Untweetable

Untweetable

I once told a friend that he’d know the end was near if he ever saw a tweet from me. So far he hasn’t. No one has. If you’re a person who lives life 140 clever characters at a time, by all means tweet often and be happy. Or if Instagram or Pinterest is your social medium of choice, well then post or pin away.

Tweet or no tweet, most days my life is quite ordinary. But it is good. I work for a living. I try to be a caring daughter, sister, aunt, and friend to the people I love most. I worship. I pray. I study and write and read. I tend to what author Kathleen Norris has called “the quotidian mysteries”—a fancy way of saying I cook and clean and shop and keep house—all very ordinary but necessary things. I don’t do any of these things in the company of celebrities while wearing fabulous outfits. Not every day for me is a stellar hair day, and I believe, given a choice, barefoot is usually best.

You might think I lead a boring life—but I see things. Hear things. Ordinary, amazing things. I may talk or write about them. Or not. But I try to be fully present and live them first. I’m not bulletproof. I fall. Literally and figuratively. I mess things up, ask for forgiveness, and if I can, try to make them right. I get hurt and cry real tears, just like you. But #uglycrybefore6am isn’t likely to be trending—nor is #justburnedmysecondpanofoatmeal or #wowthatreallyhurt!

Know this: every person you see today leads a life that is in some way exceptional. Whether they’ve tweeted it or not, everyone has a story. Don’t assume just because they haven’t advertised they have nothing of value to say. Instead of promoting your own prettied-up narrative or perusing those of a dozen dazzling others, I dare you to try this: turn to someone near you, look them in the eye, and say, “Tell me about your day. And not just the pretty parts. I really want to know.” You might be delighted by what you learn.

You know what I am going to say even before I say it, LORD.

Psalm 139:4