Invitation.

I feel like its time for me to step into something. My grandeur. My potential. The reality of who I am. My fullness.

This scares me, somehow. It feels a little bit like walking down the aisle with someone that I don't really know, but have a hint of. Can I count on me? Can I trust that what I see in me is real? Am I really going to be there for myself? What if what everyone said about me was true?

I can stay at the back of the church, scared and stuck. That's where I've been for a while, now. Scared and stuck, not ready to commit, uncertain about what it is I'm getting myself into. I feel a beckoning, an invitation, a proposal, if you will, to own my greatness. To claim it. To claim my portion of Life and live it to the fullest. It's mine, after all. No one else can use it. It'll just go to waste, otherwise.

But I'm scared. I'm scared to let go of convenience and safety and the norm. I'm scared that I'm delusional and will fall on my face and that I'll have no place to go. I'm afraid that my dad will shake his head at me and say, "Amber, you should have just gotten a job and sent Jack to public school, like everyone else. You had to be a dreamer, didn't you. Well, look where it got you."

Which is so stupid because my dad would be the first one to encourage me to go big in life. In fact, I think the reality is that he's sitting around, shaking his head, wondering why I haven't been on Oprah yet. He believes in me. It's me who's still unsure.

The hesitation place I've been in, the stuckness, is getting so uncomfortable that I'm listening to that invitation with perked interest. "What can you promise me?" I ask it. "Will you guarantee my happiness? Do you promise that I won't look like an ass?"

It shakes it's head and says back, "Silly girl. I love you."