Abnormally Weird

Growing up I found it interesting when people would enjoy getting called weird. Whenever I got called weird it made me upset because I did not want to be weird, but normal. When faced with my anger my peers would comment and say don’t worry everyone is weird. Uhhh…so if everyone is weird then does that mean that weird is the normal??? Faced with this new realization I began to take the world by storm and be natural. Now, uhhh incidentally the same people who I would hear bragging about how they were proud to be weird began giving me the sideways glance. That look like, shorty is just a little too weird. It wasn’t anything negative really, I still made friends because people loved the comedic relief that I brought to my friendships but over time I realized in this normalized abyss of weirdness that I still felt left out.

As I developed and matured, my sense of self diminished because my feeling different escalated. I matured from the outgoing, outspoken, daring pre-teen, to a timid, insecure young lady. I began wanting to box myself in when all my heart really wanted to do was find a meadow of flowers with my journal and pretend I’m in the Little House on the Prairie. More than this though I wanted someone who would sit in the meadows with me and love me for me. Someone to appreciate the sickening cheese sauce dripping from those last two lines.

Sometimes I get crazy enough to believe that even God does not love me for me. I think that somewhere along the way I allowed myself to be play dough in the hands of this world instead of clay in the Hands of The Skilled Potter. Like play dough the world had it’s fun then left me and now I’m dry, cracked and disheveled. I was so bent up on the world not seeing me as abnormally weird that I took on the worlds vast array of opinions and tried becoming a perfect me. The world didn’t do anything to me. It was in fearing the imperfections that comes with being human, and striving to create a perfect self that I lost sight of me. I took myself from The Potters hand and thought my play dough could do a better job.

Today, I am standing in my mess before God, like a child with their shrugged shoulders and oops face admitting that I can’t do it alone…and He is shaking His head and smiling and picking me up to clean me up and resume His work in me. I love my God.


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