It’s time for Five Minute Friday again. That weekly flash mob of writers that gets together to write on the same prompt for five minutes, unedited. Then we join together, read each other’s words, leave comments, and rejoice in the fact that we are all united yet again with one word.
This week is the word middle.
It was rough. The yelling. The arguing. The noise. It was rough being caught in the middle of it all.
It was tough not knowing what was going on. What did they mean? What was going on? 11 years old was a hard age. Not quite old enough to be for certain, but old enough to know there was something.
But everyone met in the middle to talk about it. To figure out the problems. To work on the solutions. The middle was the place where they could all sit and agree that there WAS and IS a problem. The middle is where the floor was placed. The middle.
Nothing was right on Monday. Wednesday is where the middle is.
And most importantly, the middle is where Momma promised that she would not take her again. She would not let the little one get pulled there again. The middle wasn’t safe, so Momma wouldn’t take her there again.
But God would be in the middle from now on. God would be in the middle of their lives, and in the middle of their problems, and at the Start and the End of all the problems. God.
This is a personal response to something that happened this week. Normally, I would allow comments, but I think I just want to let it be. Thanks for understanding.