But inside, they're a horrifying jumbled mess.
If you don't look past the surface, you may think that I have it all together. If we meet somewhere, chances are good that I will have a smile on my face and matching shoes on my feet...unless we're meeting in the preschool drop off line. Then avert your eyes, please.
My life appears neat and tidy. My house sometimes appears neat and tidy. Especially if I know you're coming over...because then I'll have time to hide the mess in the closets, under the couch and in the dryer. But please, don't open the closets. I live in perpetual fear that a friend would have a reason to open my pantry door.
I do a descent job of maintaining appearances. Even when I was suffering with post-partum depression after the birth of my second son, most people had no idea. I would put on a good face on Sunday morning and disguise the fact that I couldn't make the even simplest of decisions. At home, I was angry, confused and practically non-functioning, but no one knew. I was afraid to share my "messy closet" for fear that I would be judged. Afraid to get treatment for fear it meant that I wasn't trusting God.
But I finally did start sharing (and I guess if there's anyone I forgot to tell, they know it now!). Maybe a few people thought less of me. But they were far outweighed by the number of women who said with relief, "Thank God! I'm not the only one!"
And "Thank God, I do." I thank God that he loves me even when my life (and my closets) are a mess. I'm so thankful that he will reach his mighty hand right down into the middle of my mess and give me something to hold onto. No matter how deep I sink or how often I fall.
I'm sharing this post over at Chatting at the Sky for Tuesday's Unwrapped. Because this is a part of my everyday.