Sometimes I just want to know the hard-core, hot-fast truth behind all these picture-perfect, hang-worthy pictures that paper social media and line the walls of our homes.
I just want to know.
I want to know if the events surrounding the taking of that Pinterest-looking picture actually looked and felt like the picture I see on the screen and view on the wall.
I want to know if the smiles were real, coerced, or flat-out bribed.
I want to know if the poser was happy and willing, or if they were angry and wailing.
I want to know what happened before, after, and during.
I want to know if the mom behind the camera was singing a melody as she snapped that strawberry-patch picture, or if she was contemplating chucking her children in a bunch of thistles to her right.
I just want to know.
Well, if I’m being honest…
It’s probably because I want to know that I’m not alone–to know that the stories behind all the beautiful and lovely pictures I see are maybe a little more like mine.
I guess I want to know if YOU, like me, have a bunch of MESSY MEMORIES.
The memories that are cropped in imperfection and smudged with sin.
I want to know.
And today, when I was tempted to post these strawberry-sweet pictures to social media (conveniently leaving out the jankety jank surrounding the photos), I was reminded (yet again) that only EVER posting the picture-perfect never really helps anyone.
So, let me air my MESSY MEMORY…in entirety…because though it wasn’t perfect, it was still our memory.
And perfect isn’t what I want to remember because perfect wasn’t the truth of our memory; it just wasn’t.
So let me tell you that prior to snapping this picture…
I had to discipline one child (TWICE) before we even got in the car;
I forgot my wallet and realized (10 minutes into the drive) that I had to turn around and drive back home;
the kids hadn’t eaten breakfast (still at 9:45 AM), so they were sitting in the backseat with chocolate granola bar all over their hands;
I got lost…even with my GPS;
the kids were fighting in the backseat about the placement of water bottles;
we forgot to bring our own buckets, so we had to pay extra to use theirs;
it was hot, and the kids were whining about being thirsty;
one child dropped a fruit snack in the field and proceeded to wail and throw herself on the ground;
one child insisted they needed to pee and peed all over my arm;
there was a battle over who was going to pull the wagon;
there was a battle over who was going to hold the bucket;
one child was crying about the thistles;
another child was crying because she couldn’t eat the strawberries in the bucket;
both children were crying about the blessed bees; and
I was sweating and swearing inside my head…
ALL before I said, “Okay, kids…let’s take a picture.”
And THAT, my fellow readers, is ALL the truth about ALL of our memory–a snapshot smudged with sin and cropped with imperfection.
and download grace as you upload those memories!