I had a really funny conversation the other day.
I was talking to someone about how one of the biggest challenges I face is praying for those who are not-so-nice to me. The flesh part of me wants to retaliate, to stick my index finger in their face and tell them a thing or two about what I think of THEM.
Except that’s not what we’re supposed to do. And while I don’t give-in to the fleshy reaction described above because I’m working hard on self-control, I must admit I’ve had several daydreams involving the indulgence in said scenario. Here’s the conversation that transpired after this admission:
Delusional Person: I’m so thankful to hear you say that. I’ve struggled with this, too. Here I thought you had it all together, like you were one of those moms who bakes cookies all the time and never lets her kids watch TV and probably hasn’t ever lost her cool with them, either.
I was completely confused.
Who the heck was she talking about? Me? So I respond:
Me: Oh, girl. Clearly you don’t know me very well.
DP: What do you mean?
Me: Well, just this morning I told my youngest son if he didn’t stop talking about the ninja he gave his brother and now wants back I was going to chop his head off. And while it’s true he knows its my attempt to add a little humor to the situation, I’m fairly certain most psychologists would tell you I’m doing a number on all three of them. I never wake-up with them on the weekends so they have to fend for themselves and get their own breakfasts until I roll out of bed around 8:30 or 9–the house is usually a train-wreck and I don’t care because I find it to be worth it. We eat at McDonald’s though some consider this a cardinal sin, sometimes I make different things for everyone’s dinner, and I’ve been known to declare “Lunchable” nights in which everyone picks out which one they want and there’s dinner. While I love my husband and would choose no one else, we can have some nasty arguments. I have been keeping the existence of extracurricular activities a secret from my children because I don’t want to drive all around God’s creation to get them there and I would like to wring the neck of the kid who told my son about soccer. Honestly, on many days, I would just prefer to read my books, take a walk, and write.
I’m pretty sure I passed the buck of confusion to Ms. Delusional. Gazing blankly at me, she says:
DP: I had no idea you were so much like me. I completely misjudged you.
So we talk a bit longer and we laugh over our shared screw-up mom status and encourage one another to wave it proudly like a banner so other screw-up moms can find us.
There’s strength in numbers.
And this, my sisters, is what vulnerability can do.
Green eggs are about as crafty as I get…
Have you ever misjudged someone? Is it easy or hard for you to be vulnerable? Let me know in the comments – I would love to hear your thoughts!