Why was the line in the post office so long? It took me a second to remember what week it was. “This is not the week before Christmas, is it?” What is going on I wondered on this fourteenth day of January? There were at least twelve people in front of me, none of whom I considered normal.
Then every person turned in my direction, questioning me, pointing a finger. “Do you see me? What color am I?”
I wanted to run. . . they didn’t really point their fingers or even turn; they were more gracious than that. Only an hour earlier, I had posted my blog Colorblind. Secure and self-righteous in my love and acceptance of the colors of the world, I dropped in at the local post office to mail some notes . . . to those colors.
I had no idea I was self-righteous in this. I sincerely love the colors I know. Evidently that is the secret—the colors I know, accept and see.
The thin, toothless man who had pushed past me as I opened the door to the post office was no doubt, homeless. All indications told me so; he had little material possessions and no genteel manners. His clothes, his hair, his perfume, the envelope he had in his hand, addressed to the left of a window envelope, which showed a folded, tiny, penciled note through the window . . . shared his situation.
The colors of the world just happened to be here today, dressed in the latest fashion of tattoos, bright colors of hair, multiple earrings in multiple places. Some in tight leggings, very tight, showing every available bulge. A dingy t-shirt offended me with its imprinted message.
I was stunned. Why are so many of ‘these’ here this day, this time? You know—the ones we call the fringe society.
Just as stunned, and almost immediately, I heard thunder; it sure sounded like thunder. “Barb, do you see these colors? Each one is my beautiful creation, and I love them all. What will you do with these colors?”
I stood there, naked and condemned of my sin. “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked or hurtful way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Psalm 139:23,24. Amplified
Quickly, I headed for fresh air. Examining my heart all the way home, I sought God’s forgiveness for my judgmental attitude. “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9
What was surprising is the fact my God would organize a meeting of the local fringe society at the exact time I would walk through the same doors. He loves me enough to show me who I am.
Thank you, Father, for forgiveness today. And how grateful I am that “you do not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great are your mercy and loving-kindness to us who reverently and worshipfully fear you.” Psalm 103:10,11 Amplified
A fringe society is defined as people or activities considered strange or extreme. When I looked that word up in the dictionary, I saw my picture. After all, Barbara means strange. . . even barbarian.
. . . If I know my heart at all, I desire to see and love people, all people. . . as they are . . . on this journey to NOW.
Will you join me? . . .