“Thoughts from the Pot” are the random musings of a husband. The thoughts and opinions presented below are not necessarily those of the host of this blog. Thank you for your understanding.
I was in a wedding. I am always in weddings. I am super popular. Strangers ask me to be in their weddings because their friends look like an unfortunate cross-breed of a 50-lb sack of potatoes and a pug. Potatugs can ruin a wedding (or perhaps Pugatoes, depending on which side of the mighty Mississippi you’re on).
Over the course of the frivolities that surrounded this latest wedding, I met the groom’s brother. He is a successful man. He wears fine suits, expensive cologne and an appropriately restrictive necktie which highlights his masculine physique. He is also short.
He had an interesting habit. Not interesting in the “I just went to Tibet with boxing legend Sugar Ray Leonard! Would you like to see pictures?” way. More in the “My favorite snack food is tubes of women’s lipstick” vein.
Anytime there was a photo-op (op being short for opportunity), Shortman would stand on his tippy toes. I assume he chose this particular pose so as to appear taller; or maybe he just hadn’t done his calf raises that morning at the gym. The world may never know — the world may never care.
I looked at him with my beady eye of judgment and I said to myself, “Self! That man has been a short man all of his life. The time has come for him to accept the fact that he is not a tall man, he is in fact a short man!“
I said this to myself and I felt good. I felt that I had made an honest assessment and that my prognosis of the situation had been spot-on. I made jokes. I told stories. We all laughed. Then God punched me in the back of the face.
How many times have I tried this same maneuver? I can poke fun at Shortman because his little faux-pas was more visible than mine, but the fact remains that there are so many things I hate about myself and I want to hide from the public eye. I look at myself and think, “Why can’t you be more like…Mr. T?” The answer is obvious: I’m balding and therefore cannot grow an acceptable mohawk. So close!
Or sometimes I think, “Why can’t you logically approach a problem? Why are you distracted so easily? Why don’t you finish what you start?” And so on. And so forth.
There is a reason why I am who I am. The purpose God made for my life revolves around the skills, faults and idiosyncracies that are hard-wired into my personality. I am who I am because I need the skills, faults, and idiosyncracies of the body of Christ around to truly fulfill the calling that God has on my life. The question remains, and it still gives me heartburn, “Do I believe that I am fearfully and wonderfully made?” Or do I believe that only the people I really admire were made that way and I was made by an apprentice who just so happens to be a squirrel with opposable thumbs and a penchant for wearing camouflage cargo pants.
There will come a day when I won’t ever worry about what people think of me, but I will most likely be dead. I will continue to swim upstream against my urges and I will allow God to use me because I am worth it. I am awesome, and so are you.
I may not be Mr. T, but I’m also not a potatug…