I’m a mean girl.
Have you watched Lindsey Lohan in Mean Girls? I was homeschooled so I always kind of thought that I was just the victim around here. Imagine my shock when I found myself wearing a t-shirt proclaiming, “We wear pink on Wednesdays.”
Okay, okay. That didn’t happen.
See, here’s my hope. I hope that I’m living a good life. A life that points to Jesus and reflects him to the best angle possible (we all know that takes good lighting and a nice tan #fitnessnut). And yet, there’s life. Life flourishes on circumstances that don’t make sense, drivers cutting me off on route 51, and bad hair days.
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Life has its ups, too. When someone gifts you with a card to your favorite food place, life is good on that day.
I wonder if when the universe banged into place, either by God’s word or God’s science, someone handed Life a hammer and said, “When you see a head rise above this line, whack ’em.”
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Life: A Giant Game of Whack a Mole.
It’s probably where headaches come from. On some small level.
No wonder I’m a mean person. I’m on the pathway to curmudgeon-ville.
I’m the girl who doesn’t always reach out to someone when I can see they are in need. I’m the girl who crosses the street or walks faster when I see a homeless person. I’m the girl who more often than not speaks truth without kindness. I’m the girl who bloodies her tongue trying to keep her mouth shut when she has nothing good to say but still somehow gets grossness all over others. I’m the girl who is more impressed by a shiny car than godly character. I’m the girl who would rather read than face the present-day horrors.
I’m the mean girl because sometimes I’m silent when I should speak.
I’m the mean girl because sometimes I ignore those I should love.
I’m the mean girl because I prefer my comfort over the comforting of others.
Excuses fly to my mind. I want to be excused. I want to justify my lack of action. But no, I must not. I want to live an honest life before God and man.
So there it is. I’m more naturally mean than kind or good or loving.
I’m trying to be like Jesus. Did you know that he says that he came to the world not to judge it? Gosh, I’m constantly judging the world. And this dude who could have judged us, but just loved us, despite our meanness, is the standard on perfect living.
Half the time, I don’t even love myself. It’s too easy to pick myself a part. I see myself as a pile of parts, broken bits—chunks I ripped out, chinks some well-meaning person chipped away, and crushed chips mangled by Life’s game of whack-a-mole.
Between my innate meanness and life’s whack, I can’t seem to catch a break. It’s a perfect recipe for continued cruelty to myself and others. Even on a relatively good day, I can get mean if someone dares to interrupt my reading escape. And then, the day’s ruined (mostly because they interrupted my reading).
I’m a mean girl, navigating Life’s frustrating game of whack-a-mole, and I fail mostly. I wish I didn’t.
To the God who Transforms,
I’m not sure why you invested any of your interest, time, or love in this mean girl. I wrote this to be honest, but you see past even these veiled sentences that represent real life moments. I want to not judge like Jesus but to heal others like Jesus, instead of reading out judgments over others and crippling the already limping.
My frustrating meanness shows me there is a standard I cannot meet.
Please don’t leave me to myself. Please, will you guide me in being a life-in-process?
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