It’s easy to discredit those pretty, popular bloggers.
You know whom I’m talking about. The ones with perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect profiles, perfect instagrams, perfect pinterests. They’re pretty and popular and they say all the right spiritual things with all the photo images with quotes from their bestselling devotionals in which they give testimony to how they overcame imperfection to become more thankful or something.
I don’t have a problem with any of that.
But it is easy for me (maybe not you, because you’re more mature about this than I am)…it’s easy for me to scroll down through the blog post, glance at the bold sentences and the quotes on the pretty pictures and sigh, yeah, right, whatever, God bless her to myself.
She isn’t standing on my sticky kitchen linoleum. Actually, she probably has genuine bamboo flooring that she prayerfully installed herself. I step over a straw, two legos, some dog kibble, and a plastic cup to pour myself coffee and note that my Fiesta mug, while beautiful, doesn’t not offer a benediction on the front. That is how un-spiritual-blogger I am. My coffee doesn’t even have a little bit of Jesus.
I obviously need more.
I need Jesus’s glasses more than his coffee mug this morning. Because if I can’t see that my inadequacies and those of the pretty popular blogger are so similar, than I’ve become blind to the needs of the real-life pretty people around me.
God knows we are all needy. God-in-flesh kept a rich, religious ruler waiting while he told a defiled, disgusting outcast woman her faith had saved her. Then he took time to travel to the synagogue leader’s home to raise his child from the dead. Both were begging for supernatural help; both were important to Christ; both merited his undivided attention. Both received heaven’s blessings.
My needs, my messy now is neither more nor less important than that of the pretty popular blogger or of the teen mom across town or of the terminally ill in the hospital or of the lonely woman across the aisle at church. We are all seeking the same things — the extraordinary moments that give meaning and miracle to the stifling ordinary of our day.
And meanwhile, we’re all hiding the un-ordinary wounds that defile us in the eyes of acceptable culture, the true bleeding issues that consume our souls and cry our pillows to sleep. The marriage, the child, the debt, the business, the church rift, the broken friendship , the secret sin. Stemming the flow of my shame can take up so much energy as to blind me to that of those around me, my fellow-sufferers at Jesus’s feet.
But the truth is much more communal. We are all, as one, pleading for Christ’s blood and body to meet our daily needs. We all need God’s grace, God’s forgiveness, God’s love.
We all give grace back the best we can. Our own unique sacrifice of praise. Some shout from a large platform. Others of us whisper in our small corner.
Right where we are.