Real. I am not sure I even know that what that means anymore. I have so many versions of me. The mom to my aspy daughter… me. Wife to my husband… me. Mom to the little one that was a gift… me. They all are different in subtle ways. Now the me that looks back in the mirror, I do not even recognize her. Her body is changed from illness, face has grown lines with age and worry and life.
The one real that I can count on is the One who made me. He assures me that I am real. And each of those me’s that I see? They are all the same, just different parts of the real me.
This post is linked up to the gypsymamas Five Minute Friday. Here is how it goes…
When last did you write for fun?
Not to impress anyone, not for blog hits or comments or Pinterest pins?
When last did you just write?
On Fridays over here a group of people who love to go all out buck wild for the fun of the written word gather to share what five minutes buys them. Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.