My Bible shuffles all around my house. Under the coffee table, to the couch in my makeup room, back to the coffee table, back to my room. An endless shuffle. Not because I’ve been endlessly reading but because my intent seems to be endless. I think, if I just put it here then surely I’ll take the time out of my day. Surely, here, looking nice and pretty I’ll make it a priority.
  But I don’t.

  Because in all honesty, it isn’t a priority. That’s my honest truth.

  My Bible has now found itself next to my bed, in the most inconvenient spot for looking pretty. Yet there it sits, and here is where I can’t bring myself to shuffle it again. Like it was meant to live there, those love letters tucked next to me while I sleep and that little thing that reminds me that I can face this upcoming day.
  I am sure I’m not the only one who occasionally wishes that maybe this will be the night that I won’t have to face the morning. That when I sleep I’ll wake up at the end of this life. But of course, no one ever admits that. No one, with a decent life, is going to admit that some days your mind concaves and you would rather do anything else than put the rubble back together again.
  But thats okay, you can admit it here.
  Sometimes I’m not okay and sometimes you’re not okay. 

  That in itself, is okay.
  I’m learning to speak. I’ve known the English language for years. I read far above my reading level, I’ve read more words than I can count. I’ve written more words than I can count. Yet, for the life of me, I am just now learning to speak.
  I am learning that words, my words, are actually important. I am important. I am more than the lies. I am more than the limitations I put upon myself. I am more than the rejection.
  Even though, I barely crack the pages, and my track record sucks. I can hear the pages of that Bible whispering. I know they hold the key to life, while I grip my chains. I know that the words can heal. I just have to let them.