And so we write to taste life twice. Fast and in five minutes, with sisters and lots of delicious. Every Friday the prompt goes up and #fmfparty slows down and we write. We breathe out our hearts, sharing the hurts and the joys and splitting hearts and words wide open.
START
“Won’t you let me see beneath your beautiful.” -Labrinth
Take it off.
Friend, would you just take it off?
I’m not talking about the makeup or the smile or the happy, I’m asking you to let me in, behind the yuck and the unglamorous and into the insides of you, the deep parts of your heart.
Let me into the mess.
Let me into the real.
I want the smiles and the happy – I want you to be overflowing, joy brimming all up to the top of your cup. But when the bad days come, and they will, don’t cover up the hurting with the pleasant I’m fine’s. Don’t skip over the hurts. Let’s journey together.
Be you.
Live your story.
Let me see the girl behind the words.
I get it. It’s scary. Until I started writing, really truly giving my heart to this space, I never understood how writing, it takes something out of you. And it doesn’t disappear, it just puts it on here.
And then it gives itself away.
Pieces of you, all over the internets and in a tweet or two, encouraging hearts literally around the world. And it’s worth it, oh it’s worth it. But let’s not pretend for one second that it doesn’t cost.
But we must keep at it, for we write to taste life twice, to remember, to slow, and to breathe.
But I ask you, will you share the real? The broken places, the redeemed places, the in-process spaces, too.
I want to see them because when I do, I see you.
And in this upside down world of left is right, giving is receiving, up is down, your mess is your beautiful.
Let us see it, this you that is so wonderful. And when you don’t believe it, let us speak truth and encouragement into you until you believe again too.
You are more. You are more than your blog stats or the number of times your phone lights up with a text. More than your lonely Friday nights and the empty carton of ice cream in your trash can.
We see something glorious, beauty-full. And we’ll keep telling you until you see it too.
STOP
