I stuffed how-many-bottles with rolled up messages as a child, chucked them into rippling creek water or lapping Pacific waves, and expected that message to go places I couldn't. And that creek - it bent about a quarter mile from the drop point and I'm sure my bottle stuck there, hung up on a root or rock or rolled right onto shore.

My messages never made it to Japan to be picked up by a curious child who would have the english interpreted, be shocked at the profundity of  my words, and make headline news for the discovery or the great expanse traveled by one small bottle.

Maybe my impact was never meant to be that far reaching.


I travel mostly in a 30 mile radius from home, and I'm not generally focused on spreading a message. To the store and the dentist and the bank and the oil change place - and I have stuff to do.

I try to be pleasant, to share the love of Christ always as my central message, but I'm not overly out-going or chatty and my smile doesn't always convey some deep spiritual message to the barista brewing my iced latte or the teller processing my request. *

Sometimes the checker will ask how my day is and I'll say good, how is your day? and she doesn't even answer. She didn't hear me, didn't really ask me a question anyway, but she's just speaking the same rote message again and again and again, through the string of days and people and gallons of milk.

I feel voiceless sometimes.

But I'm tethered to a place of home and family and My People who are hearing a message daily. I'm telling Good News and living bad days with them.

Maybe they're my message sent-out; or maybe they're a message to me. All of us messengers and messages and being made brave as we're thrown into creeks and carried on waves.


It's Five Minute Friday but I'm a little rusty - the * is where my 5 minutes were up. Happy to be joining Lisa-Jo and the crew again!