Heart Writing

I was in 5th grade when it happened, when I found out I didn’t fit in.  At the tender age of 10, I was in the bathroom with the cool girls.  The ones the boys liked.  The ones who shaved their legs.  The ones who got in trouble for wearing nail polish. We all wore uniforms.  We looked the same.  Apparently we were not the same.  I was the odd girl and this was news to me.

I was the odd girl who didn’t even own a razor, the one who could braid her hair 4 different ways, who read long books like Little Women, who didn’t dance or swim or cheer or play basketball well.  I was the girl who had blossomed into a woman well before her age had indicated she should.  And they teased me about it, pointing at a spot of blood on a toilet.  Blood that was not mine.  But they knew, and they pointed it out. I was different.  I was the uniformed piece that matched the wrong puzzle.

Even now I can hardly shake that feeling.  A neighbor leaves a note in my mailbox about our sick cat.  I collapse inwardly.  Again I don’t fit.  I can’t take care of our cat like I should. She doesn’t like me.  Never mind that I have twins whose stroller won’t fit in the door of the vet.  Never mind that it takes two people (or even three) put the cat into a crate and he’s never home. Never mind that I’ve been watching his assumed sting that turned out to be an abscess for signs of infection worse than just the surface pus.  Never mind that two years ago I took stitches out of the leg of the same dearly loved cat.  Apparently, I’m incompetent.  Apparently, my neighbor hates me.  I just don’t fit.

I can’t shake that feeling as I hang out with the upper middle class folks that I’ve somehow come to run in the same circles with.  People whose houses are beautifully decorated while I use people’s castoffs in my living room.  People who can afford to go out to lunch whenever they please.  People who wear clothing with labels.  People who buy organic foods because they believe it is best.  I don’t seem to fit there: saving up money to pay off our last minuscule debts.  Ordering an appetizer portion or declining the invitation to go out.  I feel awkward as they discuss parenting techniques.  More awkward as they talk about growing up in a Christian home or about the most recent toys their kids are loving.  I just don’t fit.

But the truth of the matter is that my view of myself and of my place in community is skewed.

Skewed perhaps by an encounter in 5th grade and the belief in lies.

Skewed by unhealed pain.

Community isn’t about sameness anymore than puzzles are about identical pieces.  The best puzzles, the ones you sit with friends over for hours, are the ones whose pieces are varied.  No two pieces look alike.  The challenge and the joy in putting that puzzle together are unmatched.

Community is about using your talents.
Your time.
Your experience.
Your pain.
Your knowledge of the Gospel intersecting life.

Using these things to encourage.
To build up.
To help each other live out our purpose here:
Glorifying God.

And it’s not perfect.  Nor is it easy to be vulnerable to being used.  Vulnerable to say you’re not perfect.  You’re not normal.

But it’s the only way to make beauty from the chaos of a million puzzle pieces desperate to fit in.

A few days ago, I gave a little speech/testimony at a MOPS banquet about my involvement in the group. (I’ll include it at the end of the post.)

I was surprised by two things.

First, the power of words.

People laughed.  People cried.  People nodded their heads in understanding.

It felt good.  Encouraging people with words interwoven with bits of my life.

Second, I might just have a gift I haven’t counted.

So many people came up to me afterward and thanked me for sharing, but the last sticks out the most. She was an AP English teacher and she sought me out and told me I had such a unique voice.  She told me I ought to be doing more formal writing than just this humble blog.  And that I ought to do it now while it’s raw.

I wanted to cry.

You see, when I was younger I wanted to be a writer.  I filled journals with details of my thoughts.  I wrote bad poetry.  I wrote two horrible novels before 8th grade.  I went to a summer camp for writers.  But I couldn’t find my story.  I couldn’t find my voice except on rare occasions.  I couldn’t put it on paper and I knew it and my teachers told me so.  So I stopped writing. Except here.

But maybe my voice just need to mature.  To experience.  To grow and blossom.

Maybe my voice needed to connect to my life-story.  To connect with that raw place without pretense and reach the place where it elevates words to encouragement. 

And maybe that’s what I ought to be doing.  Maybe I ought to jump to action.  Or maybe I just ought to think this writing thing over and hear what a different Voice might have to say about it.

My Little MOPS (Mom’s of Preschoolers) Banquet Testimony

A sweet email came this morning from my husband’s coworker.  (One of the ones with enough sweet sass to keep him in line).  A compliment about how this space always points UP.  Oh, sweet Leah, I’m too weak not to point up.  Too disappointing.  Too broken.

