From the Little Girl I Am

A couple of “quotes” or comments have really caught my mind and heart recently.

The other night we were watching a television program that we’ve only caught a couple times, “Ghostwhisperer.” The theme for the week was forgiveness, or better put: the consequences of unforgiveness. Here’s the quote:

Being unforgiving is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

One of the largest issues people seemed to be dealing with when I was a counselor was the issue of not forgiving, whether it was not forgiving someone else or not forgiving one’s self.

Then this morning in ABF(Adult Bible Fellowship, aka Sunday School) the teacher was leading us to think about the discipline of service. She played a recorded piece that featured Tony Compolo. It was a very thought provoking piece—and tear producing. Here’s the quote:

…the poor and oppressed are sacramental. Christ comes through them to us.

Compolo tells a story about meeting a man on the street (an extremely dirty, psychotic, scary sort of guy). The guy offers Tony a drink of his coffee, from the grimy cup in his filthy hand. Compolo accepted the offer, but then suspecting that the man wanted something asked why he offered him some of his precious coffee. The man responded with this: it tasted so good I just wanted to share it. The only thing I want in return is a hug.

“As often as you did it unto the least of these, you did it unto me.” That’s what Jesus told his followers, and it’s the word for us as followers today.

The teacher then prompted us to think about how we were either servants or the recipients of service this past week. I was surprised by what came to my mind as I sat there in the class. Work. And more specifically the people I work with. My thoughts were reinforced today when I stumbled across an article about the denial of voting rights to felons even though they have served their time and their community control or probation/parole. They are disenfranchised for life.

The article hit me hard. Thankfully, I don’t live in one of the five states that denies for life the basic right of citizens.

I had another thought creep up on me yesterday at work. I was carrying on one of those internal dialogues that I often have, when in my head I identified myself as a girl. Excuse me? I’m nearly 50. (I know I have a year and a half to go, but I figure I better start warming up to the reality of that number!) I’m a grandmother—almost three times! I’m a mother-in-law. I have adult children. I am not a girl….I’m a woman. But I don’t see myself as a nearly 50 year old woman.

Now here’s a couple implications of this faulty thinking:
I am always working to be taken seriously.
I lack confidence that others my age seem to experience quite naturally.
(This one is sort of embarrassing to admit) This is probably why I have never been able to fully experience sexual pleasure.

With this “new” awareness, I was pondering what, if anything, I need to do to grow up. I guess that’s a part of the dilemma. I need to really plum this one and find out if I’m merely young at heart and have a slightly distorted self image, or if I’m pathetically underdeveloped emotionally and in other ways as well. I’ll keep you posted on how that pans out.

And FYI: we spent Saturday with the babies. Grammy fulfilled her duty with about four poopy diapers. Sunday was a nice day with friends and good food. And Monday I started drinking water and rededicated myself to shedding some of this excess poundage!