I dare you to hold open the door and drop the smiling face for more than two seconds.
I dare you to be quiet.
I dare you to speak up when it’s time and not a minute earlier.
I dare you.
In a culture so desensitized to the word love, in a time when we love rainy Saturdays and strawberries and the smell of brownies baking but we can’t seem to remember to love each other, have we also become desensitized to the idea of being real? Have we lost its meaning?
Has it become so “cool” to let people in a sliver, to crack the door just a bit, enough inches between the door frame and the door itself, the computer screen and the twitter bio, that we convince ourselves that we’re showing our honest self, our true hearts?
Do I spend more time checking my Twitter feed or my Instagram than I do in the Word, yet I’m quick to tweet that one verse from my three minute devotional?
If everything I thought during the day were splashed across your Facebook news feeds there would be no denying the mess inside.
I dare you to tell it.
I dare you to let the smile fade for more than two seconds, to answer something other than “I’m fine,” to open the door wider and maybe offer a seat inside.
We live this filtered life, one picture at a time, and I’m more concerned about which one makes my face less splotchy and not the accurate portrayal of ‘hey this is real and look, here I am world, messy and honest and vulnerable.’
A mess. One big, gigantic mess, terrified that it’ll be found out.
But I hear the words and there is comfort, some where in the middle, because in the middle of the mess He is writing your message.
So I dare you.
Forget the filters.
On Monday I’m going first and yeah, I’m terrified. The tornados came through Birmingham, just miles from campus, and so God Stories – a night where six students share their testimonies – was pushed back to this coming Monday. Everything about it falls in the top of my very worst fears. Forget the very large stage and the microphone, I’m going to be opening up some of the most hurting, raw parts of who I am to friends and strangers alike.
I’m letting go of the control over who hears my testimony – my story – and I’m inviting people into the mess. Life unfiltered.
I’m daring myself and I’m daring you and I wonder, if I could see your life in a 140 character tweet, unfiltered and messy and true, what would I see? What would it say? Would you share in the comments? I dare you. :)
Tonight I’m joining the community over at Lisa-Jo’s for story-telling and painting wide and vivid and brave. Even when it’s messy.