The Chronicles of an Unfinished Woman


I am craving vulnerability, folks. Realness. And though my flesh is desperately trying to regenerate itself over these humble bones, I’m dying to be naked and unashamed—baring the soul to showcase the Soul-Maker.

Covering up all our real-ness closes off the mind to the things of Christ. Because I am not a perfect Instagram page. I am not a cute saying on a coffee cup. I am not even a moving Facebook post. I am real; and sometimes that means mess.

I see this disjunction in the picture-perfect scrolling—flicks of the finger, scans of the eyes—and it is unraveling me. It is actually undoing me. The more I see these false facades of life holding up against my very real life, the more my soul feels the unreasonable weight of comparison.

Maybe you’ve seen one of those videos that showcase the secrets behind the picture-perfect? The ones that show us setting the scene before snapping the photo? Tweaking the truth to garner the likes? Why are people—both those who seek the eternal and those who don’t—talking about this obsession with the perfect?

Because it’s a problem.

Sometimes my apartment looks straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. The apple candle sweetens the house and the light filters into the clean and neat kitchen. And, other times, the dishes take over the sink and the counter and even, on occasion, the table. And the basket of clean laundry sits in the basket for two weeks because socks are not fun to fold. And the dirty laundry is piling over its container like some kind of unholy explosion. The ups and the downs, the clean and the messy . . . the good and the hard—this is real life.

And it’s okay.


So I want this blog to be a vulnerable space. A place where the picture-perfect is traded for the in-process sanctification of every-day life. Because all I know is that the harder I try to look perfect, the more I slam the door on the person Jesus wants to make me into. How can I be sanctified if I will not first accept that I am imperfect? And I know the same goes for you, friend. We were made for eternal beauty. Let’s not trade that kind of gold for the foolishness shining in the creek. That false perfection is fools gold every time.

If this little blog can somehow sweep up the crumbs of grace under the table, lapping them up, then let that be its purpose. These little posts are lessons the Lord is relentlessly whispering in my hard-of-hearing ears. They’re reminders to my soul. Because they’re filled with the soul hope I have—my Jesus, my Abba.

So that’s where I’m at. That’s the bone and the marrow of these fragile limbs. And, because He is strong when we are weak, I’m confidant that great things are to come.

So strengthen our faith, Lord, and clear the clouds from our eyes, letting us see through the temporal to the eternal.




8 thoughts on “The Chronicles of an Unfinished Woman

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