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Something that keeps coming up, time and time again, within my family and friend circles is vulnerability.  How we can be more honest, be more real with each other.  And I say it.  Man, do I shout that out.  Let’s be vulnerable!  Let’s be real!  Let’s be honest!  Let’s own up to our messiness!

But do I do it?  Rarely.

But how about that one time I posted an incredibly deep and heartfelt blog post about marriage ON THE WRONG BLOG? On the blog that goes to former students, friends, family, fellow book reviewers?

How’s that for forced vulnerability?

Thankfully, the post only emailed (as far as I know) to two people.  (Please don’t tell me if you got it and you’re not Krystal or Eunice.  I don’t want to know.  I’m still too embarrassed.)  It was terrifying to have my messiness out for all to see, even if it was only for a few minutes while I frantically deleted the post.

I texted my dear friend, Krystal to break the ice and let her know that I knew she’d gotten the post via email.  Her response: “even though it was accidentally shared, I am really glad it broke down that wall.  I want an honest, vulnerable friendship.  I’m proud that you wrote it…I’m happy that we’re real life, life-is-messy friends.”

And though I still cringe when I think about it, all twenty three hours later, I’m glad I messed up and posted it.  Because I needed the reminder to be real.  The reminder to admit to people that Eric named the delicious bread he made last weekend “A-Hole Bread” since that’s how I acted while he was making it.  The reminder that we are called, as the church, to be real and be messy and live honest lives.  How often do I pretend that I’ve got it all together and that I don’t need grace?  How often do others feel they can’t be real with me because I’m not real?  That sucks.  I don’t want to live that way.

The pictures I post on instagram are happy.  They’re life at its shiniest.  They include precious Mosey, beautiful mountains in the glorious PNW, delicious food we get to eat, and happy, smiling faces.

my fake life

They’re not real life.  They’re not tears after cranky fights when we both haven’t eaten.  They’re not me at my honest self.

And as I scroll through my feed, all happy and bright with the people I love posting pictures of their dishonest selves, I will try to remember that what we post is not us.  It’s not real, it’s not messy, it’s not truly who we are.

So am I willing to repost the blog?  Nope.  Not going to.  But I will commit to taking steps to be more authentically messy me on this blog.  Happy, tidy, little book reviews no more.  Super deep thoughts–honest, real, ugly ones–coming at you!

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