0 comments | published by Linda | November 16, 2013

My face is falling. No, really. Yet, because of my vanity I will do everything in my power to never let you come to that conclusion. Don’t tell anyone, but my hair isn’t really as dark as it looks. Seriously. I don’t want anyone to know. The years have taken some of its color, much to my dismay. You won’t see evidence of this because I know how to hide what I don’t want you to see.

Recently, my daughter took a picture of me where I was somehow twisted in a position that made it look as though I was ten pounds lighter. As an added bonus, my chin was dipped down far enough that my cheeks looked like a chiseled piece of art. No, really. I can prove it because I instantly posted it on fakebook. I knew that moment was fleeting, and in the very least I was determined to let the four hundred, seventy-seven friends I have on fakebook see what was captured. That’s right, me, in that one split second of the day where I felt beautiful.

Pitiful? Yes. True? Of course. That’s right, I’m that shallow. Of course, after I post the picture I notice on the homepage that my friend from high school who always struggled with weight was in a string bikini. Ugh. That outdid my picture! Wow! What are the odds that she posted at the same time, and was so inconsiderate of my feelings by looking better than me. Some friend. Not to mention how inappropriate it is for her to stand on a public beach looking...ugh, ok. I’m jealous.

Ok, wow. Why on earth would my boyfriend from high school comment on her post from yesterday, and not even acknowledge my funny comment from the other day? I was hilarious! She drove him crazy in high school. She doesn’t look near as happy and hot as me! What’s up with that! Hmmm, I wonder if his wife told him not to comment on my stuff because I am a threat to their marriage because of how cute I am. No doubt, that’s what’s happening.

Well, this is annoying, she looks even prettier today. And what was her comment? “I’ve had a busy day with my kids!” I’d say, it’s more likely she is exhausted from trying to get that perfect selfie of herself all afternoon.  Hmmmm, if only I could look like that after a hard day. Or, well, anytime!

What’s that in the picture? Her son is holding a hymnal? What?? How old is he? Can kids read hymnals at the age of two? As if! I can’t believe she actually wrote how she just can’t get him to stop reading and singing from that book. Oh, and the comments of praise roll in generously,  “Wow, you’re an amazing mom, what an inspiration you are!” Ha! I’ve seen her kid in action, and hymns are not what he’s singing!

Why do you think that the last picture I posted on sinstagram only got ten likes? She posted a picture yesterday and got over one hundred! I wonder if I should just delete mine. It obviously wasn’t good enough. I don’t know why hers was so great. How many times have we seen a picture of her legs in a new pair of jeans? How many times do you think she took this picture until her thighs looked thin enough? Oh ya, and thanks for mentioning the size. I don’t know what I would have ever done without that piece of information. I would never be that vain. I’m way beyond needing leg praise. Oh well, I guess she just needs that kind of attention.

Seems like most fall into one of two categories, and actually might run back and forth between the two. On fakebook and sinstagram you either exhibit pride, or coveting. How convenient for the world to come up with such avenues that appear to be a way to connect with people and keep up friendships, yet is laced with such sharp and cutting temptations.

If I were to delete my account, would I have any friends? What a hole this would leave in my life. What would I do without my daily dose of pride, self-centeredness, criticising, judging, and severe coveting? I suppose I could get off of sinstagram as I only have a few followers. This fact has actually made me wonder my value as a person if I can’t get more to follow me.

I often wonder why close friends from my past don’t keep in touch. Don’t they wonder why I haven’t been around? I’m not sure why they aren’t concerned about the possibility that I’m sad, hurting with struggles. You’d think I would at least get a call! Aren’t they worried about my well being? Come on people I have real stuff going on over here! Do they even know that I was in the hospital? Could it be that they don’t ask because a simple glance at fakebook shows pictures of me on the beach with a great tan surrounded by happy children? Ya, I suppose that might paint the wrong picture.

