No Filter: What Social Media Doesn't Show You

In my last post, I argued that your testimony is more than just your conversion story; it is a constantly-evolving narrative of what God has done and continues to do in your life. I also wrote of the need for people to share their testimonies, no matter how “boring” they might be.

Our brains are actually hardwired to respond to storytelling: When people share their experiences with us, we release Oxytocin, which increases our ability to connect to and empathize with those around us.

Stories can make us view and treat people differently. I have been unfairly critical of certain people whom I didn’t know very well, but once I actually talked with them and heard their backstories, I was able to connect with them in much more meaningful ways. 

For millennia, storytelling has been used to make sense of the world and to understand the human condition. By being honest and vulnerable, we are able to make valuable connections and forge deep relationships.

But we fake our stories every day.

 

Our social media profiles present idealized versions of ourselves, highlighting only what we want  the outside world to see.

#nofilter

My Facebook albums display weddings and vacations and holidays, not Friday nights spent grading papers and eating Cheerios. I Instagram pictures of my husband making me breakfast in bed; I’d never post a photo of the piles of dirty clothes currently taking over the apartment.

My online presence lacks honesty and vulnerability.

I like honesty, sure, but I'm not too fond of vulnerability. I don’t want people to know that I’m struggling. I don’t want them to know that I cry, that I’m anxious about the future, that I’m not perfectly content with the right-now.

I want people to think my life is all parties and smiles and breakfasts in bed. I don’t want people sniffing around my dirty laundry—I don’t want people to know that my dirty laundry even exists.

But we know that true community can’t be built around superficial social media profiles. I’m not asking for more pictures of dirty diapers and more posts about how much you hate your boss—seriously, just get a Diaper Genie and a diary—but I fear that this lack of honesty and vulnerability is too easily carried over into the real world.


See, I’m from New England: We don’t even speak to our neighbors, never mind tell them everything we’re going through. Like a good New Englander, I try to hide my personal problems from even my closest friends. My college roommate still believes that I’ve never cried—surprising, considering that I like to get in a good sob session at least once a week. But I always made sure to cry when no one else was around beacuse I didn’t want people to know that I actually had feelings.

I also spent over a decade playing point guard. As the “coach on the court,” the point guard is never supposed to show fear; even when your opponent goes on a 10-0 fourth quarter run, you have to maintain your composure. Your teammates need to be able to look at you and know that everything is okay. Showing vulnerability is not an option.

There’s something to be said for that in real life, too. In some ways, this "fakeness" can protect us from seeing how broken our world truly is.

But it can also be disheartening to feel as if you’re the only person whose life isn’t just yoga and coffee and sunrises. We need to know that other people have struggles, too.

Just an average day in the life of your Instagram rival.

If we want to build true community, we need to be willing to put ourselves out there. We need to be honest about who we are and what we are going through. We need to be vulnerable.

So, this is me without the makeup and the Instagram filters to cover up my flaws. This is me, beyond the tweets and posts and statuses that I want the world to see. 

This is me, struggles and all.

This is my real story, the one you won’t find on my Facebook page:

I’ve been a Christian for as long as I can remember. I grew up in a Jesus-loving family, went to a great church, and attended a Christian school from the time I was three years old—but it wasn’t until high school that I really began to seek Christ and take ownership of my faith.

When I was a senior in high school, one of my friends started asking me questions about the Bible, and I was giving her the “typical Christian kid” answers that sound good but often lack substance. Then she started asking harder questions—about sin, about hell, about why God created us in the first place—and I didn’t know how to answer her.

The right answers to any Sunday School question

When I got home that night, I was ashamed of myself: I had been given the perfect opportunity to share my faith with a friend and I blew it by not knowing the reasons behind my beliefs. I decided that I needed to know more about the Bible, so I began a quest to read it straight through, from Genesis to Revelation. 

