Here I Am – or not.

9 comments
for free, humor, Listening When He Speaks, Love God Love People, simple story

I am the girl that people forget.

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Those around me are remembered. But usually, not me. When I expressed my concern to an ever-popular friend, she told me that my looks and qualities remind her of “the girl next door.” Yeah, the girl next door whom the neighbors call to baby sit their bratty brood, but after they paint the town and return home, they turn off the lights, go to bed, and leave me scraping the silly string off the ceiling.

I wonder if I could patent my invisible-ness and sell it? Perhaps the grocer would place it next to a green, neon bag of diapers at the market? Or maybe I could advertise it on one of those nifty, daylong infomercials? Hmmm. Not likely. A non-noteworthy product has a slight marketing disadvantage. Just how do you reckon the conversation would transpire in the employee lounge?

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“Did you see that really long commercial Saturday afternoon for that new product?”

“Ah, nope.”

“Uh, neither did I. Pass me a plastic fork, please? Now what was I talking about?”

.“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

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I’d be the girl who sold what nobody wanted to people who didn’t even realize they’d bought something and soon thereafter forgot where they put it.

Correction: Even if I figured out how to cram my gunk into a bottle, I’d still be the invisible girl who gives up her place in the grocery store line to the woman with the screaming kids. I’d still be the girl who gets locked outside as she drags the trash to the curb. I’d still be the girl in high school with the boyfriend who forgot her sweet sixteen birthday. I’d still be the girl nobody sees. That’d be me.

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I suppose I should come clean and tell you about the one time I was seen.

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It happened at a family reunion in the middle of Montana. An elderly, shirttail relative watched as I cleared picnic tables of greasy paper plates, half-crushed beer cans, and napkins smeared with potato salad. My best guess is that she thought I was some sort of deranged party crasher because she ninja-sprung from her lawn chair, grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back until I very nearly peed my pants.

Yep, that’s me, a dark-haired, vegetarian girl who crashes Hicksville family reunions: I lick used paper plates, gnaw on piles of chicken bones, and get drunk on beer can fumes. Indeed, it’s my biggest thrill to lurk around a bunch o’ towheaded, cattle-ranching, crusty, old country folks. And if the reunion fairies see fit to sprinkle glitter my way, perhaps I’ll even nibble the hamburger fat stuck to the grill. Yum-yum, bring it on!

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Back to my moment of fame…

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Even after I submitted to an instantaneous blood test and hollered for my momma to free me from the demented, senior deputy of family reunions, the old gal still wagged a pale, boney finger in my face and said, “But you just don’t look like any of us. Look at your so-called mother and sister, they are skinny and blonde and cute. And you, you are, well, you aren’t.”

That episode has gotta count for something, right? Beside the greenbacks spent on my countless hours in professional therapy. I mean, I was seen! And I caused a scene. Well, actually the ole bat caused the scene, but I was part of it. I was part of something big. Something that could have gotten me tossed into the clink. Thrown in the slammer. Placated in the pokey. Locked in a place where I would have had a real reason to wet my britches, next to a woman named Bertha who looked like a man named Bubba.

Hey, before you judge my excitement over the recollection of such an escapade, ask yourself if you’ve ever been locked outside in a snowstorm whilst tending to the church garbage cans? If so, I reckon you’d find a modicum of delight in a wrestling match with a rabid senior citizen. And I haven’t even told you about the other time I was seen. Albeit I was mistaken for a teenage boy. Hey, hey, hey, maybe I’m not always the girl that people overlook after all. Maybe I’m the girl that looks like a boy that people fail to remember.

Anyway, even if it’s true and I am the sorta girl people tend to forget on this whirling third rock from the sun, it doesn’t really matter.

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It doesn’t really matter because I personally know Someone who never forgets:

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He is the King of kings, the Creator of the universe, the Lord of lords, and folks, He has me in the palm of His everlasting, merciful, and loving hand.

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Get a load of this, He knew me before I was born.

 

And He delighted beyond measure the day I accepted Him as Lord and Saviour.

He understands me even when everyone else is shaking his or her head.

He sees the whole me, right down to my good, bad, and ugly.

He is the One who created me to be His princess daughter.

He listens to me as I ramble, whisper, shout, or stutter.

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He loves me like no other.

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And as a side note, ever since I’ve called Him “Father” there hasn’t been any question about my being noticed or remembered, about my identity, or to whose family I actually-factually belong.

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My name is written in His family book, the Book of Life.

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I know just who I am living for and where I’ll spend eternity. What about you?

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For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. ~ Ephesians 3:14-21 NKJV

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9 thoughts on “Here I Am – or not.”

  1. When you are the “apple” of the Creator’s eye, all attention or non-attention fades away. BTW, that passage in Ephesians is one of my favorites, and I just shared it yesterday with the kids at school. Blessings to you!

  2. Marcy Terwilliger says:

    Darlene, you hide behind all sorts of things, I’ve never enjoyed having my picture taken because I never take a good one, don’t wear makeup and I’m 63. I unzipped my skin years ago and my motto is “take me or leave me.” What I love about you is your goodness and mercy, sense of humor, laughter, all your insides, like your good heart, Gal, your beautiful to me. Always have been and that’s not going to change. God made us all in His Likeness. So that must mean only one thing, God is not only Love but Beautful. For a long time I wondered who do I look like, not my Mom or Dad. Then I dressed like a man for Halloween one year and there in the mirror I stood looking at my Grandfather I never met. I was happy to at least look like someone kin to me.

  3. lschontos says:

    You, sweet thing, are special to me. Take heart. I am one of the unnoticed ones too, but we have a Father who numbers the very hairs of our head. Love you Darlene.

  4. I can’t say for sure in person, but online, you are remarkable and distinctive and memorable and unlike anyone else. And I clearly see family resemblances — same Father and all — and would claim you in a country nanosecond as a sister.

  5. Nothing like having a Heavenly Father who makes us just as we wants us, beautiful in his eyes. And your are beautiful in mine. You amaze me, sister!

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