Am I Real?

When I first started blogging I did it for myself and shared with one friend I trusted, as I knew she would give me her honest opinion.  Eventually, as I became braver,  I shared with my sister and a couple more friends, then I published the posts.  Initially I was just writing so I could discipline myself to write.  I figured if I was serious about writing I needed to start doing something other than a journal.  I have been keeping journals for many years, but they are mostly things God has spoken to me and my prayers to Him. Posting on Facebook was a fly by the seat of my pants sort of decision, but it worked, so it has become easier.  I actually look forward to writing and sharing my thoughts.  If I miss a day, there's a reason.  So thanks for the support you have shown.  It isn't easy to bare your soul to others.

I like transparency, being real.  I think that's important.  I feel that each person needs to be exactly who they are.  Do  you remember the story of the Velveteen Rabbit?  It's one of my favorite children's books.  I love the part when the Skin Horse talks to the Rabbit.  I briefly mentioned it before in the post about my daddy's funeral, but I want to share it with you.  

"The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery longer than any of the others.  He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces .  He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. 'Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out-handle?'

'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,'said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.'

'I suppose you are Real?' said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

'The Boy's uncle made me Real,' he said. 'That was a great many years ago; but once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.'"

I think the passage speaks volumes about the way we live our lives. Sometimes people don't see us for what or who we truly are. But being "real" is a process where all the pretenses or inhibitions are "rubbed off" and the real character is revealed.  There's no longer any fear, just acceptance and a realization of a life in the purest form. When all that matter is right before you, and it is enough.