Today, someone told me something I never expected to hear.

Nor could she know I’d been nagged by the same possibility, the same thought.

I’m sure she’d no idea I had abandoned one thing for another.

This first, it’s attainable, not scary.

I’d been detailing dissertation like understandings of truth and mostly they’d been falling on eyes and ears not receptive or just a handful of those who had treasured them.

And I do have a few, the ones who aren’t derailed by my truths.

They love my honesty, raw they say.

Avoidance, it seems; no,

it is.

Disengagement from the calling, the scary brave thing, sidelined and benched by my doubts and intentional delays.

Little hints of what I might say were I brave enough to write.

Everyday I think of it and I make sense of it, the story, its chronology, its flow.

The one I felt should be called “treasure”,

The Colors of my Bible…

Yet, I’ve not done what now two have suggested…give less time to the blog and write the manuscript…write without reservation.

Manuscript, not just blog or Instagram or Lord, help me…

Facebook.

Products, politics and pitiful stories, oh my goodness, Facebook, I love you, but won’t you please stop getting all promotional!

Here I am, now deciding to read the Proverb, 25 on the day, 25th.

Needing another reminder, an assurance of better day tomorrow.

And I’m certain. I’m convinced.

After reading the words on aged pages highlighted in pink.

No more avoiding the manuscript.

No more throwing my pearls to swine.

I’ll be more careful with my words, my words, mine to share.