Ugh. I’m so tired of fake. I’m more tired of it crawling so comfortably on my skin. Maybe I should make it clear from the start I’ve never once been okay with fake. But of course, it oozes out of my mouth sometimes like the slobber that just happened without choice after my wisdoms were pulled. Look, slobber is disgusting. So is everything fake. It’s all those times I answer the phone but I’m rolling my eyes as I say hi with more perk than my dark roast coffee. It’s nothing personal, trust me. And if we’re getting rid of fake here, I don’t even want to answer the phone. There is nothing about phones that are appealing to me. Unless, of course you are Rocio, and then the phone is answered even while I’m confessing to the priest… even if I’m on that ceramic throne. Again, I’m okay with being honest. Ro, don’t judge it.

Today was the perfect day to start with this. So much of my life is unfolding without my consent. Was I aware of anything? Course not, but now I need to deal with it and I’m afraid I’ll want to cradle others too. And this isn’t some sob story, and I have a deep understanding that all people have to work through so much they never chose for themselves. The point here is, if I’m going to write about faith, I must be honest with how unpleasant I can be without constant community with Christ. God’s been so amazing through this all and I don’t doubt His good work. Faith is invigorating, moving and surreal… but what could the worth be to write if its all going to be fairies and butterflies? I don’t even like fairies.

I’ll find my ground, wherever I am. I’ll find the light, even if only a glimmer. I’ll learn to speak up (and yell and scream) and speak out, but I won’t do it any longer if that awful word is included. Rather, it’ll be in the confidence I have in Christ.

I’m learning today about how to continue in a situation I’ve not once even heard of before, never mind being the centre of its life-taking attention. I’m learning to respond. I’m learning to be patient. I’m learning grace, and the grace that’s being poured out on my messy life. I’m learning to make boundaries and tear down walls. I’m learning to break chains through my captivity of love in God. Though I sit here on my slowly fattening butt wondering one thing; how do I learn to miss? You see, they (the professionals and unprofessional alike) say I’ve learned to miss too much, too often. A childhood, a father, a safe home or even a home for that fact, and friends. A man after Gods own heart. Purely after God’s own heart. Teachers who took the time, or post secondary to make it all worth while. Boys who didn’t come to me just to take my innocence, or a love lost that was never mine? How, in all honesty shall I come to miss? There was a lack of freedom in this fall; a chance to choose? I never had. Learning to miss is the biggest battle I have found. And though I know, I know, I know all that’s mine in Christ, I can’t help but miss that what I cannot understand I’m missing. “Give it some time” I say to myself. I’ll figure it out.

I was told I should go to a park and watch children to begin to mourn the loss of my childhood. I wish you could feel me rolling my eyes through the screen. But I did. I went to a playground and watched kids play on the park. I watched them eat gravel and boogers, push each other over and yell at their mother. I didn’t miss childhood at all. From now on, I watch the advise I take.

And I like Miley Cyrus. Mostly that song ‘When I look at you’, though I think she’d be cool if she’d lose the short shorts, find some not so tight jeans and find Jesus while she’s at it. And I dance by myself at my home and practice my smile in the mirror. I do worry about the morphing shape of my butt and if I’ll ever just get a bit of a break, just a little bit of rest…

Just coming clean. Just getting fake off my skin.