I am easily fooled.

I scroll through my Instagram feed and I see all of these sheen homes.  Ones filled with simple white walls that amazingly have no fingerprints or crayon scribbles; ones pictured with kids who have only wooden toys and wear all organic cottons; ones that cook beautiful food and have open shelves in the kitchen lined with evenly stacked bowls and cups.  Ones with drool-worthy cups of coffee so intricately prepared.

These lives appear so beautiful.  So without flaw.  So perfect.

This week I found myself lost on Instagram.  I was lost clicking from one photo to the next; admiring one mom’s outfit—“like”—scrolling down further to see a rainbow of vegetables spread on a perfectly white cutting board—“like”—as I wandered further, I saw the most adorable little romper on the sweetest little blue-eyed babe—“like”—next I stumbled onto a photo of a mom with the sweetest tattoo—“like”—and the list could go on.

These tiny 1×1 squares pull at my attention.  They begin to convince me that I need more or need different.  They begin to make me think that in order to have people interested in my blog or the things I have to say, I must have these beautiful depictions of life that are clean and simple.

But the reality is:  life isn’t clean and simple.  It’s not white and new all the time.  It doesn’t always smell good.  It doesn’t always have kids laughing at one another adorably. Reality isn’t and can’t be encapsulated holistically in these small squares.

Sometimes real life means forgetting the shower (again) so that I can watch my friend’s son since she’s sick.  Sometimes motherhood means giving my hungry son the last slices of bread for lunch.  Sometimes it means I have to remove my cute pants because there is literal poop on them.  Sometimes my hot, perfect, absolutely crucial cup of coffee is spilled all over my white couch (bad idea with the couches, I know.  They go down in history as our single worst purchase ever).  Sometimes my little Instagram square can’t fit all of my snotty tissues post having an I-miss-my-mom breakdown.  Sometimes it means saying “yes” to puddle jumping even though it means smelly shoes and stained shorts, it means more giggles, too.  Sometimes it means we’re late for naps because we got in a heartbreaking conversation with another family at the park.

Here’s the real truth:  I want so badly for each and every one of my little 1×1 squares to be about something bigger than me.  I want them to be a tool that’s used to carry the messages of truth—of real motherhood, of real wifehood, of real womanhood.  People first.  Always.  Souls first, for everything else will perish.  Lord, help me remember what’s most, and lay aside what’s least.