I got another one in the mail.

This time I rolled my eyes and tossed it in the overflowing basket.

I’ll look at it later.

Maybe there will something inspiring in there.

You know what frustrates me?

Parent magazines.

Then there are the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit issues.  Or any swim suit issue for that matter.  They bring the swim suit issues of any woman to light.

The real culprit is… Photoshop.

I have a friend who happened to share a beach with models for a swim suit photo shoot one day.

The pictures are touched up!

He couldn’t believe it.  Snapping pictures of his own, he sent a few for us to see.

Look!  That’s how they really look.

That’s not what they look like in the magazine!

No kidding.

The thing about this is… the women are beautiful.  What is there to touch up?

Then, the parent magazines.  You know the ones.

The mother with her pearly smile and gorgeous shiny locks.  She is dressed impeccably (even in sweats).  Her loving gaze falls upon a perfectly dressed, perfectly behaved, perfectly beautiful child.  No messes to be seen, no food on her clothes, no spinach in her teeth, no wrinkles on her brow.  The precious little one shows no signs of tears, sticky fingers, smeared food, or shrieking defiance.

Then.  The bullet points.  The many valuable tips on how you can get your life to look… Just. Like. That.

Pretty amusing… and frustrating.

The problem with this is that I can’t count the number of times I have tried to re-create a magazine moment.

Baking cookies.  Riding bikes.  Playing hide-n-seek.  Strolling in the park.  Throwing the football.

I want the moment to shine like the glossy page I see in front of me.

But, it doesn’t.

Water, or juice, or milk spills on the glossy page as it gets ripped from the magazine and torn to shreds by bickering siblings.

It’s. Not. Real.

The glossy pages are touched up.  Photoshop.  Lives in magazines… are photoshopped.

We see it.  For a minute, we believe it.  We think it might just be real.

Maybe what we see with our eyes is more deceiving than what we can’t see.

Mommy, it’s hard when I can’t see Him.

My blue-eyed baby boy muses.  It’s prayer time.  Just before covers are tucked and lights are dimmed.

It’s hard to talk to Him when I can’t see Him.

I smile, knowing there’s nothing more true than these thoughts from my six-year-old.

It is hard, sweetie.

It’s called faith.

We can’t see Him with our eyes.

But, He lets us see Him in other ways.

We just have to pay attention.

His gaze goes to the ceiling.

Yea.  I know He’s here.

It’s still hard.  And, kinda weird.

I laugh.  It does seem kind of weird.

You know what’s even more weird.  The magazine pictures.  The pictures of perfection.

We can see it.  We almost believe it.  But, we know it’s not real.

We do this.  I do this.

We photoshop our lives.

The photos of smiling, glass-clinking party-goers.

Behind the photo, what we don’t see… they had a horrible fight and she is wearing inches of make-up to cover her tear-stained face.  The drinks are just enough to numb the pain of being in the crowd.

The perfectly shaped model.

Behind the photo she is only 18-years-old… and starving herself so that she can even slightly resemble the editor’s clicks on her photo.

The lovely fireplace mantel showcasing the latest in home decor.

The photo ignores the disaster behind the photographer, who is a mom slowly going mad in the mess.  She points the lens at 12 square inches of clean space, trying to capture a moment of order and beauty in front of her.

It’s okay to have beautiful pictures.  They bring peace.  They bring order to our frazzled minds and drive us toward the beautiful light and perfection we know exists, but will never completely realize on this earth.

(these beauties are real. no Photoshop. just an iPhone and flowers. but… you should see the mess behind them)

Our stories of brokenness and messes are what show God’s redemption.  There is no need for redemption… when there is perfection.  There is no perfection… not here.

I don’t want a photoshopped life.  I do like order, cleanliness, well-behaved kids, peace.  But, I don’t want the picture perfect.  It’s not real.

We need to show the broken and messy parts of ourselves.

Someone desperately needs to hear it… and see it.

We can inspire with beauty, with photos, with our attempts to make it all good.

Don’t forget to show the real picture.

It is what binds us together.  Our brokenness.

The torn pieces of the photograph.

When they come together… the real picture.

The real picture… is a masterpiece.

 

Colossians 2:17

(Freedom From Human Regulations Through Life With Christ)

These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ.