Free-Write

Often in my writing classes I ask my students to free-write. I give them a topic and set a time limit. Most of the rules of writing are suspended for this time frame. They don’t have to worry about punctuation, grammar or spelling. When I call time they can only finish the last sentence they were writing.

This morning I am free-writing. And I have a time limit. Bear with me.

Last night I was served at an elegant café by my daughter.
Last night I waited for the arrival of all my girls.
Last night I wore a tiara with an amethyst-like stone.
Last night I wore multiple strands of colored beads.
Last night I drank wine with my daughters.
Last night I was shot with silly string.
Last night I tried to dance.
Last night I packed my suitcase.
Last night I was content.
Last night I laughed, but I didn’t cry. Unbelievable.
Last night I said good night because tomorrow would be Someday.

This morning I woke.
This morning I prayed.
This morning I rejoiced.
This morning I wrote.
This morning is Someday.
This morning I enter a new season.

My free-writing time is over.

I have to finish the last sentence:

This morning I am getting married.

17 Minutes

Ireland has been calling my name. She whispers and beckons to the soul of me to come and dance on her shores and cliffs and green pastures. She has for years. Recently I was doing some research concerning the thin and sacred places in Ireland and was intrigued with Newgrange.

Newgrange is a burial mound in Ireland. The mound is quite large and under the great pile of earth there is a 60 foot corridor; this corridor leads from the front entrance to the inner cruciform chamber. Every year on the Winter Solstice, when the sun begins to rise, the rays laser through the mound's roof box. Slowly the corridor is lit and then the whole inner chamber.

For seventeen minutes there is light in the utter darkness of winter.

The waiting list to experience this event is years long, and the participants are chosen through a lottery.


Heavenly Father,

Paul says that because of Jesus we have access to your throne, and we can come boldly. I am coming boldly. I want something. I want something for your people.

Give us 17 minutes.

Come. Come.

Shine your light down through the dark corridors of our inner beings. Rise on us and may your favor laser through even the smallest of apertures. Send your warm and illuminating light coursing along the narrow hallways to infiltrate the dark, dusty, closed places in us.

Let your light inch down our 60ft corridors—corridors we have often closed off and hidden or denied access to others and to you. May your light heat up the cold stone of our hearts and spirits. May you warm the gritty stones of who we are.

Don’t stop, Lord, until your light penetrates and illuminates our entire inner sanctuary. The most inward places of us…where all that we hold dear and all that we fear resides.

For seventeen minutes, in this winter of ours, would you help us to see your light?

Then we will have hope--a hope that shows us that the darkness of winter will soon be over. The season of hidden-ness and slumber and lethargy will soon give way to the light and rebirth of spring.

For seventeen minutes, Lord, however that translates—let us be your Newgrange. Let us wait with great anticipation for your light to reach our inner chambers.

Thank you that we do not have to enter our name on a waiting list. Thank you that we do not have to pray for the luck of the draw of the lottery.

17 minutes.

Actually I want more.

But for now 17 minutes is enough.