Clothing Optional

"They are just clothes,"
A friend said to me after I had spent a weekend laying my past out before her. I confessed how embarrassed I've become to even photographs of my childhood. Because I would see what I was wearing, the way I was standing, who I was with or even the expression on my face, and I knew everything. All that I needed to know. I could see which gears were spinning behind those eyes. I knew why I chose to wear that shirt for that particular day and who I was trying to impress.

And she said, "What's the big deal? They're just clothes."

She was right. They are just clothes.

After "coaching" myself over and over...and over...that I was indeed a "woman", I had to establish a new identity.
I've always thought that the correct answer for a Christian to "Who AM I?" is "I am HIS." That means I am to be whatever God wants me to be. Of course that presents another question,
"What does He want from me?"

The generic Bible answer (insert verse here) is not specific enough, to say the least. And waiting on an unseen, inaudible, omnipotent being to give you marching orders makes it even more difficult.


I can remember..
sitting at my desk while kids at summer school tossed paper wads and various easy to reach objects (paper clips, pens, pencils, erasers, food garbage, pocket lint, etc) at my head. Basically, it was just this one really heavy-set girl who chose me to bully so she would be liked (I'm guessing at that, of course). And I found myself thinking not just WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) but actually viewing myself as if I were Christ himself being taunted by his peers.
And as much as it embarrassed and angered me to be hit and laughed at so many times while the summer school teacher slept at his desk, I did not retaliate or show my frustration. In fact, I even started giving her "weapons" back to her to throw at me again. They (the girl and her onlooking groupies) thought that was absurd. They laughed (that time) in disbelief. And that's when she started to get violent about it. She kicked my desk and was gonna spit in my face when one of the off season football players stood up and said, "Come on now, that's enough. She's cool and this ain't cool no more." Then she had no choice but to like me for the rest of the term if she wanted to remain liked by those she thought really mattered.

Christ would be the ideal identity to have if I wish to please God. But then aren't we all supposed to be like Him?? What's the deal? Are we not all differently designed with each of us livning within the confines of our own personality?
So becoming like Christ might be a good rule of thumb in tough situations and in important decision making, but God created us to be uniquely different.

So who am I?

I awoke to this question again and again, but this time I was sitting with a group of ladies at a Tupperware party. All the ladies were talking about Tupperware like it was their life's dream that they could finally obtain this new limited edition 5 piece "store and seal" in their latest cool blue color... (and on sale!). I tried to feel excited about it too. But really, I felt like a child sitting at a casino while my grandmother hit the slots... A.K.A. out of place.

At this time in my life I also had a toddler and a not yet walking baby at home and so I was attempting to play the role of supermom for everyone. I thought that included Tupperware parties...and more make-up, longer nails, ALWAYS spot-free house when company was over, scapbooking, various women's small groups, saying, "awwww.." every time someone showed me a picture of their kids or a new outfit that they bought for my kids. I thought women were pink loving, flower smelling, skipping rope, and tea parties. When I signed up for MySpace and later Facebook, I was finally asked the direct question in the form of my, "About Me" section. I had to list my hobbies and my interests and I...I didn't even know what to say.
My babies and my husband were my life. They... they defined me.

The "supermom" or "superwoman" that I'd created had no past, no childhood memories, no fun photographs to look fondly over and reminesce. Beyond my marriage to Drew and my choice to change, "I" didn't exist.

It seemed easier that way...



(This will be another two parter, sorry. I need breaks to regroup my thoughts and I don't think you want to read a lot in one sitting either so...see ya again soon!)