I dared named Shame this week. Looked her right in accusing, bloodshot eyeballs and told her to get out of my car, my bed.

My muscles recognized her first, that old rush and dull ache of inadequacy, vague regret. I told her she wasn’t welcome anymore, that she lies.

I dared paint in the afternoon, make something utterly unfinished and unattractive when there were a kazillion other things I could have been doing. I dared believe that art’s process matters even when the product leaves me flat.

I dared trust God this week, open hands and say not my will, but yours, no clue what that will mean in this area of my life.

She dared this week, let old secrets and shame fall from her mouth, shedding layers of bondage and agreeing with a greater hunger to stand atop truth. He dared this week, tears pouring with the confession of anger, stone heart, sorrow.

Little ones dared make new friends, cross bars skipping more than they’ve ever done before, stand vulnerable with words in writing notebooks and type-written essays and their I want this and I believe I can do it.

Frogs dared sit in bustling pumpkin patches among stomping rain boots, bright leaves dared break through gray afternoons. Soul sisters dared tell the ugly about themselves, people of all kinds dared speak for what’s right. Helpers and healers cut through darkness to say you’re not alone.

In all manner of places, watch as the earth fills with the audacious dare of another day and hope as its banner.

Joining with Five Minute Friday at Kate’s with today’s prompt: DARE.

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