Here's the deal: You have to write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking. Just go with it and see what comes out.
Against the backdrop of a bluebird sky and swirling white clouds, a tree grows, silently, but continuously, setting down it's roots and stretching out its branches as though reaching for something unattainable.
That tree changes with every season, through the cycle of new birth and death yet still growing becoming more mature and strong.
My expectations throughout my life have been that tree. Each season of my life brings new expectations with the death of old ones. I no longer expect to get the t.v. I requested for my room when I was seven (my parents were so
I no longer expect to go backpacking through Europe, free as a gypsy to go where I want, when I want.
Those seasons of my life are over, along with those expectations. Am I sad about that? Sometimes. Okay, not the t.v., but the backpacking, yes.
But as I've grown and matured as a woman and as a Christian, my expectations for myself have changed. Now I expect to twirl around with a baby in my arms, hearing his laughter soaring around me. I expect that my girl will still climb into my lap as she's reading to me.
I expect my husband to fall asleep tonight holding my hand.
And those expectations, though small and not nearly as grand as the ones I had when I was younger, are better, more satisfying, more lovely and they point my heart in the direction that it needs, always needed, to grow in anyway.
What are your expectations today? You can share them over at The Gypsy Mama, too!