This past Sunday night I was the only one on the street who had my trash can out in front of the house for the Monday collection. I just now checked the calendar and it doesn’t seem to be a holiday. I know there was talk of a couple of inches of snow for that day, but a couple of inches was all we got and it was quite manageable. I wouldn’t think city services would be canceled.
For the 27 years I have lived here, I am always the one whose rubbish stands alone on the curb when everybody else knew the next day was a holiday. I am amazed at how the rest of the world is so well informed, and when this happens I get that same old feeling I got the summer between first and second grade when I boarded the wrong bus after camp and no one else did. I am still perplexed at how those other 6-year-olds were on their game.
There were 60 kids in the third grade at my Catholic elementary school. Ten rows of six. But when we learned the song “The Man in the Moon” (to which I still remember all the lyrics), Soeur Ange Marie suggested the class dedicate it to me. So they all looked at me and giggled as they sang.
In the eighth grade I swear I didn’t hear when Sister Irene said not to pass the test papers back until she said so. I was in the first seat of a middle row, and Pauline was in the first seat of the adjacent row. Pauline asked me for a pencil and I suspect that’s when the instructions were given. Sister Irene placed a stack of papers, face down, on my desk, and I reflexively scooped them up. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I saw a raised hand on my right side that swiftly landed on my cheek, followed by a steely blue-eyed stare.
All of which is to say that the devil has history on his side when he tells me I’m inferior. But history or no history, God tells us in His Word that we are His children and full of potential because His Spirit is in us (1 Corinthians 3:16). So much of self-image as we walk out the door each day depends on whose voice we listen to.