Here’s the deal. For over four years, bunches of bloggers have gathered every week to huddle around a prompt word and just write. It’s called Five Minute Friday, and we don’t think about the ins and outs of grammar or spelling or punctuation. We just write.

And it’s glorious.


Five Minute Friday - 4


And when you keep seeing the same lovely faces and hearing the same beautiful voices week after week after week, the seed of community starts to sprout and grow leaves and eventually blossoms into a stunning flower. The roots spread deep and wide and a fresh aroma wafts across the internet. It blooms well beyond expectations.




So far beyond expectations that we’re even dreaming up a weekend retreat (!!!) to gather faces and voices and chocolate together in real life. Can you even imagine?!

If you missed the survey last week, won’t you take a moment to give us your thoughts as we brainstorm for a potential FMF Retreat? Click here to share your input!

We’d love for you to join us!

Visit this page for more info on the weekly Five Minute Friday link-ups, and be sure to follow along on Facebook, stop by the Twitter party on Thursday nights at #fmfparty, and check out our Pinterest board.

This week’s prompt is: 


FMF - Wait


Set your timer, and let’s GO …


It turns out that waiting can be a very spiritual exercise. A spiritual discipline, even.

[Tweet “There’s a certain reverence about learning to wait, and waiting well.”]

A holy hush over respected moments that fill the gap.

Writing has taught me that. Or the lack of writing, I should say. It’s as if the words themselves ask to be waited for. They will come on their clock, not mine. That has been made clear. And when they’re darn well ready, they shall present themselves to be used freely.

[Tweet “A good thing shall not be rushed. “]




So we practice and learn to relish the quiet and take delight even in those hallowed in-betweens, letting the sun do its work before it slips below the horizon we so earnestly seek. And we wait on the One who catches the sun even as it drops out of sight, and holds it in His left palm while we’re cradled in His right, and we rest knowing that all is held.

The now and the then, and the soon-to-be and maybe never will.

It is held, and it is His.



[Tweet “Join us for five minutes of free writing on the prompt WAIT.”]

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