Like last night when all I had was angry rushing words and tears.

For you, Leah, just this today.  Hope for me (mostly me!) and you when we fail.

Julia and I are very different.  I’ve known that for a long time.

She drinks coffee: I can’t stand the stuff.
She uses antibacterial wipes: I think I have one jar of free-to-me gel in my car… maybe.
She gets up at 5:30 to work out 2-3 times a week:  I have to discipline myself to go swimming once the girls are up and am lucky to do it once a week.
She showers and looks polished most days (including nail polish and make-up):  I wash my hair with baking soda and am thrilled to get 3 showers a week (make up and nail polish are icing on the cake!)
Her vegetables probably grow in well maintained rows: Mine are in haphazard heaps inside a cinder block plot.
Her yard is lovely and filled with flowers: My yard is sadly on the bottom of my list of things to even think about getting to (and has a pile of brush the size of a compact car that I’m lovingly calling the “marriage breaker”).
Her kiddos don’t eat fast food: mine probably eat it once a month.
She does Hadley and Brynne’s hair most mornings:  My girls only get their hair done if they ask or if we’re going out (think Cousin It).
She was raised in a home that preached the gospel: I’m still trying to figure out how to do this.
Julia gates off quite a few portions of her house including her kitchen: I’m often found in the kitchen with my girls mopping, wiping down walls, or even handing me clean dishes to put away.
The girls and Julia still love their stroller:  I pretty much retired my stroller when the girls were able to walk well and I could carry one in the Ergo while holding the others’ hand.

There’s no judgment in writing down these differences… we just do things differently: we “do what works” for us. We’re just different people and I knew this when I accepted Brad’s sweet idea of surprising her by flying her here for vacation.

Having Julia and Brad here for a week brought some of these differences into sharp contrast.  Seeing each other just live and raise children was very eye opening (in a good way!).  I’ve learned a lot just watching Julia and Brad that I’d like to apply to my daily living.  Here’s a small list so I don’t forget.

1. Always pack extra diapers.  An extra set of clothes is nice, too.
2. Designate a diaper bag packer.  If both of us think the other did it…. odds are neither did 😉
3. Strollers are a great option if you want to just talk and not worry about toddlers running a muck.
4. A glass of wine (or a few sips in my case) after dinner is a beautiful conversation stimulator.
5. Sleep sacks can be used for more than just warmth. 
6. Toddler tears in public are okay and can be handled with great grace.
7. Be generous with what you have.
8. Sometimes its okay to let yourself be surprised… especially when your spouse is super excited.
9. Disciplining for throwing food off the table really would work (it had never crossed my mind!).
10. Not all toddlers are as strangely physically adept as my girls, and it’s unfair to expect them to be so!

But I think the biggest thing that having Julia and Brad here taught me is about one of the biggest sins in my own heart:  partiality.  I sit back hiding behind genuine introversion because I’m judging or jealous of what others have.

James 2

The Sin of Partiality

 ¹My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory. ²For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, ³and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, “You sit here in a good place,” while you say to the poor man, “You stand over there,” or, “Sit down at my feet,” ⁴have you not then made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? ⁵Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which he has promised to those who love him? ⁶But you have dishonored the poor man. Are not the rich the ones who oppress you, and the ones who drag you into court? ⁷Are they not the ones who blaspheme the honorable name by which you were called?

⁸If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well. ⁹But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. ¹⁰For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it. ¹¹For he who said, “Do not commit adultery,” also said, “Do not murder.” If you do not commit adultery but do murder, you have become a transgressor of the law. ¹²So speak and so act as those who are to be judged under the law of liberty. ¹³For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

Obviously, my sin is not to faun over the rich man like those in the church James wrote to.  No, I withdraw emotionally from the person who lives a richer or very different lifestyle from my own. I sit back and scold them for spending money ‘frivolously’. Or wonder why on earth they won’t let their toddlers just play on the playground without their constant interference.  I judge them for not doing things the way they work out for me.  And I’m wrong.

Honestly, if I had met Julia in person rather than in the blogosphere, I’m not sure either of us would have given the other a second chance.  But we’ve become close and valued friends because of two very strong connections:  We love the Lord and long to serve Him…. and we’re both twin mommas. 🙂

How sad of would it be for me to have missed out on this precious friendship, because of the hardened sin in my own heart!


Lord, please reshape my heart to be more merciful to those who live differently than I do.