First of all, let me say what I loved about it.
You know, those moments, when your heart just wants to explode with joy and you wish you'd always remember, like inked fingerprints and footsteps in wet concrete. . . instagram just saves the moment.
|I wanted to eat him up. . . in that lil cowboy hat. . .|
|so much work. . .the joy was palpable. last day of school|
Cambria brought me breakfast in bed on Mother's Day (with the help of Aunt Elizabeth)
They had Matt Redman's 10,000 reasons playing for me.
I laid in bed and cried for all the joy God has brought back.
|small group meeting in our home this summer|
|he's bald. hats look good on him. what can i say?|
|first tornado warning of the year. basement camp out|
|asked Cambria to pack her pj's in her backpack for an overnight at Grandma & Grandpa's|
this is what she packed
(note the bug cage)
packing light. . . not so much
I loved it.
And I am fascinated by it.
It's like a mini microcosm of our own lives, this Instagram phenomenon, this document it generation.
But tell me you haven't done this:
Oh I want to take a picture!
Oh that looks great except for my neighbor's yucky car is in the landscape of my cute baby.
Crop it out.
Reduce the frame.
Reshuffle the baby.
Re-take the picture.
I see a steady stream of these perfect photos, these perfect little snapshots of life, these inkprints of what we choose to show the world of our hearts and homes.
I wonder if we're being a little unfair to each other.
On Monday evenings in June, a bunch of honest friends are reading and discussing this great little read on letting go of the masks that we wear. As I read, I just keep coming back to this line:
". . .we. . .as women. . .have a responsibility not to create a competitive and hostile environment for [each other]"
Letting Go of Perfect, Amy Spiegel, page 29
And I can't get the Instagram mentality out of my head, this creating of little vignettes, this documenting perfection, this wanting a picture of a sweet child with hands outstretched in the rain. But her hands aren't stretched right. here, hold your hands a little higher. And now her face is turned down. Lift your face up. And now she's frustrated. Smile like you're having fun! Suddenly the moment is lost and we're staging life, trying to create perfection out of frustrated children who were indeed having fun five minutes ago.
Some of this can be easily attributed to my lack of photographic ability and there's nothing wrong with posing for pictures; but when the very picture meant and designed to be a freezeframe of life becomes something that is prepped and propped then our perception of reality is becoming very skewed.
As I am challenged to create a real environment, to be a safe person, to be honest about the reality that is mine, I'm finding that for me, Instagram is a fake mask too easily ready to wear.
So I deleted the app.
Ahh, the freedom of being real.
Let us draw near with a true heart. . .and. . .consider how we may motivate one another to love and good deeds. . .[and] encourage one another. from Hebrews 10:22,24,25