in the fury of the moment

love the one you're with

You might read the subject line and think "oh great -- another post about love or learning to be content alone" or something like that. Nope, when I think about loving the one I'm with I am thinking about loving myself.

Today was one of those days when I realize I really, really like who I am. Please don't take this to mean that I think I am perfect or that I have attained some state where I don't need grace and God to continue to make me more like Him and transform my life into something He can use ... what I mean is that I really enjoy how He has created me, and the unique blend of things that make me me.

The other day I was at a cook-out for work ... me and a bunch of high school kids, the majority of which were girls. Anyone who knows me knows that in general I am more comfortable with guys than girls -- I think it's that tomboy in me that has refused to go away. Anyway ... there was one girl in particular who was seriously looking me up and down with disgust -- repeatedly. I wasn't sure what the problem was, and I almost caught myself reverting back to high school, when I was a little bit shy and unsure of myself, ESPECIALLY with other girls. I always felt like I was too rugged for them, and -- while the girls in class were talking about nail polish and the latest sales at the mall ... I was sitting with the guys, talking about going hiking or rollerblading. I was too tough for the girls, and too much of a girl for the guys.

Anyway, the other day I had a brief moment where I felt that weird shy/self-conscious feeling again with this girl. Strange, right? I mean I am 11 years older than this girl! But still, I felt her eyeing my running shoes and my tanktop and I felt funny. So I went up to her and asked her if something was wrong. With a disgusted look on her face she said, "I didn't realize this was such a CASUAL event." Um, hello?!?!?! Aren't cook-outs for the most part casual? Of course I didn't say that -- instead I smiled and said that I was just dressed to kick her butt in volleyball, and I challenged her to a game. Apparently she was unwilling to have fun, because she didn't smile or laugh or even look happy. Instead, she kept staring at my legs, and said with a flat-out mean tone to her voice, "What happened to your leg?"

Brief flashback moment again to the girls in high school getting grossed out by my scars and scratches from the past weekend's rollerblading accident ... but again I smiled and made some kind of a joke about getting in a fight with the last person who looked at me like she was. Anyway, I ended up walking away and talking to some other kids and we got a game of volleyball going. Eventually she joined the game, and I did kick her butt. :)

So later that day I was sort of feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I don't seem to fit in that niche of feminine beauty ... I would rather have a tooth pulled than spend a sunny day in the mall. It takes quite a bit to get me to invest time in painting my toenails or trying to find the perfect handbag to match my outfit. I just don't ever think I will be a girly-girl. Sometimes I wonder if maybe this is part of the complicated me that should maybe try to be more simple. Maybe if I just try to compromise a bit, I would find that it really can be fun to shop and spend $6 on a caramel macchiato so that I can sit at a Starbucks in the mall and compare my new outfits with my friends. Maybe the reason I am still on my own (and not Susie Homemaker) is because I am the girl version of the guy friend that every guy wants to get good and dirty with while mountain biking or fishing before he goes home to clean up and go out on a date with some hot, curvaceous girly-girl in high heels and a short skirt. Sometimes I really do wonder if I missed the "girly" boat somewhere, and maybe I'm wrong.

But then there are days like today when I am SO glad I am not the girly-girl type, because if I was, I would miss wonderful moments. First of all, I woke up this morning and went on a run with my dogs, even though it was quite hot and I got all gross and icky and sweaty. While on my run, I met a little girl who was visiting her grandmother who lives a few streets over. Her name was Maria, and she was precious, and she spoke very little English ... but we were able to talk and share in a funky blend of her version of English and my very crude interpretation of Spanish. She loved one of my dogs, and she picked her up (even though my dog was not much smaller than her) and giggled as my dog smothered her with kisses. I didn't want to leave, but they were going out and I was just beginning my run, so we said adios.

I got home and starting working on one of the several projects on my "to do" list for the day: painting a couple rooms in my house. I forgot how much I enjoy working on decorating and just trying to create a really refreshing atmosphere in my home. I love it, I love to think about how it might make guests feel ... I SO look forward to the day when I will do this kind of stuff in a home that I will actually stay in. Anyway, I was pretty into the painting when I heard a knock on my door. I wiped the paint from my hands onto my overalls and answered the door to find Linda, a woman from a few streets down. She had come by to see what I was doing, and to ask if I wanted to come over for a little while. I told her I would finish up that room and then come. So I did that, and went over to her house and ended up helping her plant some flowers in her yard. She had gardening gloves and all kinds of little doodads, and she gasped as I just stuck my hands in the dirt and started digging and planting and just going at it. Maybe I'm weird, but I really like the feel of dirt between my fingers ... and I like the smell of it too. I helped her for a little bit and ended up coming home.

The planting helped to remind me that I had been wanting to plant a few things of my own, so I drove over to Stanley's Lawn and Garden, a cool little place just a few streets over from my house. There I met an older black man named John ___ (he told me his last name, but I don't recall it) ... he gave me the grand tour of the place and asked me several times if I was sure I wasn't a schoolteacher, because I really looked like one. He also commented on the paint on my hands, and that it looked like I had been busy, because I also still had dirt underneath my fingernails from the planting. I was enjoying his company so much that I didn't mention to him that I knew what I wanted, and I had seen it in the first greenhouse we went into. I ended up chatting with him a bit and inviting him to a Bible study that I just started at my house.

As I came back home to play in the dirt some more, and later went back to painting, I realized what a wonderfully full life I lead. There are so many things that I enjoy. I may have paint on my hands, dirt beneath my fingernails (it won't be there later -- that's just gross, I know), scars on my legs (those are from mountain biking with the boys from the group home), and wear baggy overalls instead of a tight mini-skirt, but I am learning to embrace the beauty of what it really means to be a woman ... for me, the essence of true femininity has nothing to do with makeup or nail polish or bikinis or high heels. It has everything to do with grace, love, softness, integrity, and living out every moment in such a way that God is revealed through the beauty of my life and my heart.

posted by Krista @ 9:26 PM