at the same time i learned some other new things about myself. i had never known it before, but it turns out i was poor.
who knew? not me. my dad was middle class, but my momma was poor. somehow, for the first half of my childhood, i had been fully fooled. i thought that our financial story was just like everybody else's. turns out, i was way off.
i was, in fact, very poor. i had a handicapped mother who didn't drive and couldn't work. while in marcellus, that is not how i was viewed. you see, my small town knew my momma before she became poor, before she could no longer work, before she couldn't drive. and they saw her with those eyes. they remembered her from her teaching, tennis playing, library visiting, volunteering at the school, dinner party-hosting, craft-club member, church- going, study-clubber, vbs-leader etc. days. and when her life changed and her financial story slid on its heals, they jumped in on the ready to help her. there was the family that took us to church, the family that picked her up for a once-a-month grocery trip, the friend who took her to town for errand day, the teacher that picked her up so she could volunteer at the school etc. my mom had accrued so much love and equity from an era no longer, that the community willingly paid it forward. she sometimes had to ask for help, but often help just showed up. in addition to having a super fab community of friends, she was also a super fab financial guru. she knew how to scrimp and save in ways that blow my adult mind. she took the wee bit of funds in front of her and maximized every single cent. (and she did it all while being faithful with her finances to God... more on that in a post to come soon.)
as for me, i was seen the same way by my community as my momma. i was loved, cared for, and provided for by a very compassionate network of the kindest humans a person could ask to be surrounded by. i had peeps on the ready to volunteer to pick me up for soccer, skating lessons, girl scouts meetings, music lessons, etc. people didn't see me as the poor girl from the broken home with the handicapped mother. they just saw me as tasha. i was loved and accepted for just being me.
and then i moved. winchester didn't know me. they didn't know my momma. they didn't know our story or history. it was a town with a racial divide and a socioeconomic divide. the "haves" had a lot. the "have nots" did not have much.
i moved to winchester in the beginning of november, on the monday of my birthday week in seventh grade. my birthday was on thursday. i remember walking into school that monday and feeling confident and excited and eager to meet new people, while also being slightly timid and unsure. i knew nothing of this new town or the people who called it home. i made friends that first day and was even invited to a party at kelly pott's house for the following week. i was so excited. as i fell into these new surroundings, i started to notice some differences. the people that i found myself becoming friends with were lovely humans, but they were different from me. they were well-connected, wealthy, and part of the fabric of the comunity. for the first time in my life, i noticed strait away that i was not the same.
i remember that first week oddly well. i couldn't wait for my birthday on thursday because i had only asked for one thing. i coveted, longed for, needed... even before landing in this prestigous town, GUESS JEANS. when i was invited to that first party, just a few days shy of my birthday, i had my outfit planned. i was going to wear my sassy new jeans (that i was for sure going to get) and this amazeballs shirt my sister had given me before leaving for college. it was from panama jack. nailed it. for sure i would be a "cool kid".
and then my birthday came... and there were no guess jeans. in fact, my birthday was mostly forgotten. worst. day. ever.
i was devastated. it was as if my entire life was defined by that moment. i couldn't fathom going forward without the jeans. i had no idea how i would survive the party. for this teenage girl, it was everything. it was the end of the end of the end.
i went to the party in spite of my personal tragedy. i had fun. we danced to mony mony, drank some coca-cola, and i made friends with peeps that would later become "MY peeps". even without the jeans, it was good.
several days following the party i encountered a pair of moms mommas to the kids that i had just bonded with. the peeps that would be my peeps in the years to come. the moms didn't see me, but I saw them. and i overheard a conversation that was not meant for my ears.
"have you met that new girl?'"
"briefly. her parents are divorced! and her mom is handicapped!"
"they live on Shawnee! i am not sure she is good for our girls."
and they went on to discuss all the reasons why, on first glimpse, i was not their person (having never even met me).
SAY WHAT????
can you imagine my 7th grade ears hearing this? it was terrible. they never knew. i ended up being tight with their daughters. BUT! in our beginning my ears heard those words. suddenly, i learned what it meant to be "less than" and a "have not" and being "from the wrong side of the tracks".
my eyes opened up to what it meant to be poor. before this moment, my mom had sheltered me from that. and because my father had a certain level of middle class means, i was exposed to things like nice dinners and fancy family vacations. with my early childhood eyes, i simply never saw what was real. and then suddenly, my reality shifted after accidentally eavesdropping on my new friends parents.
yikes!
i tend to reject what i do not like. and so in true fashion, my personality rejected this entire story. i tried as best i could to just live out "me".
i had an amazing high school experience and there were certainly moments of my identity being altered by lacking history and being judged because my story wasn't understood. but mostly, it was good.
later in my life, i dated someone whose parents COULD. NOT. wrap their heads around the fact that
that i was from a broken home. my parent's divorce difined me. i was damaged goods. i could never be their son's person. in spite of the fact that i was.
a few months ago, the fam and i watched "the greatest showman". SO GOOD! i love me almost any a musical, but THIS musical resonated in so many peculiar ways.
i was hooked from lyric one.
and then i got to THIS IS ME. if you haven't heard it, speed on over to youtube and give it a listen. i'll be right here when you get back.
ok. everyone on the same page now?
stop it. it is simply just TOO GOOD!
it is my jam. i cannot stop listening to it. and now pops has caught the bug and it is pretty much playing some speaker at my house at just about any given moment. and in the car! you should see the jam session. (you might have already at a red light. it's totally cool. don't judge. i was just expressing myself.)
it is my story. it is exactly what i know i am created for/called to .... being my super broken self in this super broken world. claiming a story that is broken but beautiful because of a redemption through christ.
unlovable.
from the wrong side of the tracks.
broken.
sinful.
rejected.
but loved.
accepted.
redeemed.
embraced.
by a god.
who made me for exactly this.
and every one of my broken parts, scars and moments of shame are for a purpose.
EVEN WITHOUT THE JEANS.
you see, the jeans could not, in spite of what i believed in that moment, define me. they had no value. they had no currency on who i was.
i have spent the better part of my adult life learning that i am lovable and good and with purpose. my beautiful father God matched me perfectly with a husband that has spent the better part of the past 16 years showing me that my broken parts are with purpose and being used for good. he has taught me that running away (while very much my nature) doesn't accomplish much and that he loves me exactly as i am. and while my scott has modeled this, i have also learned that it is how God sees me. he sees all my parts. and when He looks at me He sees His glorious creation.
can i get an amen? i mean, for realz. THAT is MY God!
