She couldn’t be missed. No, I’m serious, she couldn’t be missed. In a neon purple shirt and green capris that looked like they belonged in a blacklight arcade, my siblings and I were absolutely sure we had met Barney – and at the Grand Canyon no less! We inconspicuously collected pictures of this unassuming foreign tourist via a few strategically placed “scenery” shots. Barney had made my day. Little did I know, though, that this joke would come back to bite me in the bum.
To be honest, I could care less about fashion. You’ll never see my wardrobe on the cover of Vogue or anywhere in that near vicinity. However, even with my lack of fashion prowess, I guess I might still be able to fall into the “acceptable” category as far as societal norms are concerned. (This I assume only because I’ve taken my share of infatuated Abercrombie/Aero/AE 7th graders to the mall and they’ve yet to run screaming from my presence. Oh, and on multiple occasions I’ve had people tell me I don’t dress “Like a homeschooler” whatever the heck that means…)
Why anyone would spend $70 on a pair of jeans continues to blow my mind. I prefer to create my wardrobe from thrift stores, clearance racks, antique shops, and random things I find at garage sales. My sister likes to classify my clothing. She labels it with things like, “Oh, that’s…unique,” or “That’s…interesting” or better yet, “Holy, that thing looks like it dropped out of a dumpster in the 60’s!”
Oh well. I suppose I’m used to being looked at oddly. In fact it was just a few days ago a guy friend of mine proclaimed, “Wow Heidi Benson, there is something wrong with you. If we looked up the word ‘abnormal’ in the dictionary, your picture would probably be there.”
My response is always the same. “Tell me again who makes up these ‘normalcy standards’ in the first place?” …Anyway, back to Barney. I have this purple shirt. I like this purple shirt. Granted, it is a little on non-standard side, but I still like it.
So I wear this shirt one day while I’m working with about 75 missionary kids. All is well until this little 5-year-old girl decides she must speak her mind. “Miss Heidi, you look like Barney…hahaha!!!”
I grin and say thanks, because what else do you do when a 5-year-old tells you look like Barney? Hmm? Ever been in that situation? Thought not. She goes on to tell me this throughout the day; after class, during lunch (where her mom gives an apologetic smile and tries to shut up the little chatter box.) I love it though. Just like the tourist lady, I guess I’ve got a little bit of Barney in me too.
Thankfully, God can use a girl who at 17 has probably made more fashion faux pas then some people make in a lifetime. Unlike America’s Next Top Model, God takes all types: the prep with the Rolex watch to boot, the skinny rag tag nerd, the smelly fisherman, the greatest king, and yes, He can even use girls like me who on occasion look like they got stuck in the wrong decade (or century for that matter.)
This is just one of many reasons my God never ceases to amaze me. The hippie, the gangster, the president of the country club, the orphaned child, the jocks, the Goths, the skater boys, the electrician, the lesbian, veterinarian, and even the cantankerous old guy in the nursing home. God loves them all the same.
I’d be the first to admit that I have my fair share of complications, quirks, and abnormalities. Yet the more I come to understand and know my God, the more I smile when people look at me strangely, tell me I’m weird, ignore me all together, or even call me Barney.
As ironic as it may seem, God often chooses the misfits, the outcasts, and the rejects to work through for His glorification. “God chose the foolish things of this world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of this world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the things that are.” (1Cor. 1:27)
I was recently asked how I manage to consistently exude confidence. The answer to that is pretty simple… I’ve given up trying to maintain a good personal self-image. My security is no longer comprised of what people say about me, what I look like, wear, or even how I feel on a particular day. I’ve found my confidence in a source much greater than any label a designer could possibly slap on a piece of clothing. My confidence comes from the One who created the universe just by speaking.
So as crazy as this may sound, I rejoice in my oftentimes whacked out ways. Besides, observing and on occasion being grouped with one of the “abnormals,” “misfits,” and “oddlies” actually has its advantages… (How else would I constantly find interesting things to write about?) ;)
