The Orange Blouse

A funny little thing happened to me the other day...

My daughter tells me that I should never say that, because despite my best efforts, things are never as funny when I retell them as they were when they actually happened.

Well, a funny thing did happen to me the other day. But it was also a convicting thing, and hopefully, a lesson that I won't soon forget. It came in the form or an orange blouse.

I attend a weekly study group, and at times, I fall behind in the reading 'assignments.' Each assignment consists of easy 10-15 minute passages of thought provoking material. Today, I was behind, but my early arrival afforded me the necessary 15 minutes to quickly get up to speed on my reading. As parking spaces quickly filled up in the small parking area nearby, I chose an unmarked spot on the outer circle of the parking lot, thinking I could make my getaway easily by leaving only a little space in front of my car.

I settled down with the dregs of my morning java, and opened my book.

Forgiveness.

"Oh this one will be a breeze," I thought. Being raised in the church, I had heard innumerable sermons on the topic, and knew that I was probably an expert on this one. I breezed quickly through the chapter, looking up only when a flash caught my eye. A car was coming towards me (the wrong way) into the parking lot. I looked behind to see that the lot was full, and she was probably going to have to back up in light of the other cars heading towards her.

Suddenly, to my dismay, she darted forward to edge her car towards my front bumper. Closer and closer she came until she finally stopped. There couldn't be more than 6 inches between my bumper and hers. Without attempting to attract attention, I looked behind to see that 4 other cars had solidly parked behind me. I was stuck. Trapped. Pinned in. Done for.

My irritation at traffic issues is probably not unlike many of you reading this post. I watched in stunned surprise as a beautiful, regal woman dressed in a bright orange blouse stepped from the sports car parked nearly touching my family car. She walked back several times, apparently wondering if she had hit my car. Except for the knowing that I would have felt a bump, I was thinking the same thing. Apparently her assessment satisfied her, and she hurriedly walked away.

What to do now? Leave a little note on her car? Take her license plate number? Roll the window down and offer my parking wisdom to her before she escaped? Memorize her clothes and have a few choice words with her inside the building? The chances were good that she was going to the same place I was, so conviction got the best of me, and I decided to wait it out. After all, I still had 2 pages left to read in my chapters on 'Forgiveness.'

The irony of the situation did not escape me. Surely forgiveness does not include traffic offenses, especially by beautiful women who drive sports cars! I walked into the building, trying my best to walk slowly and confidently, while my heart began to be pricked at the internal offense that was building.

The familiar chatter of women greeted me, and I turned to see none other than the woman in the orange blouse. Here's where I would really be slapped with my resolve (or lack of it) for forgiveness. Ok, it was a small thing, but completely blocking someone in? Really? Surely this was not a Christian woman.

The confrontation and internal struggle in my heart was quiet but unmistakable. By the time our meeting was called to order, I had resigned myself to waiting as long as needed until it was time for me to go. This was not that big of a deal, and surely I could be patient. I would know when she left the room. The orange blouse would be difficult to miss.

The usual preliminary announcements commenced, and after short order, our speaker was introduced. She was a prestigious community member with numerous accolades and an impressive list of accomplishments. I was excited to hear from this well of wisdom. We all turned to see her, and to my shock, the woman in the orange blouse gracefully took the microphone.

My internal dilemma grew deeper, and I was glad my secret was safe. No one will ever know, I thought, as I prayed my flushed face wasn't obvious. I settled my beating heart, and listened as she told her story.

During the next 30 minutes, the speaker with the orange blouse, contrary to her position and personality, exposed her own hurtful & embarrassing past, including mistreatment bordering on abuse from a step father. She continued through misty eyes and a shaky voice to confess her bitterness towards him, and finally to express the journey she took towards forgiving the man who had stolen her childhood and her innocence.

Afterward, the table discussions blurred in my ears, and I heard God gently speak to me the parable of the man who had been forgiven a great debt. After receiving this forgiveness, the man went out and demanded a few pennies he was owed by another man, and even had him thrown in jail when he couldn't pay. I did not want my life to be like that of the ungrateful man, forgiven of a great debt yet unwilling to forgive others. What a small thing the parking lot incident seemed to be now in light of the forgiveness this woman had released to her abuser and shared with a group of total strangers.

