Last Friday my husband gave me beautifully stunning roses for our 25th wedding anniversary.

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I posted it on Facebook. People seemed as shocked as I was at these uniquely giant roses. My Facebook page lit up with comments, shares and likes. As of last week the post reached 133,892 people. (Close to the number of Oreos I’ve eaten in my lifetime.)

It was so fun to read the comments – people were so excited with me. We celebrated together. They shared my joy and I felt even more endeared to my social media friends.
Thank you for being so kind!

The next day, Saturday, was our actual anniversary. We had planned to go to St. George for the weekend. We had tickets to the Peter Cetera concert at Tuacahn – 80’s love songs and power ballads all the way! Peter’s drummer, Steve Brewster, is the drummer I record with when we are in Nashville. We planned to have dinner with Steve before the concert. It was going to be so fun! But instead we spent the day in the Emergency Room. By about 4:00 that anniversarial (that’s not a word) afternoon, our daughter was admitted to the hospital. She was in the hospital for a week. I won’t go into details but she is struggling with a disease that has no quick cure and we are still working towards answers and healing.

What’s the connection between 5 feet roses and the hospital? Well, I posted about one but not the other. If you saw the roses post on social media, you saw the happy moment. That is the experience I chose to share. That’s the one I felt comfortable talking about. I didn’t post about the ER, the PICC line or the medications.

 

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Maybe we are all a little that way. I tend to be a bit more private when it comes to the hard stuff. It isn’t easy to put our trials “out there.” It is easier (and more fun) to share the happy moments. At least it is for me. I usually share the hard things with family, close friends and God.

I have been reminded over the last few days that we don’t always get the full picture from social media. In fact, I’d guess we rarely do. Behind the happy posts there could very well be a silent struggle. (“In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can’t see.”) And intertwined within the difficult posts are likely victories, laughter and progress.

I guess what I’m trying to say, and this is mainly for myself, is be gentle. Be kind. We don’t know the full story, so assume there is always room for a gentle word, a thoughtful text or a small act of kindness.

In the words of Majorie Hinckley, “Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Anyway, that’s what was on my mind.

Blog to you soon,

Hilary