“The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.”

And you know what? I’m terrified. I am terrified to admit that I love writing. That I want to write a book someday. That I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. That I’ve felt shame for too long in my love for words. That I want the LORD to use me to challenge the hearts of my generation. That I want more than what I am doing.

I cried the other day when I told my dear friend that all I want to do is write. Because who am I to do that? Who am I with anything to say? I’ve tried to put myself in a box for so long. I’ve thought that maybe just maybe if I kept myself squeezed inside that box for enough time, eventually I would fit. But you know what it did instead? It slowly drained the life out of my heart.

And my heart? My heart longs to be free. To say the words and tell the stories it aches to without fear of repercussions. I don’t know how to share my life without sharing all of it. I wish I knew. I wish I knew how to be silent and mysterious and sexy and not too much. I wish I kept more things locked inside of a treasure chest. I wish I knew how to keep my heart locked in a tower. Because with me I’m either all in or all out.

How much is that living out of who I am and how much is something that needs to be matured?

I get it wrong way more than I get it right.

I don’t have many words tonight. Only hopes, dreams, fears, swirling thoughts,  and tears. I only know how to process through words. But right now, words fail me.


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