Skip to main content

Five Minute Fridays #Still

Happy Friday, it sure is chilly.  I think Winter just gave Autumn the early good-bye.  I'm linking up with Kate at Heading Home for five minute fridays.  Five minutes of free writing on one word, Still.


Today she wakes up four.  Today and for two days more.  I'm going to be intentional about drinking it in.  Cupping her face and tickling her chin.  It's the last days of four and its never going to happen again.
Everyone has their favorite ages.  It's hard for me to pick one.  I love two (i don't see anything terrible about them - except the lack of sleep).  I love the age my oldest girl is in now.  Six and almost seven. She's fully coming into her own personality.  It's saucy, creative, and totally unique to her.  It runs independently and makes "observations" or "philosophies"as she calls it.  I noticed something different about her when she crossed over the threshold and started elementary school.

But I do have a four year old.  And I've always treasured the Fours.  Four still has glimpses of baby girl, toddler girl, a girl who deep needs her mama.  She still softens her 'r's and offers me her little girl hands in almost every occasion.  She still pads down the steps the earliest and asks, "Could we please snuggle?" She's hovering on that independent elementary girl, but not quite there yet.  She makes lots of funny statements about the world and I turn my face willing myself not to laugh.  She hasn't learned yet that it's okay to laugh at yourself.
She's my clumsy girl.  She does "gymnastics" across the living room and waltzes fast by the couch only doesn't stop but floats down to hard floor.  Gets up and does it again.
She's fast running across the yard and she's down but up again quickly.  I could fairly say that she meets with a wall or floor board at least ten times a day.  Ten times to scoop up and kiss the hurts away.
Her name is Madelyn and for two years she had to go be 'Madeline' like the red headed story book that she clung to.  I secretly refer to her as Madelion. (Secretly - she doesn't like it).  Because she can roar.  Mess with her and you will be sorry.  She's rather of an opinionated girl with a dash of adorable spunk. Chin that juts out, blue eyes that scowl stormy, hands that punctuate her point by resting defiantly on her hips.
I love four.  I'm sad to see it go.
This is one of my favorite poems that sums up four in all its bright wonder :

Time is of the Essence
by Irene Foster

Now is the time to get things done...

Wade in the water,

Sit in the sun,
Squish my toes in the mud by the door

Explore the world with a boy just four.

Now is the time to study books,

How a cloud looks,

To ponder "up,"
Where God sleeps nights,

Why mosquitoes take such big bites.

Later there'll be time
To sew and clean
Paint the hall
That soft new green,
To make new drapes, refinish the floor,

Later on...

When he's not just four

When I first read this poem it captured what I desired for my heart. I want to be still enough to enjoy, celebrate, and treasure up all these moments while they're still here...

Like that poem we've done a fair bit of musing about how far away Heaven is, if we will be having birthday parties there, and how to get to the moon.  

4 It's been beautiful on her. 


  1. She's four and she's precious. Enjoy these years. I love four year old children and get to teach preschool every day of the week. It's a great age! So glad I got to stop by to visit from Five Minute Friday.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

31 Days of Free Writes #Wave

Four summers ago the first weekend in September marked one month.  One month lived out shaky and unsteady.  Just putting a few steps in front of the other and letting tears drip down faces or anger spill out at the sky.  "Why?"
I had watched my husband shake violently at the graveside of his twenty-six year old brother as he sat a few inches from the casket.
My usually stoic husband reached out for the casket as he passed by and I heard his voice crack as he called out his name.  One more time. I had never seen him stricken with grief.  That groan of emotion haunted me.   Those fifteen minutes spent under the funeral home's green awning the last minutes his family would ever be within arms length of this special brother.  A brother who had just slipped quietly out of this life beneath the green gold water of a river one steaming August day.  Bare chested and tan, jumping off the dock with friends.  Never to resurface again.
A lot of that week in August was just wakin…

Five Minute Fridays - "Last"

Last is such a final word, it’s a word that always makes us sit back and take note. We take note of the fact that something is about to draw to an end and we better enjoy the last drops, savor the last bites before its all gone. Like that last hot week of summer that we spend soaking up every last beam of Vitamin D. Or that last couple bites of a once a year Christmas dinner, slowly swallowed down. Or maybe the last night of a vacation where we try to take note of everything and know that we are returning to real world, real bills, real deadlines all seemingly too soon. Two weeks ago I experienced a last. For seven months I was given a gift. It was truly an unexpected gift. One I had never anticipated being given. For the past six years my sister Faith and I have lived in different cities for most of the time. We always mused over the idea that we should've lived together for at least one year of college. But from icy January 4th to steamy August 10th I had the gift…


Five Minute Fridays

Morning seems sacred to me.  Having nocturnal children kind of robs me of the mornings I like to enjoy in silence and quiet thought.
For years I would get up at least two hours before anyone so I could just be by myself and be quiet.
My parents are early morning people that like to eat full breakfasts and watch the sunrise on the porch. There's something exciting about watching the day open its' eye lids with the first glints of sun playing on the horizon edge.  Pale blues and periwinkles rouse us out of pitch black and many times morning rises in strength with extravagant colors.  It signals something new.  A new twenty four hours.  A new chance. Kind of like a new little slice of life.  We are mesmerized at first at the idea of new.  It's beautiful, holy, and hopeful.
Morning breaks the night.
I love that Cat Steven's hymn Morning has Broken.  I've always thought the words were so beautiful.
Especially the last phrase, "God&…