Bump.

You’re just a small bump. You’re growing every day while you wait to meet the world. I haven’t met you yet, but I love you more than you will ever be able comprehend.

You cause me stress.

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Fire.

I referred to you as the Fire because it’s a fitting description with someone as combustible as you and let’s face it – I’m water and we clash. We clash like swords but the thing about swords clashing is that iron sharpens iron and practice makes perfect, so little brother every time you swing I get to watch you grow. Taking a couple blows along the way is worth it to see you thrive, and sometimes I have to knock your weapon out of your hand, leave you defenseless, and then pick you back up just to remind you what real life feels like. Remember that no matter how deep we may cut each other, I will always be there to pick you up and be by your side.

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Pierced.

I have been going to church for literally longer than I can remember. I have sat in the pews of a Pentecostal sanctuary feeling under-dressed when wearing a tie and I have went to church where the vast majority of the attendees are wearing basketball shorts or sweatpants. I’ve listened to sermons condemning teenage boys wearing skinny jeans and having spikey haircuts and I’ve been a member of a church that calls jeans their “church clothes.” The conversation of “church appropriate” has always been a topic of discussion surrounding my life and I want to talk about it.

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Growth.

When I was younger, my father would make me stop to think about what I was saying so that I wouldn’t stutter so much. Now I’m in my twenties and my dad isn’t here to tell me to slow down. So sometimes my head goes too fast and my mouth can’t keep up. My dad isn’t here to tell me to think before I speak. So now I say things and sometimes I’m not even sure what I said or why I said it.

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