I know I'm not the only one who sorts out life with a little help from 90's boy bands. It's okay to admit it- you liked 'n Sync, too, and now you're singing the jam right along with me. You're welcome for that free Sunday sing. :)
I'm not all that much into dramatic build-ups, so I'm going to cut to the chase, though you may have already guessed where this is going.
I'm breaking up with Facebook. Gulp! Gasp! Sigh!
I like Facebook.
I like the people who I share Facebook cyberspace with.
I like to write on your wall without being ticketed for graffiti.
I like the concept of social media.
But I don't like the places it takes me.
You've read those threads. The ones where common sense and kindness aren't so common. The ones where judgment is cast so quickly and blame is diverted fifteen million different times. It pulls my baffled mind in like a bear trap, and I log out feeling disappointed in humanity.
There's other threads, too. The posts that paint a beautiful, one-sided picture of a reality that just isn't. Or the status updates that leave a proverbial line in the sand and you're forced to choose a captain and a jersey. The comments that call for all things good and holy, but promise eternal damnation if you don't mass share in the next five seconds. Those fight for my attention and energy, and I don't have much extra to spend, yet I lie in bed at night and scroll through the nonsense until my eyes burn. And then, sometimes, I scroll some more.
And then, then there's me. My life. My pictures. My family. My friends. My battles. My shares. Somehow, someway, I've fallen to this warped idea that I can glean validation, strength, honor, encouragement, empathy, and love from an online community of people with their own lives, pictures, families, friends, and shares. I've inadvertently given you an identity-shaping responsibility that you were never meant to carry, much less able to provide.
Life is crazy big, and it's crazy good, but it's also really, really messy. Kind of like finger-painting with a toddler...or eating fried rice with chop sticks...or bathing my Sheepdog after she's rolled around in the mud.
So sometimes, it's alluring to post the struggles when I'm alone in the fight and wait expectantly for your encouragement, as if I'm relying on the world wide web for strength or resolve. You people, as good and as grand as you are (and you really, really are) weren't designed to be my counselors or comforters or guides. This is really good news for you, because as life unfolds and demands wisdom beyond my years, I seem to need a lot of counseling.
By the same flip of the coin, it's super tempting for me to post pictures of joy and gladness and victory and wait like an anxious little kid in a candy store for your comments and likes when I could be soaking in joy and gladness and victory with the people that surround me on this side of the computer screen. It has become second nature to me to reach for my phone when somebody says something hilarious. That's all fine and good, but I think it's time that I start relishing in those funny moments and celebrating with a good belly laugh rather than playing the part of a narrator for an audience that may not always understand the humor.
Hear me; I'm not breaking up with you. I'm breaking up with the Mark Zuckerberg version of you. I'm going to use all my new found free time to write more, to love more, and to communicate "for real," so follow my blog, shoot me a text, or show up on my front door step. I keep a healthy stock of peanut butter and decaffeinated coffee, so at worst, we could sip on a cup of joe and marvel at my adorable four-legged kids.
Thankfully, I haven't figured out how to permanently delete a Facebook account, so when curiosity overwhelms me, I promise to stop by and say hello. I can also promise I'll feel the overwhelming urge to post a bunch of cute pictures of all things happy, so prepare yourselves for imagery overload every now and again.
Finally, if you want to do something really impactful, keep me in your prayers, even when you don't see the daily tidbits of the Lindsay life. If you need a few ideas, I might recommend the following:
- Pray for the approximately three pounds of gray matter located between my two ears. Pray that it continues to do all the things brains should do, and nothing that it should not.
- If you're going to pray for my thinker, go ahead and pray for the rest of my shell, too. I'll fly to Denver in July to see the specialized spine surgeon. Pray he has a plethora of answers, none of which include surgical intervention. Pray that my blood starts looking like blood is supposed to look underneath a microscope, and pray that I don't run out in the mean time. Hahaha. Okay, maybe that was at least a little dramatic.
- Pray for my future. I don't know what my family portrait will look like in five years, or even in one, but I'm trusting He who does. He's given me a heart to love discarded, broken, and beautiful children. I'm only about three toe dips into the waters of that journey, and it is absolutely, hands down, the hardest thing I've ever done. Loving these babies (of all ages) requires an absurd amount of bravery and unwavering confidence in the character of God. Pray that I love these children well and point them to Jesus, regardless of what official title I'm ever given.
- Pray for the business. We're growing and evolving at an exceptionally exciting pace, and it is beyond all we ever dreamed. Pray for my daddio, my grandfather, and I to lead well. Pray that we'll have the wisdom to navigate the mountaintops and the valleys low. Pray that our contractor finishes the second office bathroom quickly, and by all means, pray I don't have a nervous breakdown as we navigate the busy season OR another hospital admission twenty-four hours before one of our big events. My employees covet your fervent prayers over those last two. :)
- Finally, pray that God continues to center my often joyous, yet sometimes frightened little heart. In the middle of, and despite it all, I just want to love Him and be loved by Him. Simply, fully, and down to my core, I want to stay "all in."
Lindsay
That is beautiful, Darling!
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