Sometimes I wonder if I say too much in my blog posts. This time is one of them, but here I go…
Recently, a loved one recommended that she thought I would be a good fit to be matched romantically with a man of a certain stature. My first response was a school-girl giggle, and a shake of the shoulders reminiscent of Tamar Braxton. My second, and shocking internal response was the silent utterance of the words “But I’m not his type.” Mind you, I’ve never met this man and had no idea at that time why that thought came to mind, but sure as Christmas always comes on December 25 that thought came.
This morning in the shower I had a talk with myself asking why I thought I wasn’t his type. Again, I’ve never met him before. Would I ever want my nieces to grow up to think they aren’t a man’s type? Would I ever want my amazing teens at Woodlawn High to think they aren’t a boy’s type? No. There are some things in my health and physical life that I want to be better. That’s just the bottom line. Some of it is my fault , and I will be the absolute first to say that. Pray for me. Some of it happened at no fault of my own (check my testimony), and I believe I have been lingering in a little state of “I can’t believe that happened to me and I’m still not sure I’m pleased about what it left behind” and had somehow gotten stuck after my healing, but not being brave enough and dedicated enough to move to the point of “let’s get this show in shape and back on the road”. So, there I was, in the shower dissecting myself, thinking about why I thought I wouldn’t be someone’s type and simultaneously waiting for some swift word from God to get me back on track. And sure enough, it came, just like Christmas always comes on December 25.
Here’s what I now know. There is a difference in disliking who we are and wanting to improve how we are. Simple and plain. I believe that like me, many have double-dutched back and forward with the temptation of actually looking at who we are and not liking what looks back. I believe at times, we’ve contemplated listening to the wicked whispers which dare us to tear ourselves down with words (spoken and unspoken) that destroy the very essence of who we are. That’s the wrong way of being and seeing. Simple and plain. I now, decide to see what is as it is, embrace it, and work to enhance it, but I should never dislike something that houses all of the best of God’s presence in me.
Am I “his” type? Who knows. I’ll let you know if I ever have a chance to find out. In the meantime, I’m going to continue to work on Angela from the inside out knowing that, while I’m absolutely not perfect there are parts of me which are pretty darn spectacular (to know acclaim of my own), and the other parts will either become better or just continue to be ME.