I have never been known for having a sparkling personality or charming wit.
If anything, most who know me in real life would probably describe me as the most unbearable person on the planet. I am cranky and don't possess one bit of southern charm. It's like I am the anti-southerner. I am socially retarded. I haven't a clue what is appropriate to say in a conversation. I probably cross "the line" all the time and don't even know it.
Earlier this week, though, I did accomplish something great, something great in my book indeed. I kept my mouth shut. I had the overwhelming urge to give a group of women a harsh cussin', but I kept my mouth shut.
I was at the dentists' office (yes there are four in the practice. I am not making use of the plural possessive for fun.) with the children this week. I was the only mother in the waiting room who was not a member of a certain home school group relatively nearby.
Woman in Denim: Do you home school your children?
Me: No. They go to public school.
Woman in Denim: Do you love your children?
Me: Yes, I am just not a very good teacher.
Underneath my restraint, was the urge to get up and whack her bun right off her head. It was 50 degrees outside, and her three girls had on short sleeved shirts with knee length denim skirts and flip flops. There wasn't a coat in sight. I wanted to look at her and scream...I LOVE MY CHILDREN ENOUGH TO DRESS THEM APPROPRIATELY FOR THE WEATHER!!! I LOVE THEM ENOUGH TO KNOW MY OWN LIMITATIONS!! I LOVE THEM ENOUGH TO NOT GET ARRESTED FOR BEATING THE MESS OUT OF YOU FOR IMPLYING THAT I DON'T LOVE MY CHILDREN BECAUSE I DON'T HOME SCHOOL THEM!!
From that point on, it was apparent that this pack of home schooling wolves was not going to be polite to me. I tried to offer a crayon from the bowels of my purse to one of the pack's screaming toddlers; her mother told her not to take it. She was looking at the orange crayon like I had dipped it in a petri dish of small pox before offering it up to her. I tried to make small talk about the upcoming holiday season and the lovely decorations in the lobby. You'd think I just confessed to murder based on their reactions. After being asked what church I attend, I was told that I was going to hell if I didn't accept Jesus the proper way. I guess they meant that I had to attend their church if I wanted to have an actual relationship with Christ. Thankfully, I received a phone call about that time. I didn't want to learn the name of a church that condemns other denominations to hell. I believe there are many paths to the same God. The path that I choose to believe in and practice does not have to be the same as yours. I also believe that enough war and killing has taken place in the name of the Lord.
The point is that each of us has to walk a path in life. Every one's path is not the same. Why are we still fighting about whose path is best? So, instead of fighting, I bit my tongue. I was silent. I had time to reflect on what had just happened. I let go of my anger and judgement. I had a moment to realize that I was going to turn the other cheek. And so, as I left the building that afternoon, I held the door open for a small group of children and their mother...a mother who had openly stated that my final destination will be hell. As she walked past me, I shouted, "Happy Thanksgiving!" Maybe I am a fool, but I slept well that night.
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