During my search for a slower, sweeter lifestyle, I kept track of daily speed bumps–a whole cluster came from social media. I just couldn’t believe it. After all, I am a Facebook Failure and a Terrible Tweeter. I prefer Instagram, mainly because I adore my tribe, but my phone isn’t set up for alerts or email. How could social media be a problem?

I remember when my 6th book was about to be published, and the media experts were horrified when they realized I didn’t have a Facebook page. A few books later, a new publicist gently reminded me that I hadn’t updated my Facebook page in 17 days, and she offered sample topics. I was advised to check out pages of successful authors, where I found hourly updates: What’s your favorite color? Caption this picture! 

I have no answers for the downsides of social media–the need for approval, the desire for monetary success, the me-centric nature of it all, the sheer number of Apps and platforms. You can quickly feel like a total loser if you don’t post daily, much less pester your followers and friends with hourly questions: Favorite bird? Dog breed? Ice cream? Caption this! 

And yet . . . social media can be an unexpected source of joy.

Last week I checked in with an old friend. In 1990, l’d bought my Scottie girls from her, and this past spring, she’d been instrumental in helping me find a puppy. Now, on her Facebook page, I saw a call to action. Her husband is a minister, and their church was looking for kitchen cabinets, uppers and lowers. They’d had no luck. Everything was beyond their budget. But I just happened to have some in my barn, and at no cost, so I emailed her. 

There’s a story behind these cabinets. When we’d remodeled our kitchen, I’d asked my contractor if he knew anyone who could use them–which included a granite slab for an island. He propped the slab in my garage and warned me not to jostle it. Then he said no one wanted old cabinets. I asked him if we could rework them to use as storage. He said it would cost a fortune and advised me to let his crew break down each piece and burn them. 

This seemed wasteful. I had them moved to the barn and sent up a prayer that they would find a home.

A few months later, I offered the cabinets to the garden club–they’d needed some for a new building, but I got a blank stare. I wondered if my contractor had been right.

Now, the cabinets had found the perfect home in a fellowship hall, where meals would be prepared for the congregation. I felt as if God had meant to save them for Reverend Jim and his church. 

For all of social media’s problems, it also has moments of grace.
When the preacher drove up in a flatbed truck, Jasper and I went out to meet him, along with a few members of his congregation. He told me how long they’d been searching for cabinets, and he’d just about given up. As I told him the story of the cabinets, he smiled and bowed his head.
My heart filled with joy.
My cup runneth over.