tremble

honesty has never been easy. it has often been the hardest thing for me to embrace for it, like a thorny crown, imbeds itself into me and my juices flow.

i remember a writing shirt from long ago that read,

writing is easy, just open a vein and pour it out.

something to that effect. and yes, it hurts that much at times.

why do it then? because it hurts more not to. just as it hurts more not to be honest, with myself, with my friends. with many things.

we don't get around hurt whichever path we choose, but truth has always been to me, bittersweet.

one night at a home group, i sat down and told the leader,

the truth ain't done much for me lately.

it gets me into trouble. it causes me grief. it causes my friends to grieve. which grieves me doubly. and i wonder, is this the way it will always be?

when i write, i tremble. i pour out my truth and leave it there to live or die at the reader's hands. when i reread the fruit of my labors, i cannot deny the words for they are still my truth. seeing them there does not make them less true, in fact, it makes me really understand that this is in fact what i believe. and i tremble.

i've done more trembling of late than ever. more wondering if what i say and do is right with God (men's opinions come and go, rightness with them never amounts to much).

and trembling i sit here now, laying out these fragile words hoping they convey something of meaning to you. my truth, take it for what it's worth.