Sometimes when I step into church I feel like I’m attending a masquerade.

A place full of perfect people hiding behind masks.

Masks that cover their insecurities, their imperfections, their heartaches, their struggles, and their pain.

People who would never dare to put that mask down and admit that life is less than perfect.

That they are lonely.

That they are hopeless.

That they are scared.

That life is nothing near to how they imagined it to be.

That they are not as tough on the inside as they seem to be on the outside.

That they fight battles behind closed doors for days, months, maybe years that they have never told anyone about.

That they don’t know how much longer they can handle going through their valley, their desert, or their storm.

Because telling anyone how they really feel would be unheard of.

It would be breaking some kind…