I Don't Need Target (And Neither Do You).

I love the internet.

Seriously, I do.  Without the internet, I wouldn't have this blog.  You wouldn't be here.  We wouldn't be friends.  (Semi-friends?  Acquaintances?  People who pass each other in the hallway and casually smile?  Whatever.)  I've spent a large portion of my life in Ohio, and thanks to the internet, I can stay connected to people who mean so much to me even if I am two hundred plus miles away.  

I can read other blogs.  I can meet other writers and lovers of Jesus.  I can get wonderful ideas from Pinterest.  I can retweet sarcasm like it's my job.  I can plan a vacation I'll never take and research that one actor from the 90's that I completely forgot about.  The opportunities are truly endless.

But do you know what else I can do with the internet?  I can get snippets of life, the most beautiful and Instagram-worthy moments, and use them as standards of measurement.

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I've probably been to Target twice in my life.  For the record, I don't recall the first time but my mother insists that I have roamed the aisles of a Target somewhere in this country.  And she's my mother, so I let her think what she wants.  

ANYWAY.

The "second" time was last week and the only reason I wanted to go was because I thought that all of the cool kids go to Target.  We don't have a Target in my area and I wanted to see what all of the hype was about.  And let me tell you, Target is simply magnificent.  I wanted to buy all the things.

I, however, did not buy all the things.  I did not buy anything.  Not even the popcorn, which is a story in and of itself.

Halfway through my Target experience, I looked at my own clothes, thought of my own home furnishings, and automatically felt like a line had been drawn and I was on the other side of all things relevant and worthy.  

I could buy some of these things, I thought.  I could live a life just like those people I see on Instagram and follow on Twitter.  Maybe then I would mean something.

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Oh, friends.    

It's so hard to admit these thoughts, these notions that somehow our worth can be found in what we wear and what we own.  I'm not a newbie to this Christian faith.  I know the Sunday School answers.  Logically, I realize that my worth is found in Christ and Christ alone.

Yet I stood in the clearance section of Target and, for a nanosecond, considered shaping my life to the images I was feeding myself through my Facebook newsfeed.

My life didn't measure up to the highlights I was seeing on social media and I didn't realize the damage I was doing until I felt the overwhelming need to purchase the entire women's clothing section.  

Not because I wanted the clothes, although let's agree they are adorable.  But because I knew women wearing the clothes who had a bigger platform, who were writing books and speaking to crowds across the country, who were married to spiritual husbands and were parenting beautiful children.

I didn't want the clothes.  I wanted the life that I somehow tricked my brain into thinking came with the clothes.  

I felt it in my spirit long before it clicked in my stubborn head.  I needed to take a break from the comparisons, so I put my phone away more.  I check notifications, but don't scroll until I can fix my brain and my heart on the truth: I am His and I am enough.  Even now.  I'm not running your race, or my sister's race, or my friend's race.  I'm running my race of faith and I need all of the concentration I can get.

And I know I can't be the only one who falls into this comparison trap.  I've read countless articles and blog posts about the monster of comparison, about the bitterness that can grip our very souls.  And I guess now I'm just adding to the noise, but I need you to know, friends.

You are not what you wear.
You are not what you own.
You are not what you post on social media.
You are infinitely more.

Because the truth?  Whether you shop at Target or Wal-Mart or Goodwill, whether you are writing for thousands or ten or just your mom, whether you're single as a pringle (what does that even mean?) or a newlywed or a mother of seven, we all belong to Christ.  

We are His long before we are anything else.

And that, my friend, is enough.

So grant yourself some grace and walk with your head held high.  The Creator of the universe looks on you with undying love, no matter which filter you use.

     

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The Creator of the universe looks on you with undying love, no matter which filter you use.  {Tweet this!}