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My story doesn’t look anything like yours. I couldn’t make it look like yours if I tried.

My story is messy. It’s filled with detours, and U-turns, and slides in the mud, and falling down and getting up and frustration and laughter until I cry.

My story is woven with bruised hearts, flesh denied, flesh yielded to, genius ideas and lame results.

And I am who I am today because of all these. And then some.

My story is not pretty.

And sometimes, I worry that it’s not good enough. Because I know without any doubt that I will never measure up to yours. I am not pretty like you, and I can’t talk in public without shaking in my boots. I don’t have the perfect little house with the white picket fence and the kids looking like they jumped out of a magazine. My story is filled with skeletons that scare even me.

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But my story is mine, and it scares me, down to my toes. And it’s real, down to my toes. And it’s mine, all the way down to my toes. And I own up to it, even in the secret uglies and the dark places. It made me who I am.   I have given up wearing my shame like a badge. And I am wonderfully becoming.  

Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp

#405 Pedicure with my daughter 

#404 My cozy winter sweaters

#403 1 Peter 1 

#402 Homemade Pumpkin Butter

Sometimes, I link up with any or all of these wonderful writers: Hearts 4 HomeSDG,  Hearts Reflected, WLW, EOA, Things I can’t say, Growing HomePlay Dates with GodMonday Musings, Hear it on SundayInspire Me Monday, Tell me a Story, The Better Mom, a Mama’s StoryInto the WordIn and Around Mondays,OYHT, Gratituesday, Titus2Tuesdays, ExtraordinayLessons from IvyDenise in BloomSweet BlessingsFaith Filled Friday, Finding JoySimply Helping Him

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