The Real Issue

Have you ever seen a post on social media that you wanted to share but couldn’t, because it had a bad word in it?

Have you ever thought you were finished with a crochet project, only to see that you made a mistake and have to take out an entire row to fix your mistake?

What is a “bad” word, anyway? Well, in my opinion, there are 3 definitions.

  1. A “bad” word is any word that would make you think I’m just like everybody else.
  2. A “bad” word is any word that would lead you to think I’m not the Christian I say I am
  3. And, lastly, a “bad”word is any word that would harm or hurt another person

So, when I see a post on the internet that has one of these words in it, I chuckle if it’s funny and move on. I do not share it.

As for crocheting, I was ready to make the last stitch, when I realized I hadn’t finished a corner in the last round of a granny square. I had to take out that whole row, or round in order to add the 2 stitches I’d left out. It’s not a big deal, but it is when you’ve only had 1 cup of coffee and no breakfast. LOL

Speaking of breakfast, that homemade muffin wasn’t enough. I wish I had some sausage to go with it and maybe, some scrambled eggs and . . . Let’s just stop there, ok?

So, what is the real issue, here?

Well, dear readers, I am procrastinating. Shh, don’t tell on me, but I’m putting off writing the next scene in my WIP.

Why? I don’t know. Perhaps . . . Don’t you just love those old words? Anyway, perhaps, it is because the scene is a little too close to home. Maybe, I have more in common with my hero than I’d like to admit. Maybe, I have to bleed a bit onto the page in order to get this scene into print.

Bleeding hurts. It’s messy. It takes my full concentration. But, if I don’t pull back the scab and let the Great Physician apply His healing balm, the wound will never get better, and the scar will never go away.

It all came rushing back last night. I tried to join in with the group’s discussion, only to have them turn away and ignore my attempt. I wanted to talk and laugh with them, but the old enemy raised his ugly head and whispered, “They weren’t even talking to you. You have nothing in common with them. They aren’t your friends. If you go over there, they’ll just ignore you more.”

I gave up. I let the disability win.

Today, when I write this scene, my hero will be braver than me. He won’t give in; he won’t give up. He will triumph over his disability. And, perhaps, when he does, I will triumph, too.

Y’all have a blessed Thursday, be careful what you share on social media, and keep trying to get your stitches right.

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