A Prayer for Friday

A Prayer for Friday

I had everything set for this week, the planner was decked out. I was ready to make things happen and get things done.
Lord, maybe I am not the maker of things?

Monday launched, and we soared through the lists, zipped fast through the errands, put all the things on all the shelves where they belong. We went to sleep, all folded and laid out for the next day.
Lord, thank you for days that feel complete.

The next day was beautiful. And the next. But the week did not get things done, these things I had planned. The minutes scattered away, completely ignoring the corrals I had set for them.
Lord, somewhere we lost steam.

The tasks matter, at least to me. And to the running of our tiny world. The tasks are not everything, but they are something. I never liked leaving blanks on a test, when I could get extra points for showing my work.
Lord, I confess that I grade myself a C+ for a question that is not even on the final.

The wise ones say, don’t worry about it. The kind ones say, you did the things that matter. The shiny ones say, pin this and make it happen.
Lord, I hear your voice say you know me. You smile and whisper: worry and doing and shining are the things that make you just you.

That is me. That is me with lists in hand and three new ideas. That is me stopping, listening, playing “I spy” and being interrupted by my loves. That is the me who is becoming. Tired but excited, challenged but focused, inadequate but so wonderfully full.
Lord, are you really saying, “you do you”?

The good news is it’s Friday. There is enough grace coming in the holy communion of Saturday’s waffles and the sacred mess of Sunday’s best efforts to cover anything I have missed.
Lord, may these moments ready us for a new week.

I am grateful for the moments. And honest enough to know that I will once again jot down one million ways to keep our schedule humming right along. Before I fly off into Monday with a caffienated flourish, let me hold Friday’s truth in my busy hands:

Becoming matters more than doing.

Grace fills all the blanks.
Lord, “take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise.”

Also from Erin Robinson Hall


Saving Your Life

I peeked out my upstairs, bedroom window on November 1, about 8:00 am, and looked out into our backyard. Amidst the sunlight peering through fall leaves and the dew glistening on the grass, I saw . . . A tiny storm trooper running full speed through the yard. My little four-year old neighbor. Our dog barking her head off alerted me to this visitor outside. I couldn’t quite get my early-morning brain to pull thoughts together and figure out why he was there, and where his mom was. We had celebrated Halloween with friends and their littles the night before, so I wondered: Did he sleep in his costume last night? (Makes total sense) Did we forget someone when we all went to bed last night? Then, I found my phone and saw this text:   After dying laughing, I searched my son’s room and found the mask under a pile of toys and clothes. Obviously. I ran outside and delivered the mask to the little storm trooper and his super-mom in the mini-van. That one is only topped by the text from earlier in the week that made me DIE laughing. I can’t. Cannot. The image of my 100 percent stylish, Type A, take-on-the-world friend hoisting herself onto a mannequin to strip him down made me sit right down and laugh. Which always makes my day brighter. There was also this honest lament made me howl: I mean. Tiny Sister Friend KNOWS the truth about her favorite clothes. She won’t get to wear them again. Probably not ever. Who among us has not felt bummed about a favorite...

Saving Your Life

I peeked out my upstairs, bedroom window on November 1, about 8:00 am, and looked out into our backyard. Amidst the sunlight peering through fall leaves and the dew glistening on the grass, I saw . . . A tiny storm trooper running full speed through the yard. My little four-year old neighbor. Our dog barking her head off alerted me to this visitor outside. I couldn’t quite get my early-morning brain to pull thoughts together and figure out why he was there, and where his mom was. We had celebrated Halloween with friends and their littles the night before, so I wondered: Did he sleep in his costume last night? (Makes total sense) Did we forget someone when we all went to bed last night? Then, I found my phone and saw this text:   After dying laughing, I searched my son’s room and found the mask under a pile of toys and clothes. Obviously. I ran outside and delivered the mask to the little storm trooper and his super-mom in the mini-van. That one is only topped by the text from earlier in the week that made me DIE laughing. I can’t. Cannot. The image of my 100 percent stylish, Type A, take-on-the-world friend hoisting herself onto a mannequin to strip him down made me sit right down and laugh. Which always makes my day brighter. There was also this honest lament made me howl: I mean. Tiny Sister Friend KNOWS the truth about her favorite clothes. She won’t get to wear them again. Probably not ever. Who among us has not felt bummed about a favorite...

I Brave

Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.

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