Crying after the Trunk or Treat

Last week we had a trunk or treat at my church.  Everyone dressed up in costumes and we ate chili dogs and salad.  There was a fun carnival, and face painting, and friends.  My family dressed up as characters from Peter Pan.  My baby was Peter. My two year old was the most lovely Tink ever to walk the cultural hall floors. My five year old was the politically incorrect Indian girl, Tiger Lily.  My six year old was Wendy Darling, and she kept forgetting who she was in her blue dress and curly pony tail. Ian was Captain Hook, or at least some sort of pirate.  I was an anorexic Smee. (My costume didn't get as much attention as the other ones, so...no stuffed belly). It made all my family themed costume dreams come true. Overall, I had a great time with friends.  My girls loved filling their bags with candy.   

But, something bad happened at the party. 

I was in line getting my chili dog, holding my baby in one arm, carrying a paper plate with my other hand, and helping my two bigger girls fish hot dogs out of turkey roasters with white handled tongs. Someone standing behind me in line looked across the cultural hall and saw a couple, and then offhandedly commented on the husband. 

"He is a know it all.  He always makes comments in class like he knows everything. A know it all."

I don't think either of them thought much more about it. The words were said. The judgement made. Just a simple thing to say while waiting to put cheese on chili dogs.

My heart fell, and is still falling. 

The comment was directed towards a teenage girl, about this man. The man who was targetted, the adult making the comment, and the teenager had never had any direct contact. Perhaps they never will. Why would they?  Who wants to talk to a know it all?

I said nothing. Nothing. I felt many, many things.

I had my excuses.  I don't know the adult making the comment.  I didn't want to start a relationship off by being critical of a conversation between a parent and their teenage child. I was busy with my children, feeling a little overwhelmed at filling their plates.  I didn't want to hold up the efficiency of the line.
Silly little excuses.

I had a friend in high school.  We were never very close, but we were friends. We would smile at each other.  Once, we went to a movie with a group of girls. She had beautiful, brown, shimmering hair.  We had freshman English together.  I remember looking at her lovely, lovely hair while listening to Mr. Bowen read Old Man in the Sea. It was hard to stay awake. Somewhere between drifting in and out of consciousness, the old man and the giant fish, and Mr. Bowen's voice, was that gorgeous brown hair. Sometimes it was curled, sometimes it was just straight down her back. People were mean to her. Said mean things. Weren't forgiving of her mistakes.  It would have been so easy for me to target her.   Maybe call her a know it all, or worse. 

I saw her recently. 

I sat towards the back, and I was looking at the back of her head, my four children in tow. My two year old was having a particularly difficult time, and my baby only wanted me.  My two big girls were not enthusiastic about being in church on a Saturday.  But, I wanted to be there. I needed to see it. Her hair  was twisted and curled today. The speakers were talking to her.  It was her baptism.  Her four children and husband were on the row beside her.

Holding my baby in my arm,  I watched her husband and her, both dressed in white, enter into the warm water up to their bellies.  The children, hers, mine, and others, were close to the glass as they pressed their faces forward. Her husband raised his hand speaking words in a prayer, then dipped his wife into the water completely.  Washing away every imperfection and leaving them there, in the water. Her children and mine touched elbows as they watched her go down in the water, and come out with water dripping from her perfect brown hair.

We are all here together. People. Children of God. Trying so hard to make it through life, connecting and disconnecting as we go. The strings of our lives wrapping around each other and pulling and pushing.  Some of those strings bring us closer to Gods love, and some cut us, distracting us from who we are.   

I wish I could would have said something in my Smee costume near the chili dogs. Something like,"I love those comments, they have changed me for the better." Or maybe," I know a little bit about that man. He speaks in class because he is trying to stretch himself.  He is actually very shy and would rather sit quietly." Or, "You don't realize, but your comment will be a cause of many tears of confusion for me over the next few days. It isn't all your fault. It is hard to know people we have never talked to. However, the unkindness I've heard at the place I go for refuge will cause me inexplicable sadness." 

When I was in high school, I lived in a bubble.  I didn't see the people around me.  I would do it differently. And maybe seen the potential of the girl with beautiful brown hair, and others.  Seen them more how God sees them. Not as cheerleaders, or nerds, or potheads. But, people, all of our strings wrapped together.

I wish I could have seen how we are all the same, wearing different costumes.