Someone recently called me a strange bird. When I was younger, this would have thrown me into throes of self doubt, but now I laugh. Mostly. Of course, when someone makes a comment like that, I automatically scroll back through my mind, wondering. Is it because I talk too fast, dart in and out of sentences, make quick jerky movements with my hands and my head? Is it because I ask “non-womanly” questions or because I’m not quite settled securely in my Mennonite doctrine of beliefs?
I am settled. This morning in Ivan’s arms he told me I was a little bird that fit perfectly in its nest. (He says this was NOT a gentle allusion to the “strange bird” comment, which he thought very funny.)
Sometimes I look back on old pictures of myself, when I was in my early twenties, maybe, and think, “She was beautiful. She was beautiful and why did she not see it?”
All those years, I thought I was not beautiful, but an odd duck–the slightly more mean-sounding idiom my dad used about someone who just didn’t fit in, someone whose thoughts or the way they dressed or carried themselves marked them as idiosyncratic.
Of course, my dad never called ME an odd duck. He loved me as only a big-hearted father can love a daughter, but I also wasted years imagining he was critical or at least slightly despairing. I was too fat (ridiculous thought, looking at old pictures of my thin-wristed self), too round-faced, too clumsy, too shy, too awkward, too everything that was not graceful, beautiful, and womanly.
Annalise looks like me. She is not an exact replica; she carries some of Ivan, too, but my mom tells me often in this picture or that picture, “Oh, she looks so much like you at that age.” The same small mouth, the same button nose. She has a tendency to not look where she’s going and walk into walls. I still do that. I rescued her just yesterday from a tumble down the stairs; she was walking straight toward it while looking back over her shoulder. I predict for her a future of many dreams, stories, and broken plates, unless her Ivan-genes rescue her.
To my eyes, Annalise is perfect. Every feature, every personality trait. Her quick sense of humor, love of hugs, small mouth and big emotion. I see her walk, fall, stand and brush dirt from her hands, and I think about the dignity she carries. It is a thing so big on her small body you can almost see it physically.
The dignity of a human being. We all carry it.
I think that when I was born and as I grew, my mom felt about me the same way I feel about Annalise. That I was perfect. And yet, though I had no doubt she loved me, through many of my younger years, I carried an unspoken and mostly unconscious assumption that she’d had to “accept” me as I was, that I wasn’t as naturally cute or desirable as my dark-haired older sisters. (I lost my hair and was bald for part of my babyhood, and then it came in light brown in winters and blonde in summers, like Annalise’s is now.)
If I am a bit of an odd duck, I blame it on the Miller genes I inherited from my dad. His side of the family is a bit quirky. Somebody told me once how when they ate a meal with my dad’s family, my Grandma Miller handed around a head of lettuce with a knife, so everyone could cut their own. I don’t remember if this was a last-minute measure after the salad bowl got empty, or if this was how salad was served. Regardless, it is not the typical method of serving a salad, but I can easily imagine my Grandma Miller doing it. She was a practical woman. Millers are also intellectual-ly, with a habit of asking existential questions that throw shadows of unnecessary trouble across their lives. My mom’s side of the family, the Martins, appear to me to keep their minds more or less occupied with things that actually matter, like clothes, food, prayer and Bible reading, and social interactions. (I am not placing either family in a box, just recording general impressions.)
I was just thinking about my dad the other day, how he spent so much time and energy teaching us the importance of fitting in, while doing just the opposite. He never really “fit in.” His words were too honest, his thoughts too wide ranging and elusive, his tastes too introspective and retiring to make a boilerplate Mennonite pastor. He raised a passel of children like himself, who mostly keep their own counsel and avoid conflict where possible. But sometimes, in spite of our strong desire to fit in and remain unnoticed, some of us are driven to stand on a platform and share honest parts of ourselves, honest words. There is no reason we should share them. We are not bold. We are not world changers. We are the quiet in the land. But the words want to come out.
Maybe none of us can really remake ourselves for society. We is what we is.
I don’t suppose anyone is really boilerplate. We are always looking at other people and imagining they are the typical, stable, and sane. (Or maybe some people feel they themselves are the typical, stable, and sane ones. How would I know?)
