The words on my soul.

Like a dog returns to his vomit…

Oh, that hits home.

The Book of Proverbs hits the head on the nail when it comes to defining fools. And I often feel like my picture needs to be plastered all over it. For the most part, I tend to err on the side of discernment. I mean, I’ve managed to remain alive for thirty-seven years for what that’s worth. But in other areas of my life, I’m a mangy mongrel returning to the exposed contents of my stomach.


When will I learn? When will any of us? I think this is sanctification. The utter removal of all pretenses and an intense desire for utter transparency. Translation: taking the blinders off and seeing reality for what it is.

I got back on Facebook. I got back on Instagram. I then immediately deactivated both. So much head space, you guys. It feels like these online places take up space in my body, and I become more worried about posting there than writing the words on my soul. You’d think I’d learn by now. And maybe I finally have.

I think that’s the beauty of a simple life but maybe the crux of it too. Anything that isn’t gentle and peaceful and connects me closer to Jesus feels like a splinter beneath skin. I want to follow the rules and connect and live a false life out in the ether.

But I know myself and my God too well to fall into that trap. I’m not doing any of this for me. I’m doing it for Him.

I have to deny my flesh.

So maybe it’s okay that I pass on what everyone else returns to. I’m not everyone else. They’re not me. And our journeys certainly aren’t the same.

Maybe it’s okay to be different.

Get Wordy

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