This weekend my three year old daughter came downstairs with an impish grin on her face. It was half-mischievous, half-elated. A closer look revealed a pile of glitter in her hair. I sighed… and smiled. I asked her why she did that, and she put her hands out dramatically to the sides like she was about to run through a field of flowers, and answered, “Because its fwetty. And it’s beau-ful.” I grinned and told her that yes, it was. I made her run in the grass and shake as much of it off as she could. Todd comes outside and says, “If you think that’s bad, you need to go look upstairs.” His tone made me stop in my tracks. I already knew I was going to walk up to a disaster, but how was I going to handle it? I decided right then and there to give grace. Before she even knew she needed it.
You ever hear those crazy sayings about unicorns farting glitter? Well, now you have. My house looked like a herd of unicorns came through. Every single room. An empty glitter container on a bookshelf. Apparently a two inch tall container with 2 ounces of glitter equals approximately 3,092,834,091,341,092,834,049 teenie tiny sparkly silver pieces of unicorn dust. It was everywhere. Every surface. Across the entire carpet. Between the sheets. Blanketing every toy. Across window sills. In the bathroom, floating in the toilet. Up every step. I took it all in, and just laughed. Every time I found more piles- yes, piles– I laughed harder. I grabbed the vacuum and started the arduous task of cleaning up the herpes of crafting supplies, and I looked over to see my daughter with a fistful of clovers, dancing and twirling in her piles of glitter with a football helmet on. She was in her own world. I thought to myself, I love her so much it hurts. We left a bit later to run some errands, and every step she took, glitter sprinkled all around her, falling from her hair. What three year old girl wouldn’t love that? That’s Disney Princess status right there.
This little girl. In the last few days she has doused our house in glitter, drawn on cabinets with a pen, colored on the stainless fridge with an entire tube of chapstick, colored her face and paper with my eye shadow, scraped out my blush onto the carpet, drawn on the couch with a banana, and painted the carpeted steps with (blue!) nail polish. She is crazy. She makes me cuss and she makes me laugh. She fascinates me. I hope she never changes, not one single solitary bit.
Do I condone throwing glitter around (the week we are moving out. #sorrynotsorry about the glitter, buyers.)? No. Do I love cleaning up her messes? HARDLY. But I do always want to encourage her to be herself. To let her know I see her crazy, and I love her crazy. That its okay to be crazy. Not only is it okay, it is life-giving to be real, to be genuine. I want her to always feel safe and secure being herself.
But why. Why do I love her crazy.
Because she’s me.
I have always been silly and crazy. But it took me until a few years ago to accept it and stop wishing it away. I never felt comfortable in my own personality. I listened too much to other people, and held tightly to their words. I had a hard time meshing godliness and goofiness. They seemed like two total opposites that couldn’t have anything to do with each other. I had to pick one or the other. I would be silly with my closest friends and family, because I felt safe with them. They know my heart and they know I love Jesus, but cuss sometimes. But elsewhere, I would tuck the silly away, and pull out the gentle and quiet spirit that I felt was expected of a mother of four, church-going woman. Sure, I had a sense of humor. But I toned it way down. I wouldn’t want people to think I’m immature. I already look 12, I don’t want them to think I act 12. I struggled. And finally, a few years ago, it clicked.
Silliness is a personality trait, and godliness is a character trait. The reason I struggled so badly trying to separate the two is because God made me that way. I was fighting who I am. Who God made me to be. Why in the world would I try to mask or change who I am? Once I realized this, I accepted who I am. Not only that, I loved who I am. Not in an arrogant, cocky, or self-righteous way. But in a way that I have found so much joy in being real. Being genuine. Being original. If God wanted me to be like everyone else, He would have made me like everyone else. But He didn’t. He didn’t make anyone like anyone else.
This truth broke down walls in my own heart toward not only myself, but toward others. It showed me where I was judgmental and self-righteous. Learning to love how God made me helped me learn to love others how He made them, too. It’s how I learned to love people who have entirely different beliefs than I do. I may roll my eyes at your Bernie Sanders bumper sticker, but I’m actually more likely to assess your parking job than anything. I’ll hold the door for you at the grocery store, and talk to your baby. And you’ll probably be one of the nicest people I have ever met. I don’t care who you vote for. You have a Darwin fish on your car? Okay, so you don’t believe in Creationism. Wanna go grab coffee together? Let’s do it. You be you, I’ll be me. Just don’t judge me for my grande caramel macchiato with extra whip (yes. I know it doesn’t come with whip and I have to ask for it extra. this is where that not judging part comes in.) One of my favorite pinterest quotes is “Look, I don’t care what religion you are as long as you use your blinker.” I could put that on a shirt.
I’m silly. I look for the humor in just about everything. If you don’t believe me, read my last post where I planned my own funeral, complete with bouncers and Justin Timberlake. Humor and silliness is just as much a part of me as my love for Jesus. When they go hand-in-hand, you get the real Emily. When you get the real Emily, you get a safe place. I love reading the Bible and learning more about God, just as much as I love hopping into a grocery cart and flying around the store with my BFF Christine, talking like Bon Qui Qui and telling the clerk she’s trying to steal Rolos after I shove a pack down her shirt.
Whoever you are… be you. If you are an introvert and don’t like crowds or attention- that’s awesome.Be comfortable being you. If you are a nerd and love math and drink green tea- go for it. If you are an atheist and like to run marathons and only drink black coffee- be you. If you love Jesus and wear pj pants to the store and have Bachelorette viewing parties (looking at you, half of PBC ladies. Solidarity, sisters. See ya tonight.)- own it. If you work out five times a week and eat kale and actually enjoy it- more power to you. Whoever you are, just be you. Don’t force your beliefs or non-beliefs on anyone else. Whether its Jesus or black coffee. Don’t go there. If your friend wants to try black coffee, they’ll come to you. If your friend wants to try Jesus, they will come to you. Be you, and let be others themselves. How boring would it be if we were all alike? Genuine people attract other genuine people. Whether you seem to “go together” or not. Whatever your “glitter” is… leave a little sparkle wherever you go.
Now, for another round of vacuuming. I think my Dyson has met it’s match.