It has been a little over nine months since I last posted, but here I am. I hope you enjoy!
It happened all of a sudden.
I wasn’t expecting it, I wasn’t looking for it, but in the middle of an apple orchard in Wisconsin (Harvest Time), God hit me over the head and said:
“You are a GROWN ASS WOMAN”.
Some of you are looking down your noses at me and thinking “did God say ass?”
That’s what I heard.
I’m sure God said ass when conversing with Balaam, so I’m not gonna get too broken up about it, hopefully you won’t either, and “spoiler alert” I’m going to reference it a few more times.
It all started with our “Weekend of Weddings”.
In one weekend.
And maybe because I like to torture myself, or because I ADORE weddings. I was coordinating the one on Friday night.
The Friday night wedding went splendidly! It was beautiful, it was fun, I danced and laughed joyfully with members of the church we have been sent out to plant from, Church of the Redeemer .
Then on Saturday, Nate and I split up. He headed to a wedding in Highland Park, and I hitched a ride to our wedding in Wisconsin, where Nate would later meet me for the reception.
The wedding in Wisconsin was David’s, a dear childhood friend of mine, to his precious bride Audrey.
The ceremony was beautiful both aesthetically and spiritually.
One of the best things about the wedding, was getting to spend time with my bosom friend Lindsay (you can read more about our antics here). As we descended the steps from eating Apple Cider Shakes, (yes apple cider shakes, yum, yimmy, yum, yimmy, yay) I was sharing with Lindsay how I was feeling insecure at this wedding. Why? Well my ten year high school reunion is coming up in October and this wedding was a bit of a “pre-gamer” if you will. While David and I went to high school together, we were more friends because we were from the same neighborhood, and his other friends at school were those I would classify as the “cool kids”. I never felt up to snuff with them, I never felt cool enough, pretty enough, (pick a trite “not enough” phrase, and it works) to attempt to associate with them. They weren’t mean, or hateful, or bullies. I was simply insecure.
The EXACT same moment that I am telling Lindsay this, said girls come up to me and say
Those girls might very well be reading this blog right now, because I’m facebook friends with them. And you can say you aren’t facebook “friends” with people you don’t interact with on a daily basis, but you’re lying. Because deep down you know that eventually your facebook “friends” are going to get married, or have some other lovely event, and you are going to want to be a creeper and see those pictures, because you love, love, love weddings (or that’s just me and in a moment we will get to why I am okay with that, (but we both know it isn’t just me)).
So ladies, you know who you are, and please take this confession as a compliment.
As far as I’m concerned, this life is too short to shy away from vulnerability and honesty, so all readers should cover themselves while I spew vast amounts all over this blog.
I don’t know if these girls (women? When do I make that transition to calling myself and peers women in conversation rather than girls? Is this like getting your period or losing your virginity or going through menopause? Do you just wake up one day and experience “the change”?) knew I spent a lot of High School wishing I was “them”.
But let’s take a moment to illustrate my ridiculous dramatic insecure pubescent nature:
The neighborhood boys I ran around with had a tendency to talk about one of these girls “calves”.
I would just stand there silently wishing and thinking that if God was going to perform modern day miracles of healing the sick, he could surely implant some calves in the definition-less area between my round indiscernible knee caps and ankles above my size 13 feet. I often questioned why he gave me this prime real estate of long legs and NO CALVES! So much so, that before a band competition
(I was in the colorguard. I never actually tossed my flag in a competition, I always froze. I admitted that to the captain one day, got yelled at, and questioned my honesty policy for awhile. It’s still the best policy, despite the trauma of having an 18 year old girl with JNCO’s, a hemp shroom necklace and an Insane Clown Posse shirt on, yell at me for not tossing my flag. No one else had noticed, this was like the 6th band competition, what was the big deal? I even started to say that, then remembered she had on an Insane Clown Posse shirt, and hushed.)
where I had heard we would be staying in a hotel that had a pool, I spent the majority of the night before doing calf raises. Over 5,000 calf raises to be exact. I was “stepping out (up) in faith” in my own way, thinking I might wake up with miraculous muscular gams.
I woke up with the most intense Charlie Horses you can even begin to imagine.
And. . .there wasn’t a pool.
OK, back on track. . .
As we spoke I attempted to keep my cool and was surprised at my ability to engage in pertinent meaningful conversation as we talked about where we were in our various lives, how some of us had moved back to Bloomington, how we all swore we never would, and I think right around then is when God hit me over the head and said:
“You are a GROWN ASS WOMAN! I didn’t create you to be a slave to your past, a slave to a geographic location, a slave to an uncomely opinion of yourself. I created you to be a FREE GROWN ASS WOMAN”
Because I am.
Because that is what God has made me to be.
As much faith as I had put in my fake eyelashes (Yes, I wore fake eyelashes to the wedding. I had a gift card to Macy’s, went to the MAC counter, and after wiping about 3/4 of the makeup they had put on off, I felt like I looked pretty good. Judge away. It’s a dramatic outlet, it’s me using my “degree”, and I highly recommend it if you want to feel glamorous for a night), I needed to redirect it and reappropriate it to where it always needs to be.
|Can you feel the glamour oozing from my eyelashes?|
And I can talk to these girls/women/females as a “Grown Ass Woman”. And enjoy it, and find the privilege that comes from a shared history, not feel bogged down, or classified, or insecure because of it.
I danced with abandon that night as a “Grown Ass Woman”.
I laughed with great vitality that night as a “Grown Ass Woman”.
|I’m there in the center “dancing with abandon”|
And I thought back on my high school experience with a joy and freedom I don’t think I had before.
I look forward to going to my ten year reunion as a ” Grown Ass Woman”.
I encourage everyone to go to their respective reunions as “Grown Ass Men and Women”.
Because we are creatures created in Christ, not in the image of one another.
And with great thankfulness, this “Grown Ass Woman” raises her hand, and says: