As I spent time on social media, I began to feel a weight of expectations for my own life to match the life I was seeing of others. The more I strived to have the life I was seeing on social media, the less content I became and I began to question everything about myself. Finally, my husband called me out and I decided to fast social media and take my discontentment to the Gospel. Within a few days, I quickly realized that the content I was seeing seemed so scripted. Where was the authenticity? The more I prayed through my struggles, I felt the challenge to, in fact, live more "scripted", which brought me back to this blog I had created months prior. Except the “scripted” life I desire is one that is less scripted for likes and followers and more rooted in the Scripture—the Gospel, so that what I share with the world reflects the hope I profess, the grace I’m dependent on, and the glory of the Lord. As I prayed, I realized I wasn't the only person out there who desired this authenticity. I desire for this blog to be a safe place where others can come, just as they are, for genuine connection. I don't have it all together and I am tired of trying to. There is beauty in the simple, yet purpose-filled life. Grab a cup of coffee and stay a while. I pray that the Lord uses the words He gives me to encourage and give you hope along your path.
We recently moved into a new house—the excitement was real, as was the exhaustion. It is as if you go into overdrive to just get it all in. Once you lose the mover high, you are face to face with boxes…LOTS OF BOXES. The house we moved from is significantly smaller than the house we moved into, therefore, I worried I would not have enough décor to fill my space. I had big dreams for this space. I felt like the kids you imagine when reading “The Night Before Christmas”. Visions of décor danced in my head. When I heard that story as a kid, I always pictured the thought bubbles above the children’s heads filled with what I imagined a sugar plum must look like (REEAALLY sparkly, in case you are wondering). Almost as soon as those though bubbles appeared above my head, they were popped with a pin called COVID-19. TJ MAXX WAS CLOSED. In the months that it took our home to sell, I had spent many an afternoon walking the aisles of TJ Maxx mentally decorating my new space. In all my dreams of moving into my new home, TJ Maxx being closed simultaneously with Hobby Lobby would have been the nightmare. (I know that sounds very spoiled but bear with me).
Once we were moved, I began to wade through the sea of boxes that were my living room. Piece by piece, I organized our belongings into place. Sorting through all the pieces brought back memories of all the spaces that I have always loved--Mama’s, Grandmother’s, my best friend’s parents’ home. As I reminisced those spaces I realized I was not thinking about the décor, I really couldn’t recall any piece of décor in detail, but rather I recalled how the space felt to me. The spaces were functional, not just nice to gaze upon. Nowadays you do not have to look very far to see images of beautiful spaces perfectly decorated and arranged to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye. I am Fixer Upper fan through and through. I love following blogs or Instagram accounts with aesthetically appealing snapshots of room after room. People work hard to create for their spaces, but for who? These thoughts led me to the realization that my desire to fill my space with a bunch of new things has decreased. I did not want my new home to be consumed by image. I wanted my space to be consumed with things I love or that remind me of the people I love. I want to see faces. I want remember moments of great joy or deep pains when the Lord did a great work as He walked me through the valley. I want to see toys, where there is not supposed to be toys. I want the rooms to be filled with pieces that mean something to me not just pieces that will create a nice aesthetic flow. I want my space to tell a story of love and grace and God. While these notions ran through my mind, I thought about myself. How often am I so concerned with the appearance of my soul, that I forget it needs to be functional. Some spaces, within my soul, I just leave empty and shut the door, so no one can see them. While other spaces I make sure will be appealing to the eye, but they are very uncomfortable to be in. I fill the spaces with a social media feed or the news or gossip or discontentment or pride or striving to be a boss. All these things I choose to fill my soul with make me appealing to the world. The place we are all striving so desperately to fit into. We are even warned of such by Jesus in the book of Matthew, “And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?” (Matthew 16:26). Prior to this statement Jesus also tells us that, “whoever would save his life would lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (v. 25). We have become so focused about saving our earthly life that we are forfeiting our life in Christ. Jesus does not care how well we can string together words for a social media post about Him if we do not take the time to sit with and abide in Him. To allow him to truly search us and know us. The rest of the world might not be able to see your soul condition, but He can. He wants us to allow Him to use the spaces of our soul we close off to the world for His glory instead of pretending that we have it all together. He is not concerned with how much we look like a Christian in appearance, but if our spirit is truly found in Him. We mean more to Jesus than just looking the part, He created us to be functional for Christ. But He cannot use an empty shell, even though it might look beautiful on the outside. I want to spend more time providing my spirit what it needs to do more than just look the part, but to “walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which I have been called” (Ephesians 4:1).
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I knowSeveral days ago I came across a quote from Tony Evans that said, “To miss your kingdom assignment because you have become too caught up in your personal kingdom itself is the greatest tragedy you could ever face”. I have not been able to get the quote out of head. Every time it comes to mind, one-word bounces around in my spirit—known.
