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This week my husband and I were invited on a spur-of-the-moment blurt-out announcement to join some friends for dinner. Well, technically, when they invited us they were more of acquaintances. Let me tell you how not cool it is to have to ask for someone's name again right after they invite you to their house. Since she couldn't remember my name either, it wasn't that bad after all.
It turns out dinner was great, and some time between my husband's pollen ridden choice of flowers (only men give lillies as they are pretty, but quite smelly and make such a mess!) and the hugs good-night, we felt a new friendship being born.
As we talked about faith, we felt the familiar and unfamiliar paths mix. Our stories are the ones we tell over and over again. Their stories are the brand new ones. And we laugh. And we cry. And we pray. And we listen.
As we spoke, one person mentioned on how impressive to see such Christian maturity. He felt he could see us live what he knew in theory but found it oh, so hard.
Something about it kept bugging me. I felt I was being fake. Did I say something to impress someone? Did I try to look good? I was already thinking of the ways I need to point out to them that I'm just learning.
And I am. And I do. But I figured out he wasn't totally wrong. As we talk and share our hearts, the truth comes out. We stop focusing on the times we failed and share our victories. We offer up all we have. That's when we become living testimonies of our faithfulness.