As I read, I came across some challenging passages that made me question my faith, but by immersing myself in the Bible every day, my faith grew deeper. I was no longer a Christian simply because that’s how I was raised; I now had a faith of my own built on my relationship with Jesus, which was growing stronger every day.

The next summer, after my freshman year of college, I volunteered as a counselor at a Fellowship of Christian Athletes camp. During the final chapel service, something really weird happened to me. 

The gospel of Luke tells the story of a woman who loved Jesus so much that she got down on her knees and washed his feet with her hair. As the band played one of my favorite worship songs, I suddenly got the image of this woman stuck in my head; throughout the whole service, all I could do was picture her washing Jesus’ feet. I know that makes me sound crazy, but it’s the truth. That image hit me in a powerful way.

I wanted to love Jesus that much. But how? I was desperate to show my love for Him, but I couldn’t literally wash his feet with my hair.
 

How could I show Jesus how much I loved him?

This question gnawed at me for months. And then one day, as I was sitting in my college chapel, it hit me: I can show my love for Jesus by showing love to his people.

So I set up a foot-washing booth and began using my hair to wash people’s feet—for a small fee, of course. I made a lot of money that year.

This is basically what I was picturing.

Okay, I'm not that weird.

I realized that the best way to love God is to love others, and the best way to love others is to serve them. I wasn’t about  to give people Tresemme-powered foot scrubs, so I looked for other opportunities to serve. I joined the student government, I started a Bible study, I taught Sunday School, I helped out with youth group. God calls us to be servants, so that’s what I tried to be. 

That’s what I’m still trying to be.

Those who know me best are aware that I don’t naturally have a “servant’s heart.” I’d much rather be home relaxing than out doing things for other people. But right now, that’s how God is working in my life: He’s challenging me to be a servant, despite my selfish nature.

He’s also teaching me to trust in His plan. About a year ago, I graduated from college and had no idea where I was going to live or what kind of job I’d have. I’m a control freak—I am constantly writing up calendars and to-do lists—so not knowing what the future held was terrifying for me. Since then, I was lucky enough to land a teaching job and find an apartment just a block way from the school, but I still struggle with worrying about the future. My husband is heading into his final year of law school, and the uncertainty of landing a job is an ever-present stressor. This produces constant anxiety in me, but I am slowly learning to let go of the reins and trust that God knows what he’s doing—even if my husband and I don’t.

I am also learning to find my joy in Jesus.

This year was exhausting: I was working, coaching, helping out at youth group, and taking grad classes all at the same time. On top of that, I had just gotten married and was living on my own for the first time. I was overwhelmed by all of the changes being thrown at me and insecure in my ability to handle everything.

To make matters worse, most of my best friends were scattered around the world—Pennsylvania, New York, Colorado, Illinois, Indiana, Uganda, South Korea, New Zealand, and Australia—so they weren’t exactly available to lean on. Similarly, most of my husband’s friends and family were somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon, leaving the two of us to rely on each other for most of the year. 

Even though Austin and I love spending time together (he even makes washing the dishes fun, as long as he's the one doing the washing) we found ourselves craving those outside friendships that were suddenly absent from our lives. Spending so many Saturday nights with just each other left us feeling lonely, something neither of us were used to. We had to realize that while we are social beings, we can’t depend on other people to keep us happy. 

I’m thrilled that most of my friends will be around this summer, but I’m also thankful that I have been forced to find my joy in Christ, even when things seem tough.

My friends thought it was cool to travel the world without me.

Finally, I’ve been learning to relax. I have a tendency to get all worked up about things that don’t actually matter, so my new life motto is “laugh it off.” But I’ll talk more about that in my Father’s Day blog.

Those are just some small parts of my story. I know my testimony is not nearly as exciting as the Apostle Paul’s, but it’s important for me to share the story of how God is working in my life.

By allowing ourselves to be honest and vulnerable, we can break through the facades to make deep and lasting relationships.

By opening up about our struggles, we can encourage others to do the same.

Psalm 66:16:

“Come and hear, all you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me.”