But whether boilerplate or strange bird, here’s what I want you to remember. When God looks at you, he sees a “perfect” human being birthed in his image: the same quirks, the same mannerisms, the same huge emotions, the same pining for truth, goodness, and love. The same immense dignity, big on your body. Be aware of these things. There is no use, twenty years from now, in looking back on old pictures and thinking, “You know, I was beautiful, and God must have loved me.”
No use in wasting these years.
Lucinda, I absolutely love your humorous, brutal honesty
Wow, I can definitely relate to what you’re saying here. My life has gotten somewhat less stressful after I embraced the idea that to most people I’ll probably always be a strange bird.
My daughter was just telling me today she wants me to be a normal mom.😄 I do act rather crazy around my kids at times and also I snort sometimes when I laugh even around other people. Apparently this can be slightly embarrassing to her. And to think she hasn’t even hit the teens yet.. You know what they say, “normal is just a setting on your dryer.”
Lol. I have gone through snorting stages so I know the feeling. Love the dryer saying.
Your wisdom is beyond your years. This is what we all realize sooner or later, if we are honest. All of us are somewhat strange ducks, are insecure, and think we don’t measure up to those around us. Then you get old and you no longer care. Or at least, you feel more comfortable in your skin and can accept all your quirks for who you really are. Someone once said, when you are young you worry about what others think of you until you realize, others rarely think of you.
Yes! A lot of truth in that.
This is beautifully written. How much time do we waste worrying about outward things! God created each of us so we are perfect in His eyes. Thank you for this. I will refer back to it when I feel “less”.
Reminds me of a question Stan asks around here sometimes…Who decides what is normal? Such good thoughts here!
That’s a good question. Thanks. ☺️
I loved this! You’ve got some really good words for us… So much here I can relate to. Thanks for reminding me of what is true.
“Tacky was an odd bird, but a nice bird to have around.”
“Too clumsy, too shy, too awkward, too everything that was not graceful, beautiful, and womanly.” All right, who told you about me? ;) Because those are words that I have used to describe myself — more in my teen years, but even now I have to battle the shy-and-awkward-and-therefore-undesirable lies. So, thank you for sharing. It was an encouragement to me (and probably many others like me)!
I love this blog post. Very relatable. But even more as I’m older I feel less loveable but also maybe more accepting of myself…. I too wish I would not have wasted years of thinking I wasn’t good enough 😕. Xoxxo
This is so good! We spend so much energy worrying and trying to fit it to what we think is ‘normal. And I think most other people are doing the same. I would like to embrace my ‘differentness’. If everyone acted ‘normal all the time, it would be boring, anyway, right? You put into words so well what you feel about your daughter, quirks and all. How can we help our children realize our love, and embrace who they are?
Ivan asked a similar question. I suppose most adolescents go through a period of uncertainty… it’s part of growing up. But maybe accepting ourselves and accepting others for who we are can help them to internalize that everyone is beautiful?
How susceptible we are to the Devil as we listen to his words, “We aren’t good enough. We aren’t pretty enough. My nose is too big. My body is too big.”?
All those things are such lies. Who are we to decide that what God made isn’t perfect? Who are we to decide that God was wrong?
Some things are just wrong and need to be called out as such. Human beings are always sinful, as we are children in a world we don’t understand. So we can’t trust other human beings as we can trust God.
God made you.
God made you good.
Relax, rejoice and be glad in that and be glad in Him.
Go to church. Try to be nice. Try to take care of yourself and take care of others. Use your time on this earth to make things to sell and to give away to those around you.
Try to stay away from the thinking that you can improve on that without God.
Such good truths, so well spoken. Loved the description of your Dad.
Those last two sentences were powerful! I’m teary eyed now… thanks for the good dig of food for thought.
Even though I am old enough to be your mother I can so relate to this. It seems age does not rule when it comes to feeling different from those around you.
I’ve always felt like the odd man out. The quirky wallflower of the family.
Reading your blog showed me I’m not the only one be who feels this way and it’s nice to have some company!!!!!
Its a good reminder that we are “wonderfully made” and that God knows what he is doing. Life would be a bit boring if we were all the same.
Thank you Lucinda for being so open and honest.
Thank you Pam, it’s good to hear from you again. :)