Why Being Invisible Sometimes Feels Comfortable

Even when I was really young, I was very thought-conscious for a child. My elementary school teachers often told my mom, "She's a great student and always makes Distinguished Honor Roll. But she's bored. She's a really deep thinker and likes to be creative. She gets bored with some of the worksheets and assignments we have to do."

In second grade I wrote what I remember as my first "poem." I wrote it in December, as I eagerly anticipated the upcoming holiday. Shyly one morning, I walked up to my teacher's desk with a copy of my poem behind my back and quietly handed it to her when she looked up at me. She was a tough teacher, large and intimidating, not the nurturing or welcoming type, and she quickly began reading my piece of paper without much expression. Then her eyes flickered at me, and she looked back up suddenly. "Did you write this?" she asked abruptly, inflection in her voice. Without making a sound, I just nodded, my hands behind my back and my feet shifting awkwardly, then watched as she walked past me up to the blackboard, my poem still in her hand.

Because This is What Achievement Really Looks Like

"So what was it like?" I asked her. "Did you feel comfortable? Or was it distracting and challenging at all?"

I was asking this question to a retired woman I have been teaching piano to for the past few years. She had a heart that yearned to serve. Even amid the frenzy of tending to a husband with multiple serious health problems, keeping up with her grown children and grandchildren in another state, she carried a determination I wish all of us could hold on to. The fact that she was only one of a few adult students in an academy of mostly children did not deter her. Deep within her heart, she felt certain that she needed to help with the music at her small church in a nearby community. She came weekly for a piano lesson, her books open to the hymn she was currently working on, and even signed up for voice lessons for the Sundays she could help lead the singing.

The Girl I Didn't Think I Was

"Pray your heart would be renewed in Christ during the next 30 days."

When I read that my church's youth was committing to praying for something specific each day for the next thirty days, I wanted to join in. Day Number One's prayer asked that each of our hearts be changed and renewed during the thirty-day commitment. While this prayer was beautiful and legitimate, something inside me felt a single misgiving---for me personally---about that one-lined request.

It was too vague.
  
Sometimes vague prayers are precisely the ones we need to pray. Sometimes the only words we can breathe forth are:

"God, please help."
"Be with me."
"Strengthen us."
"I don't know what to do anymore."
 

The Word I Can't Use

"Ugly."

I can't say it.

Some words just don't fit
into my vocabulary,
don't naturally roll off my tongue,
and ugly is one of them.

Too many things about it bother me:

-its suggestion that there is a right and a wrong way to look,
  
-its implication that the person branding someone ugly
has authority to evaluate appearances,

-its disrespect, criticalness, harsh judgment.

If You Want It, Get Serious

A sweet girl in her late twenties
approached me in tears;
her attempts to play piano
with her church band
had been a "hot mess,"
as she termed it.

She came to me, a music teacher, in hopes of encouragement, not even sure if she should continue pursuing her musical goals. She was very emotional, upset about her stumbles, doubted that her church band even wanted her, or questioned if she had misunderstood her purpose in the first place. Her emotional needs were the first concern. I told her I understood, because I've had those moments when my fingers just slipped all over the keys, and a performance I had felt great about simply fell flat. I reminded her she'd just driven in from out-of-town, not feeling well, then was handed a bunch of new music and introduced to new musicians she had never played with. "The next practice might not be so bad," I tried to encourage her. "If they're playing with new musicians, it might just take a few weeks to get in sync with each other." 

Being The Best

"Misty, were you our Valedictorian?" Amanda asked from across the table at our 15-year high school reunion.

"No," I shook my head. "I thought it was T.J."

"I thought it was Amanda," T.J. countered, and we fell into amused laughter.

Despite Valedictorian being an extremely honorable achievement, the W.E.H.S. Class of '96 simply could not remember who held the title.

The Girl You Should Expect Mistakes From

I was a tiny elementary schooler with a long, swinging ponytail. My classmates said I smiled a lot.
  
Every Friday my third grade class took a weekly science test. The school year had just started, and I surprised myself with a score of 100 on the first test—the only 100 in the class. I sank down in my seat in embarrassment as classmates whispered to each other, “Misty made a hundred!” 

The next Friday I made 100% again….and the next. But my initial delight and pride turned to anxiety as I thought, “The school year has just started. I CAN’T make 100 on every test this year! Eventually, I’ll probably answer a question wrong. Then what?” I thought in panic. “What will happen then!?” Each week, when my teacher returned our graded tests, I tried in vain to flip my test over to hide the red-inked 100 before my classmates could see it. If they never knew of my perfect grades, I thought, I would never be able to disappoint them. Plus, I felt that my 100's were setting me apart from my classmates, and I didn't want to be set apart. I wanted to be included.