We stood, steady as the stars in the wood, so happy hearted & the warmth rang true inside these bones.

Sometimes I write letters. Sometimes I write letters to people just to figure out what it is that I would want to say. Most times, in these letter writing scenarios, when I'm writing to figure out where I am, how I'm feeling, I don't send them. I have a few times, but usually that's totally mine. Usually, I don't let anyone else in on that. Usually, that's something really sacred, and special to me. I like that I have shared them a few times, because those times keep me grounded. Those times keep the process valid. I could at some point, actually want to share this with the name at the top. That keeps me from leaving reality and going off into some alternate universe where everything revolves around me. But the fact that most times these letters never leave my journal makes them real, too. Statistically, it is more likely that I will keep this to myself, than share it with anyone. And so, I'm really not trying to just be nice. I'm really not trying to just be mean. I'm really not interested in making things sound particularly good or well written. I'm really not trying to be anything other than honest.

The more I do this little exercise, the more I realize how seldom all of my energy, all of my effort, or even just the majority of it goes into being honest, being truthful. That freaks me out, because honesty is something that I have to think about and, because I usually don't think about honesty as something that I have to think about.

The process is freeing. The process is enlightening. The process is endless and surprising and sometimes it hurts, sometimes it hurts a lot, but the process is always worth it. It has always given me something valuable, or at least pointed me towards something of worth.

I think I got to this place, where I have to write these letters, because somewhere along the way I stopped being honest about my relationships. Somewhere along the way, I stopped talking honestly, or more likely, I stopped talking altogether about what it means for me to be hurt by someone that I shouldn't have to worry about hurting me. I got really good at answering questions. I developed this skill where I could talk about really painful things without letting anyone (including myself) know that they were actually really painful. I got really good at controlling the way that I talked about things.

Facts. That is the secret. Only facts. If I'm not really careful, if I don't take a second every now and then to remind myself of what honesty actually is, I'll slide back into talking about facts. I can talk to you about something that has impacted my life a whole lot, something that hurt me a whole lot, or even something that has brought me a whole lot of joy, but if I can control the way that I talk about it, if you will let me tell you what happened or is happening without ever actually having to address how it touches me, I can separate the two.

So good. And so, so bad.

And it's usually not as obvious as it sounds like it would be. I'm pretty good at tricking you into thinking that I've talked about myself, my feelings, my heart without ever actually having to do it. I can trick myself too, but that's getting harder to do. Trickery doesn't sound a whole lot like honesty.

The letters help me. They give me opportunities to be honest. And I can write a letter to absolutely anyone, about absolutely anything, absolutely anytime. Anyone. Anything. Anytime. For someone that kind-of-sort-of just discovered honesty, those are really helpful, really great, really incredible things.

The facts are important, but the feelings rule my days. The feelings are so much bigger than the facts. We need them both. I'm not entirely sure how I operated for so long with just one.

It's funny how things that you do to keep yourself strong can actually do the opposite. I thought I was protecting myself, and I was, but it didn't make me strong. Strength is not in facing the facts. Strength comes when we face the things that the facts produce. Strength comes when we face the feelings, the scars, the joys and the sorrows.

So far, 2012 has taught me a lot. I have cried more in 2012 than I have in a long, long time. And I feel stronger than I ever have. I asked God to make me more honest in 2012. He's surprising me. Everyday, he's surprising me.

Tears and strength have gone hand in hand for me this year. He's teaching me about what it means to really be honest. He's teaching me that real honesty is way more than just not lying. He's also teaching me that honesty yields things like tears. And he's showing me that the kind of strong he wants me to be is not cold, it is not fact based, and it is not strong like an impenetrable forcefield.

He's showing me that the strong he wants me to be is alive and it feels things. The strong he wants me to be is tender. The strong he wants me to be isn't afraid of empathy and the strong he wants me to be can cry. The strong he wants me to be can cry a lot, because the strong he wants me to be is rooted in facts and it's rooted in feeling feelings and it's rooted in a whole lot of hope.

And we have so much more of 2012 left.