Identity Crisis

I recently saw a young couple out in public who were practically sniffing each other's butts while the rest of the world tried to divert their attention elsewhere. Her skirt was just three ruffles barely covering her woman-hood and his swagger could only be interpreted by other card carrying members of his club- the "Ya, I Hit That" club.

My face squished up like I just smelled spoiled milk as they walked by. I damned their future marriage by yelling at them [in my head] "Your sex life is gonna suck when you get married because you didn't wait" And I tried calculating what their grades could be in school if they spent half the time they used to properly groom themselves for eachother [leg waxes, blow drying, make up, nether region waxes] to study. I'm pretty sure I even figured out how much money she could donate to her school's chapter of FCA if she stopped buying birth control.

In a whole 15 seconds this couple had been analyzed and taken down by a babywearing, holier than thou, judging bitch. Said judging bitch being me.

Just as this couple was oblivious to my judgement [hopefully] they were also oblivious to the fact that three and a half years ago I was sitting on a bus in Austin physically praying to God that I would get to make-out with Eamon before I had to go back to Kerrville. They had no idea I had been prancing around Austin in the most flattering sundress I could borrow with one hand in Eamon's back pocket or a finger looped through on of his belt loops while my other hand shook out my hair to keep the city air from ruining my curls. I hung on his every word like his description of the WOW battle from the night before was written by Shakespeare himself. I was not concerned with running into Target as quickly as I could as to not wake my baby or worried about whether or not I put the chicken in the fridge to thaw. My only care in the world was "Is my eyeliner running?" and "How do I get him to ask me?"

As they walked into the parking lot, not breaking eye contact with each other to check for traffic, I felt like a dirty jerk, and jealous. But what was I going to do? Run after them and say "Hey I totally just called you a slut in my head, young lady. And you sir, I berated you for telling all of your friends what her boobs feel like. I'm so sorry, will you forgive me? I swear we're not that different."? Honestly, yes. I bet Apostle Paul would. Homeboy kinda set that bar high for the rest of us. 

I went into the store mindlessly putting the items on my list in my basket, intermittently "Shhhshh"ing Norah whether she was making a peep or not. Who the hell am I to think, not even say, but THINK those things about those kids? Who am I to think God judges anyone like the way I just did? Who am I to lose the passion I had for God that would put these two love birds to shame? Who am I to neglect the giddiness that I used to allow myself to feel for my husband?

Most days I think I've pretty much got it figured out, but truth be told I'm not really sure who I am, or who I'll be. This is me asking Jesus to break down that judging bitch, That passionless person, that potty-mouthed individual to build up someone fit to bring into His kingdom. Join me.

Here are two other [quite adorable] ladies I'm praying he's tearing down and building up too ;]

Happy Tuesday,

Mae