Removing the Mask

Imperfectly Brave


Masks. I have been thinking about them a lot this year. Maybe we are a bunch of humans walking around with great big masks on all-year round? Maybe we are all facing some sort of identity crisis.


If we tell ourselves one thing for long enough then maybe we will believe it.


Like if we tell ourselves we can handle our life, even though we sink deeper and deeper every day into doubt and discouragement. Or we tell ourselves that it will get better after that one thing happens. If only that one thing would happen. We lie to ourselves that if our husband would just love us better or if our kids would simply obey. Or maybe we want her life with her things and her Instagram feed…then maybe we could remove our mask.


But we end up never removing the mask, because we’ve believed all the lies.


And the enemy laughs.


Ha ha ha.


We do this, silly humans. We all wear the mask. Me too. I do too, and can I tell you something? It gets tiring. My mask gets tiring. Because in reality, I am broken and having my kids for long periods of time by myself (without my husband) stresses me out (yeah, I know, scary truth). I get crazy when my house is a mess. I like clean, well-thought out plans and when anything looks out of my control I have a secret panic attack.


But sometimes all you see is carefree Me. Like I am this extroverted Jesus girl when I just had a panic attack that puzzle pieces were covering my entire first level. Get a grip, Whit. Get a grip.


And we all don’t know where to go when we sigh deepest and we are tired of being tired. When we eventually crack and we realize the mask was all for show, we look and look for people to run to because we are finally free. Or eyes can finally see. But the world is spinning out of control and the majority of us still have our masks on




No one




Hello, church. Enter now.


Let’s be the healing place where it is okay for us to take off our masks. For humans to slip down to our thinnest layer and say, “You know what I struggle with?”









Let’s make removing the mask a priority because maybe that is the piece of freedom we have all been missing. It is for freedom that we have been set free. And freedom doesn’t come in a mask. It comes in real touch, the sanctuary of de-masquerading, the throwing off, running home, getting clean, being human.


And she just touched his robe. She didn’t have any mask to hide her illness. She didn’t know any other way. She just knew to get to him. She did anything just to get him. There was recklessness in her pursuit, abandonment. And she just reached out.


And now we are all fancy and pretty and hold-it-all-together people to get us to Jesus. We are a glue-the-pieces people; a don’t-let-the-others-catch-on and we’ve lost our reckless abandon, our passion our pursuit.


The mask suffocates the passion because it pretends to be whole, when really it is all broken. It is all so broken.


Now I know not every week has to be a broken week and there are certain people that we let our cards fold, but what if the whole church was known as a place where people could run for grace, not condemnation? What if the church helped peel off masks rather than paste them on?


And maybe you are thinking, yeah, that all sounds nice and free, but how? How Whitney?


You. Let it start with you.


Why do you think it is so hard to take off the mask? What keeps you in hiding?


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