Wrinkles In White Blouses

It started more than 20 years ago. I was non-existent, but God decided that should change. I don’t know why but for whatever reason, He wanted me in His story.

From the start of my beating heart to the formation of little toes and fingers, God molded me exactly how He wanted me.

He breathed life into my lungs and filled my soul with who He wanted me to be; He filled me with Amanda, meaning “worthy of love”. I like to think that He gave me that name because He knew I’d need to be reminded that He died for me, believing that I am worthy of love.

And you know what? If He can love me this much, believe me, He loves you too. So, so much. 🙂

This is the God who would even love the Joker. Now that’s legit!

Getting off that rabbit trail, if we fast-forward 20+ years we’ll see this same little piece of God’s handiwork (hi) in the middle of a laundry department, allowing lies to become greater than truth.

It was the blouse that needed special attention being handed to a co-worker.

It was the cargo pockets that wouldn’t settle perfectly during a personal battle of “who can  iron the best”.

It was the hour and a half plus that it took to finish the mangling. Some things just take time?

It was the white blouse that kept crinkling, despite attempts at perfection.

Most importantly, it was the criticism of me that convinced me that my coworkers were being favored while I was being stepped on.

It was these few little things that sent me flying over the edge of sanity into a sea of jealousy and great feelings of injustice.

…I really need to work on this pride thing…

Between the loud hum of machinery and the lies swarming in my head, it’s a miracle I didn’t go crazy. (No comments from the peanut gallery!)

You’ve been here longer; you should be the favorite. 

Maybe if I just…go more slowly…pay more attention…what the heck do they do differently anyway?! They’re no better than me. Right? Right.

No, no. I’ll just shut up and not talk anymore. That’ll show ’em. Yeah.

But in the end…we are talking ironing here. I know. But I’m a girl. This is just how we roll, man. Don’t harsh the mellow.

Furthermore, this comparison game is no good. Everybody is different.

Some are itty bitty. Some are medium-sized.

And some, such as myself, come in more of a Venti size. With extra whipped cream. If you catch my drift. *cough*

There are blondes and brunettes and red-heads and uh…black-heads. See what I did there?

And yeah, some iron better than others. That’s OK.

Because God created you for a purpose. And that purpose may not be tied into beauty or intelligence or great talent or anything like that. Heck, you may even stink at ironing.  It’s OK.

I will never be the gorgeous intellect that is my bestie, Meredith.

I will never be the athletic, smart, weirdo that is my lovely Jaclyn.

I will never be the beautiful crazy that is my friend, Eddie.

I will never be the down-to-earth, independent, caring person that is my friend, Katelyn.

I will never be my sweet, hilarious, crazy-eyed sister, Abby.

I will never be my cool, movie-staresque, passionate brother, Anthony.

I will never know history like my dad.

I will never have my mother’s strength or patience.

I am Amanda Lee Russell, hand-crafted by God and loved just like anyone else. I have my quirks, but I know God is getting right on that.

Get it? So back off, haters!


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