“I want to be real!” Lamented a friend of mine as we were visiting one evening. “I want to have a purpose.”
I nodded in agreement. That statement echoed my own heart’s cry. To have a purpose. To know with certainty at the end of a day that I had not expended all of my energy reinforcing my wooden house with hay and stubble. To fall asleep knowing time had been spent on eternal things.
What is real?
But what does it mean to be ‘Be real’? And, how do we find our purpose? Real is risky. When the Velveteen Rabbit asked the Skin Horse what real was in the book, The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams, his reply was very insightful:
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