What's My Line?

When I was young, we moved a lot...no, really...A LOT. It never felt traumatic to me, although I suppose moving a lot has its effect on most everyone.

Nonetheless, I saw it as an opportunity to meet new friends and write letters to my old ones. ...and I did.

This scenario needs to be set up at this point by telling about my first impression of "the big city" we were moving to.

When we first moved to the Reno area, we stayed at some people's house that were in the church where my Dad was going to Pastor.

The woman, Carol, was a school teacher and a very kind and beautiful woman. As we sat at their dinner table, I would listen to the adults talk and rarely spoke. We knew our manners.

Carol talked about how other kids made fun of Christian kids at school and bullied them. Nobody knew that what was being said at that table, struck fear into a little 4th grade girl's heart as she hung onto every word and silently determined that no one would know that she was from a Christian family NOR would they know that her Dad was a Pastor!

Back up a little: In the first part of 4th grade I attended a three room schoolhouse (makes me sound ancient) in North Howell, Oregon. Miss Zumstein was the meanest teacher I ever had. She was mean to the weakest and had 'pets' that got to do everything. She was mean to me in math and I felt dumb. She had a way of making a student feel small and stupid. I knew I was not small and stupid! My mother never told me that I was small or stupid. So I figured "Miss Frankenstein" as we fondly called her, was just plain mean. And, for some reason, I didn't allow her to pin this identity on me.

It wasn't until after we moved to Sparks, Nevada and I was in Miss Picci's class at Florence Drake Elementary School, that I realized that the reason I seemed dumb in math is because I couldn't see the chalkboard and needed glasses! The planets aligned and my whole life took on so much COLOR! I could see, and didn't even know I couldn't until I could! I loved Miss Picci and I loved school.

In 5th grade, Mrs. Woody was the best teacher ever! I was at the height of loving life. I was the president of our "Rat Fink's Club" AND our "Monkees Fan Club" and my very best friend at school, Lisa Fuller, sat next to me in class. We made and sold Monkees "postage stamps" and told people they could not pass notes unless they had our stamps.

I was enjoying my identity as club president and best friend of Lisa Fuller.

...until one day in English class, we were learning about abbreviations. Mrs. Woody was asking Kristina G. what her father's abbreviation was - Dr. for Doctor, and so on.

I suddenly felt a tunnel vision and my world going dark with the terror of knowing that Mrs. Woody would call on me...and she did.

{Mind you, I had so very carefully protected my identity and the abbreviation of my father's occupation. I did not want to be one of those kids that were made fun of for being a Christian...no siree...not me!}

"Cindie, what is YOUR father's abbreviation?" I had a terrified, about-to-throw-up feeling. Every one in the classroom was staring at me.

I bravely answered, "..I...I don't know..."

After trying to get me to figure it out, she said the dreaded, "R-E-V, REVEREND - that is the abbreviation for Reverend." At which time, Lisa Fuller, an Episcopalian, turned to me with disbelief and said, "NO! NO! I didn't know that! Why didn't you tell me?! I just mumbled some stupid words about not really knowing.

The scene just went black after that. All I know is it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

And it was all because I didn't want an identity that was mine, for fear of what people would think.

It turned out that it was not a big deal, Lisa Fuller was still my best friend, the Monkees Fan Club and Rat Fink Club lived on and I even went steady with Randy Blackwell for two weeks...identity and all!

When Peter came to visit this past weekend, he spoke some very wise words about identity. I think we were talking about our identity as Christ-followers, etc. He said that we don't have an identity unless we are in community with others. Our identity comes from the way others reflect us.

I will probably write more about this subject because it is one of the things I am personally dealing with right now.

But for now, identify me with a HAPPY HEART!