One year out of Harding, my husband, new baby and I moved back to my hometown. In need of a steady paycheck quick, I applied at a local mental health facility. Since my major was psychology, I was taken on as a beginning case worker.
I was part of a large group of people my own age. Fresh out of college, they were enjoying their single life. Partying, dating, and gossiping occupied the majority of their free time. That’s not judgment, just observation.
I was uncomfortable from the beginning. Not only because I am introverted and sometimes socially awkward, but because I seemed so strange to them. They were upfront with their astonishment. Why had I married so early? Didn’t I think that I was too young (at 23) to be a good mom? Didn’t I think I’d regret all the things I missed out on? They were perfectly normal and having all the fun, they said. I was old before my time.
I didn’t know how to answer them. I married early because it’s better to marry than burn with passion. They were living with their boyfriends. I had a baby because we begged God to give us children despite the doctor’s dire warnings that it was impossible (I have a non-malignant pituitary tumor). They believed that miracles were superstitious hokum. I felt like I was blessed beyond measure. They felt I was missing out.
Besides they seemed strange to me too. I always had trouble finding the right thing to say. “Who’s the guy in the picture?” I once ventured to ask when passed a vacation photo of my coworker pressed against a guy sporting a big grin and a bigger margarita.
“Him?” came the reply. “I don’t remember.”
We didn’t have much to talk about.
The passing years haven’t made me any less strange. Just yesterday I had a conversation with a student that reminded me that I don’t fit in. He asked me if I made much money here at the University. In the part of the world where we live, money is a subject of general public interest, so his question was polite enough. I replied that I made much less here than I did in America. (In fact, my husband and I together make half of what I did as a case worker. And trust me case workers are woefully underpaid!)
In shock, he said, “Most people want to get jobs where they can make as much money as possible.”
I said, “Why?”
He said, “What?” The very question was incomprehensible. I smiled, and I explained that I had everything I needed. More money is not terribly appealing to me. I have clothes, food, a home. I have a healthy, happy family, a peaceful and useful life. What do I need that money can buy me?
His smile turned weak. He looked at me like a person staring between the bars at a bizarrely colored tropical bird in an aviary, pleasantly bemused.
It’s okay when the world things we’re strange. Jesus knew it would be that way. He told Nicodemus for instance that those who are born of the Spirit were like the wind. People could identify them because things were moving around but nobody understood where they came from or where they were going (John 3:8).
When I expressed this idea to a quick-witted friend she replied, “Are you blaming the Holy Spirit for you being weird?” Could be!
John emphasizes the idea that Christians should be prepared to be misunderstood, unheard, hated and persecuted. In the letter that John pens near the end of his life he warns believers to be prepared; the world will not understand what they say because they are not “from the world.”(1 John 4: 4-6). In John’s gospel, Jesus follows his commandment to love each other with the warning that the world would hate believers because it hated him (John 15:19). In his prayer he begs God to protect those who will believe because the world will hate them (John 17:14-16).
I don’t mind being strange as much as I used to. I can usually sort out if I seem strange to a friend because I’m an American, because I’m an ex-pat, because I’m a Christian, or just because I am in fact weird. Self-acceptance for me is not a matter of “self-esteem” but rather the confidence that I’m learning to be like my Savior.
— Compliments of http://www.maidservantsofchrist.com/