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Try to keep up, y'all...

Forgive me, but I’m about to go all Southern on y’all and I might even rant a minute.

Try to keep up.

...but I’m just tired of heading over to facebook, Instagram, youtube and my inbox to see if I’m famous yet. If I’m accepted. If anybody sees me. If I’m getting it right.

I know I’m not the only one. Does this make me feel better? NO! It makes me incredibly sad. Why would I feel better if that means that someone is battling something that has robbed SO much out of my life. That’s not something to celebrate.

And by the way, this kind of thing started way before social media was a thing.

I’m just over trying to be like anybody else.

I can’t do it.

Shoot. I have a hard enough time just trying to be myself, much less anybody else!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not shy. I actually love Instagram.

But seriously! It’s designed to trip you up, trap you in and take you down in the sense that they make sure you are not satisfied with who you are, you are not moving fast enough and you are certainly not wearing the right thing. It is designed to be addictive. It’s called marketing. Otherwise, why would the top execs of these social media creators send their kids to private schools that don’t allow cell phones? Answer me that!

It should maybe come with a warning like they have on cigarettes. “WARNING: You know the rest.”

What has spurred on this rant?

Yesterday, I posted a reel. (For those of you who are not at home on Instagram, that’s a short video that you can add captions, music and filters to.) I was so proud of my ever so much older than twenty year old self for figuring out how to do it.

We were headed to the airport and there’s this spot where you can see the space needle over the water from underneath a bridge. The trestles, or whatever you call them, were making a pattern that I love. It feels like when I used to lie down in the backseat of our car before shoulder straps were a thing for seatbelts. I’d put my head on the armrest and look up and the telephone poles as the wires would dip and rise to a rhythm that matched the percussion of the tires over an old highway. Only I could hear it because I was the only one taking it in.

But headed toward the airport, I admit I was feeling a little melancholy. Another goodbye. Someone I love getting on the plane and me stuck on the ground again in so many ways.

ANYway, that bridge does the same thing for me as those telephone poles. And I love it. So I videoed it, wrote my clever heartfelt caption and looked for some music that made me feel like I was about to get on the plane myself and go someplace. I only listened to the first few lines. Liked it. Attached it. Posted. BIG MISTAKE.

I wondered why I got over 2K views and ALL these followers and “loves” from people who are totally foreign to my world view. They are the kind of guys who post a fake profile with numbers behind their fake names looking for some new victim to fill the same ancient void that was planted in the heart of man when we ate from the tree that said, “You get to be your own god now. Have fun with that.”

They make me mad.

In fact, the whole thing makes me so angry. And in an effort to provide something guilt free on IG, I got had.

My awesome kids, who know me, know my heart, have my back. They both texted, “Hey, Mama. That song you attached is not one you want to be associated with.”

It was a song by a well known artist. It was new. I’ve watched this artist try to pivot his life toward purity, but apparently the pivot didn’t drill deep into this particular song. I haven’t listened to it. I won’t. But do I judge this modern day poet? No. Sheesh. How can I?

How can I judge someone who gets so much “love” for something that isn’t love and expect him not to be confused? He’s new to this walk. He’s new to adulthood, for pete’s sake. Why would I put a double standard on him when he’s just walked into grace? NOT the, “oh you’re fine, Jesus love you, you can do anything you want even if you destroy your own life and the lives of others” definition of grace. PEOPLE! We are redefining the miracle right out of grace!

(I told you I was going to rant. But there’s a time to be angry and apparently this is my time.)