I really want to write something pretty. After a somewhat poignant piece posted just this week that received some flack from a worrying mother, I wanted to write something a little sweeter.

I’m up, and I really thought it must only be about seven thirty but its already nine forty-five so that sums up that I would want to write something when I’m supposed to be sleeping. But the evening is just too quiet, my free people sweater and the bouquet beside me from last weekend’s wedding are just beckoning me to write something sweet and soft and lovely.

I think for me in my twenties one thing that has really evolved is more of a comfortableness with myself. Don’t take me wrong, I am still my own sharpest critic. But, I remember through high-school and a lot of college always wanting to be someone else. Sometimes I wanted to be the young-rider who could fund the multiple upper-level horses and skip around the country wearing expensive riding pants and other times I wanted to be the sweet-girl who got asked to all of the fraternity formals and was involved in SGA. I don’t think I ever was really satisfied to be Claire Robinson and especially never proud of my accomplishments.

Then, and I don’t think I can pinpoint a day or a certain time. I do remember when I was finally able to sit with my riding goals and pace that I was climbing up the levels with gratitude and patience. But I can’t tell you the exact day I really thought that being Claire Cumbee was the greatest blessing.

Yet, somewhere along the way it happened. Now I certainly still struggle, and I deal with more anxiety that seems to be getting exponentially worse, and I still make the same mistakes, but it’s different. And I think that’s somehow what’s missed in my little posts.

When I’m warned how well I have it and admitting my faults should be kept hidden, I just think it’s funny. For when I may have been perceived to have a good deal, a horse taking me up the levels, a sponsor who paid for my competitions, a lovely and just beautiful relationship, and a grandfather who paid for the best little formal dresses for every social I went to, I still wanted to be someone else through all that time. I had a lot of things to keep me busy, because if I ever sat quiet enough I couldn’t stand it.

But now, after having all of those things taken away, (though I may request my grandfather invite me as his plus-one to the Auburn Castle Christmas party) I’ve learned to love exactly who I’m made to be. So I think I try to challenge fate to throw me some more issues, because Christ made me as Claire Cumbee, and I can just take it. Because we have a purpose and a job to do.

Now, it’s another round. I’ve got a job that I adore with the most funny and hard-working colleagues, my young horse is stepping up to the plate,  and I am single in a new beautiful city. I am so thankful for those things. But, if they were taken tomorrow, which they could be, I’m not going to be any less strong or capable or less of a success because of it because Christ has instilled a purpose much bigger than those gifts.

So, when I write about the tough and rough topics rather than writing about how literally obsessed I am with my gorgeous horse whose the most wonderful animal after Huckle in the world, it’s because neither the great blessings I have make me better or really the tough issues make me less. It’s only through my relationship with the Lord and his design that I’m given a job and a purpose here.

I don’t dislike writing about lovely things, but I just adore writing how whole and confident you can be while being a mess. I would never want someone to assume I don’t struggle, or make very selfish decisions, or even drink too much! Because I do, and it’s not great, but all of it is so overcome-able . So, that what I want to write about tonight.

Please send me little messages about my grammar mistakes. For right now, I am going to bed.