The pounding of my heart increased as I knew I had to expose my own experience and share my story. This personal exposure would solidify my own conviction and resolve, and perhaps my story could help others too. I had the grace that day when this 'funny confession' I had really was funny. And poignant. And convicting. And memorable.

I'm wearing an orange sweater today, and I think of the orange blouse that imprinted on my heart that day a message of forgiveness. It is not just the big things that need to be washed away, but more often for me, it's the little things. The last piece of gum taken from my purse the day before a big interview. The spilled juice on my freshly mopped floor. The car that parked way too close to me in a crowded lot.

God came to me that day in the form of a beautiful woman in an orange blouse, and spoke a message of forgiveness that I will not soon forget.

Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

Words have power.

It's amazing how much what others say about us can shape what we think about ourselves. I was surprised recently at the stories of grown women who could still remember negative things that had been said to them from as early as age 4. Things like "you'll never find someone to love you" or "you'll never be good at school" were not uncommon. Hearing these women say that they could still vividly remember those spoken words clearly illustrated their power.

I do believe in the power of words.

I also believe I can choose to use my words to positively impact those people around me.

Mary wore a pale gray, over sized Disney sweatshirt, which hung loosely on her in an attempt to hide her expanding midsection. Her round face bore the effects of teenage acne, and it was beginning to show the signs of the encroaching years. Her thinning white hair was pulled into a simple, high ponytail, devoid of any attempt to mask its sparsity.

I hadn't really noticed her name until that day at a weekly mom's gathering. On that day, Mary repeatedly interrupted and turned the conversation to herself and her own stories, mostly of offense and hurt. This was not a new occurrence, but it had been escalating each week. Though her shared thoughts were valuable, I could see the possibility of an ever increasing hijacking of future sessions. Mary began to dominate more and more of the discussion.

As the conversation continued and I pondered our dilemma, I happened to look down at her name tag. "Mary," it simply said. As soon as I saw it, I began to think of the most famous Mary that I knew. This Mary at my table didn't look or act like any image I had of that Mary from long ago. Then I realized that sometimes inspiration in not based on logical thought. One thing I have learned over the years is that at times my thoughts are interlaced with impressions which I interpret as God's voice, and I prayed a silent prayer, asking for help with this lady. I certainly did not have a good plan about how to guide her (and rescue our group). As the meeting drew to a close, my thoughts became more ordered, and I decided to make my way around the table to speak with her.

I told Mary that her name was not an accident. Mary, in the Bible, was chosen by God with a unique purpose and destiny. "The same is true for you," I told her. "You were also chosen by God for something very special." I spoke this to her, hoping that my words would be encouraging. I sincerely believe that there is a design for each of our lives. Knowing that and seeking to find and engage in purpose is vital.

Tears began to flow down Mary's cheeks as the reality that she was valuable began to wash over her. "Really?" she asked, incredulous that her life had meaning and importance. I shared a few other simple things with her, as well as some advice on finding the sense of acceptance she was seeking. She sat, pondering what I had just told her. As I walked away, I left with the belief that my words had power to break through some of her insecurity and discouragement and leave her with a new confidence that would minimize the need to continually look to others for affirmation about herself.

Just as negative words have power to shape and form our images, so do positive ones. Adding our belief to words gives them ultimately more power. The Bible says, "The power of life and death is in the tongue." I had several options that day. I could have engaged her during discussions and corrected her publicly for interrupting. I could have resigned myself to the idea that she fit the image of the nursery rhyme "Mary, Mary quite contrary" or that she embodied one of the meanings for her name which is "bitterness." I could have walked away, assuming it was not my responsibility. Instead of all these options, I decided to give life with my words. I took 5 minutes to make a difference, to speak words of encouragement that have the power to displace the negative ones that have obviously been sown into her life.

Weeds grow much more readily than planted seeds, but that day I planted a good seed. The Mary in the nursery rhyme had a garden. In a way, we all have a garden in our hearts, where many words and feelings are planted.

I pray that the good seeds of encouraging words will grow in Mary's heart, and that the reality of belonging, usefulness, and purpose will supplant the insecurity and failure. That is how I hope her garden will grow.