The smell of rain as dusk fell. We bumped along the gravel road, windows down, past the old barn. From the house, a row of smiles along the porch as they raised their hands farewell.
We’d spent the last of a warm autumn day there.
A birthday celebration.
Pumpkin cake, and coffee, and the smell of cinnamon candles.
Pushing the boys on the tire swing.
Gazing out across corn fields.
Watching a wool blanket on the wash line stir in the breeze.
Ideas flew. Memories, too.
Laughter bouncing over all.
And it breathed peace on me.
The space, and the home, and the people inside.
Peace, because there, I can just be—unfiltered. Because if things were good, full saturated colors, I could say it. And they’d all say how happy they were for me. And no one would think I was boasting . . . because if things were greyscale bad, I could say that, too. And I would. And all their good and bad, they’d say it to me, too.
Peace, because there, I am enough. Peace, because people like these people would make anyone feel enough—and not just enough, but wanted. Valued as they are.
Yet earlier in the day I saw a friend’s face fall as she shared how her son’s friends had all joined a new soccer league without bothering to tell her. She and her son thought they were “in,” but turns out they were not. And they are new to this place, the family, and it was such a struggle to call a strange place home. And neighbors and schoolmates could have made that all different, but in their busyness, and the fun they were having with each other, they did not.
Oh, how fun it looks at the center of it all. Where things are happening, and people are pretty and smart. Where marriages, and outfits, and landscaping all seem together. Filter-perfect images of a seemingly perfect life. And if you’re perfect enough then they might let you “in,” because being a Christian, or being a human is somehow not enough.
But we see through it, yes, we see it—when eyes glance to the side, looking for someone more important than you to speak with. Someone they could better benefit from. When they glance you up and down and you know you’re not quite right. When the smile is with the mouth but not the heart.
So they can have “in,” if they want it, for I know what they miss. Judging books by their covers is never wise. And when filter-perfect is all you’ve got, how can you have peace, knowing that if they catch you unfiltered—see you for who you really are—you just might be “out,” too.
Yes, too many of the best friends come with wrinkled skin, or old cars, or hurt. And those who have known hurt, and broken, and ugly, can turn out to be the ones we love most. They have the strongest arms to lean on. The best wisdom to share. And though beauty or riches may be theirs, they will not point it out. Will not flaunt it. Rather, they see it as something to share.
It’s hard for me, too. Proud one that I can be. Ashamed one, fearing in my deepest heart that someone will catch me unfiltered—see a corner of my house, a piece of my wardrobe, a glimpse of my marriage that will reveal me as the flawed person that I am. But though I know I will not click with everyone, let me yet be the one who can live unfiltered enough with my home, and my smile, and my time, that for the length of my interaction with each person, I can make them feel seen. Feel enough. Feel loved.
Dare to live unfiltered. To know and to be known.
Avonlea xo
Find me on Instagram @avonleaqkrueger / Facebook @avonleaqkrueger / MeWe @happylittlesigh
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