I'm just about as scared to commit to writing for 31 days as I sometimes am to be Me.
It's silly and junior-high-ish, but admittedly, it's true.
And that truth just goes to show how insecure I am.
I'd like to think I'm otherwise.
Truth is, I'm incredibly weak. Knees wobbly and hands shaky kind of weak.
I'm not secure in my faith.
I'm definitely not assured of the things I hope for, and I wrestle with my dreams on a regular basis.
The uncertain future is too vague for me. I prefer clear skies over hazy ones.
I care about what other people *really* think of the real me.
(Perhaps a bit too much, I admit.)
And I wonder if it's because so much of this world just isn't genuine.
Real isn't the *responsible* choice a lot of the time.
It isn't the most professional or admired.
It's often times just a bit too much for some people.
To live obedient to the call of who *I* am, requires me to choose what isn't the most natural.
I must keep it real.
...Even when it means I might paint myself in a negative light.
Because, I am human and as long as I breathe this side of Heaven, I will make mistakes.
So, in these next 31 days, I'm going to seize the challenge to be Real.
(I might end up quiet and not have another word to say until November.
...Or, I might revisit the archives of my story and what grace I have unwrapped.)
Regardless...I'm certain to grow.