I remember days before social media. I remember Facebook when you had to have a valid college email address to sign up. And, I remember the day that all changed. My friend Whitney and I were sitting in our dorm room when she received a friend request from young person that went to our high school. The world as we know it had changed, but we had no idea just how much change would come. The world would become consumed with what others were doing. More so, the world would become consumed with telling the world what they were doing—consumed with being known. We want people to know what we have for dinner or when we get our nails done or how we dressed our kids that day. We want to tell people how frustrated we are in the checkout line at Wal-Mart or how the sunset looks or make sure we share this quote or that meme. Before I continue, I am NOT insinuating that any of these things are bad. People have used social media for a type of connection with others (even though I believe it has taken away the art of conversation, but that is another post for another day). Social media shares parts of the lives of others that we might not know if we still only had a landline or AOL instant messenger (AOL profiles did not glamorize our lives quite enough—if you know, you know). We want to be known to someone, anyone. We want to feel validated. Something inside us shouts more, more, more with every ding of a like or comment or share. Yet, we still go to bed feeling empty and we wake up anticipating what news feed activity we missed while we were sleeping. Our days begin with searching to know what others are doing or seeking to be known by others and our days end in either a sense of completion or failure based on the same. I am not sure that are brains, or our spirits were created for constant input. There are so many articles about how people are more unhappy now than ever before. I truly believe that part of this unhappiness is because we are worn slap out from striving. Even those with the purest intentions of social media have experienced a sting or two at the expense of its constant known ness. Today I waited in line for 30 minutes-HALF AN HOUR-for my husband, a Mata’s pizza. He’s asked for one since, well, the first day they closed down because of COVID and it being the week of Father’s Day and the week they opened back up, it felt like a good gift to him. As I sat in the drive thru, I could not stop hearing the word. Known. KNOWN. K N O W N. Then the whisper, “But you are known. I know how many hairs are on your head. I have searched you and know you. I even know the parts you don't want to share and still desire to know you more. I died so that you could be known by my Father in Heaven”. I miss it every day. The fact that this place is not my home. I spend more hours than I care to admit concerned with being here for the sake of being here. Which is not why I am here at all. I want to be known more for how I lived and loved as it concerns the cause of Christ. As heard in a Kari Jobe song, “The only thing I want in life is to be known for loving Christ. To build his church, to love his bride. To make his name known far and wide”. I will not take my list of likes or followers with me when I meet Jesus face to face. He will see my life beyond the screen. Did my life beyond my profile follow him? Did I carry Jesus around like an accessory? I am challenged to operate more from a place rooted in the truth that God knows me rather than the earthly desire to be known by others. I believe it will change my mindset in the mornings and my interactions with others as I seek to make Him known through the life, He has entrusted me with. This life is more than being known to the world by your words or actions, its making Him known to the world by your words and actions. Last night Whitleigh Jo woke us up around 2am. She bantered back and forth between Mama and Dada before pulling out all the stops, screaming for Baba (what she calls the cat) to come rescue her from her crib. We took turns trying to calm her, but it was evident that we were not going to succeed. Around 3:45am Michael said, “Could she be hungry?”
I forged downstairs (without contacts or glasses) and rumbled around in the kitchen until I felt out a couple graham crackers and her milk cup. Finally, that appeased her. She downed one cup of milk quickly and I asked Michael to go grab her more since I couldn’t see anything other than the shape of objects. “Oh, no”, I heard from Michael downstairs. Seriously, why are all the things happening at almost 4am? “What’s wrong?”, I yelled down as tiny lady baby quite joyfully ate her graham crackers (does she realize they taste real good during normal operating hours, too, and will be here for her to eat in the morning?) “Well, there are ants—lots of ants. As I poured her milk I was trying to figure out what was so dark that you put in a Ziplock bag. Then I realized it was cheddar bunnies completely covered in ants”. Glorious. Michael brings us the milk and heads back downstairs to seek and destroy our late night guests. About as soon as this happens, I decide to change Whitleigh Jo’s diaper, at which time she remains completely still and closes her eyes. Was she really about to fall asleep?! I slowly pick her up, take her in her room, and place her in her bed. She reaches for her lovie and paci—not another peep. Once downstairs Michael says, “I’m thankful that she wouldn’t go back to sleep 2 hours ago because there is no telling what the ant scene would have been later in the morning.” Today, while on the phone with a friend, she asked me what we were doing with our day. I told her I was cleaning house and hoping to get Whitleigh Jo back on schedule so that maybe she would sleep better tonight, at which point I told her the above story and as I told the story I suddenly realized a bigger picture. Sometimes God shakes up our surroundings to reveal something deeper to us. We get so consumed with the storm and questioning why rather than saying, “Okay, Lord. I’m up. What do you need me to see?” He makes us uncomfortable and in our discomfort is when He does some of His best works, because it’s when we are at the end of ourselves and His strength is made manifest through our weakness. I’d prefer never to be uncomfortable, but the discomfort brings me closer to Jesus—the greatest comfort of all. |
Hi! I'm Morgan.Follower of Christ. Grace dependent. Wife. Mama. Homebody. Archives
July 2020
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