But how could I ever let my four hundred seventy eight friends really know what’s going on in my heart? No editing, hair color, or creative positioning or angle would be able to hide the realness of my life.

Fakebook and sinstigram are free. The world is generous by letting everyone be a part of this celebration of temptations to make yourself look good, and have the opportunity to become sinfully ugly at the same time. After all, it’s how you look that counts, right? Who cares how corroded our hearts become as we play along. 

I’m wondering if a heart check needs to happen consistently when I log on to these two. God made it clear. When in the face of temptation, flee. So if you see I’m online and suddenly disappear, I most likely needed to spend some time on my knees.

These sites don’t cost you anything. Or at least that’s how it appears. But
maybe appearances are deceiving.
Posted in Powder Room    |   Tags: Fakebook & Sinstagram
0 comments | published by Linda | October 28, 2012
I had decided it wouldn't happen to me. I suppose it was more than a decision, it was a fact. Being seven, I figured growing old only happened to people who weren't kids. I looked the same. My hands were soft, my skin was without a mark. I thought it strange to watch how others seemed to let themselves become old. Certainly wouldn't be ahead for me.

I'm still me. The same conversations play out in my mind, I still get scared, happy, hurt, insecure and silly. Just like before, I have the heart of a little girl.

When I became a mom I had this goal of becoming like those mom's who wrote the books, led the seminars, or wrote the songs. This was what I wanted, to become that mom who was able to help show their kids how to walk alongside their Lord. They knew how to love, laugh, discipline, teach, and sacrifice with joy. I was in the trenches as I worked day by day to master motherhood. I remember envying other mothers that had the same title as me, yet didn't spend their days sacrificing for their children.

There is this season of motherhood where more time is spent changing diapers, brushing off carseats, and managing little attitudes. When in the middle of this season, it seems never ending. I knew, at the age of 24 that growing old only happened to people who didn't have kids. Seemed perfectly possible that I would be chiseling cheerios off the floor for the next fifty years.

When did I buy the last diaper? Whatever happened to running the house while carrying a baby? Where did the little one go that daily sat in my kitchen emptying my cupboards? Why is there room for my purse to sit in the seat of a shopping cart? When did my now five year old stop wearing infant clothes? Most importantly, who are these best friends of mine that surround me through the days? How is it that these beautiful girls have the same laughter I had when I was their age? When did that little boys voice that used to cry out needing me, turn into a deep voice that checks to see if I need anything?

I was taught early on that the season of spring is a time of planting, and working in the field. I was also told that fall would come, and my harvest would be determined by what was planted and nurtured in the spring. I wasn't warned of the depth of blessing that would come if I remained faithful.

I now have this group of six who sit by me in church, tenderly love me, and make me laugh constantly. God was not kidding. The blessings are beyond comprehension.

My hands are now different. My face shows the many times I have laughed and cried. My looks are changing, evidence of a life well lived. I am growing richer with each passing day. When springtime planting comes slowly to a close, the only problem I have now, is being able to see these crops of abundance through my tears of joy.

Posted in Living Room, Powder Room, Attic    |   Tags: Crops of Abundance
0 comments | published by Linda | September 04, 2011
It's different. I can brush it myself, but when she does it, it's not the same. My hair is long. As she sits beside me, she slowly brushes it over and over again.

For some reason, these moments mean something to me. She loves me. She delights in my presence. I spend my days serving and sacrificing for my kids, and when the tables turn, it comes at me so much greater. Even in the simple things.

In my pajamas, I sit with her and enjoy her tenderness. She thinks I am beautiful, a princess in her eyes. These aren't the thoughts that naturally go through my mind when I stand in front of the mirror and brush my own hair. She is a sweet reminder of His
perspective. To Him I am precious, a princess in His eyes. 

As she not only accepts me as I am, but rejoices over me, I can know who caused such love. It's a mystery, but even as a little girl, she sees me as He does. There's really no difference.

Zephaniah 3:20b
"...In His love He will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."
Posted in Powder Room    |   Tags: No Difference