below her, she had no desire to catch anyone’s eyes.  Her only desire was to get close enough.  No one had to be the wiser.

He was passing by her now.  She quickly stretched out her hand, reaching as best she could.  She’d missed Him yet managed to graze part of His clothing.

He stopped.  The crowd seemed to hush.  Finally all their efforts were paying off, they thought.  And then He spoke…

“Who touched Me?”

She gasped.  He felt it.  He felt her touch.  The one who wanted so badly to blend into the crowd was now being called out before the same crowd…

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I’m joining up with the Five-Minute Friday community today.

Gardens are works of art.  They’re often the bragging point for a city or country; a landmark that tourists must see on their journey to your nook.  Images of gardens are displayed on magazine covers and on postcards.  Newlywed couples often pose for photographs in gardens; the natural scene is an ideal backdrop for love.  If you’ve ever spoken to a gardener, they speak with great pride of their garden, knowing how much blood, sweat, tears and achy knees went into their labour.

Just as gardens grow something useful, so my spirituality helps to grow me.

The basics for tending a garden include seeds, sun, water, love…and fertilizer.  The fertilizer struck me because it’s something we rarely consider.

Fertilizer is messy.  Two types of fertilizer jumped to mind: compost and manure.  (Yes, seriously!)  Compost is pretty much glorified rotting garbage.  Table scraps and other odds & ends are put together to fester and make nutrients.  Manure is the excrement of an animal, which also contains wonderful growth properties for garbage.

God, the Gardener of my life, uses my messes to grow me.  Problems.  Struggles.  Setups & let downs.  Some messes are thrown at me; others I have created myself.  But rather than leave me to rot somewhere, God applies His love and grace.  If I am willing to trust the Gardener, His perfect green thumb will use my mess to fertilize me and create something beautiful and picturesque.

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I’m linking up with the Five Minute Friday community today.