I spent a few hours with some teenaged girls this week. I eavesdropped on their excited chatter as we headed home, me in the driver’s seat, them scattered behind me in the van. A surprise awaited them, and all their focus was on what to wear. Four of the five wanted to wear dresses. The lone jeans fan distressed herself over the possibility of being different. She really didn’t want to wear a dress, but couldn’t convince any of the others to join her on Team Jeans.
Finally, I couldn’t hold back. “Wear what you want! Be brave.” I pictured five sets of eyes glancing my way.
The momentary silence quickly dispersed, and they resumed their conversation as if I had not spoken. I shook my head. I’ve forgotten how difficult it is to be different, to stand out when you’re that age.
Occasionally, a brave soul appears, determined to be that mythical drummer following her own beat. A memory surfaced from my first few years of teaching at Burleson High School. Shelby definitely bucked the routine and normal. Here is a story from 2003,
A small sigh of relief escapes. It’s 4:05, and my day is about to be kid-free. I sit at my laptop to check email. Behind me, my class is noisy with chatter and laughter as the kids wind down. Anticipation of the 4:15 bell frees them from the strictures of the school day, and they’re getting loud. I don’t listen to anything in particular. It’s the background noise of my professional life. Without warning, a single phrase lifts itself from the general clutter of noise and shoots into my ear like an arrow.
“Did you sniff my head?”
Hmm. That sounded like Shelby. Staring at my computer screen, I mentally rewind that, sifting through my vocabulary to find a set of five words that sounds like “Did you sniff my head?” without actually being the five words “Did you sniff my head?” My cranial magnifying glass waves back and forth across my brain but comes up short. No files found. What did she say?
I swivel around in my chair and look. Sure enough, Shelby is perched in a desk near mine. She sits sideways in her chair with one knee pulled to her chest, held close by one curved arm, the other foot tucked underneath her. She looks to the right at Jordan, who sits behind her. I assume he is the recipient of the question.
Jordan slouches comfortably in his chair, his long feet propped heavily on the wire basket under Shelby’s seat, his hands lying relaxed on the top of his desk. He stares at Shelby with an uncomprehending look in his eyes. Matt sits one row over, watching this exchange. He has a tiny frown line between his eyes. I catch his eye when I turn, but I hide my smile.
I look at Shelby. “Did you just say, ‘Did you smell my head?’” I speak slowly, enunciating my words with care so there is no chance for mistake.
“Yes.” Her answer is cheerful. “I smell heads when I sit behind people. I just lean forward and sniff.” She demonstrates for us with the empty air of the unoccupied desk in front of her, her pert nose sniffing daintily. The three of us stare.
“I sniffed Matt’s head when he sat in front of me.” Her voice is bright, happy.
Matt’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. Would a person, I wonder, notice if someone behind him leaned forward and sniffed his head? Unless he had very sensitive hair follicles that would register that small tug of air, probably not. Matt wears his hair short and tidy. It’s not like there’s a lot of hair to disturb.
Jordan has still not said a word, but he is now looking at Shelby with interest.
“Well, I guess people’s heads smell pretty good.” I try to inject normalcy into this bizarre conversation. I picture the fruity concoctions of shampoo and conditioners in my shower. Bottles with names like Chamomile-Lemon and Ginger-Papaya. My efforts are shot down.
“Matt’s head didn’t.” Shelby doesn’t miss a beat. Matt’s eyes widen even further. I can practically see the thoughts racing through his mind.
My head doesn’t smell good? What does my head smell like?
Eww. What does Matt’s head smell like? A mental picture of sweaty fifth-graders comes to mind. Eww.
Still trying gamely to rescue the conversation and now Matt, I try once again to make this sound like a conversation I’ve had before.
“Well, Shelby, that sounds like…” I try to think of what sniffing people’s heads sounds like. Odd? Weird? Bizarre?
Animals pops out before I can stop it. “It sounds like what animals do.”
Arrgh! I give myself a mental slap to the forehead. That’s not the effect I was going for in my rescue. I picture the exuberant greeting my dogs give me when I come home, sniffing my legs and my shoes to discover where I’ve been that day and to find out what other dogs I’ve cheated on them with. Then my mind takes the animal sniffing picture one step further. Suddenly, I’m horrified that the three of them may be thinking the same thing that I am thinking, and I realize my efforts to save this conversation are falling wildly short.
Jordan, I notice through my consternation, has wisely still not said a word.
Thankfully, at that moment, the final bell rings.
Shelby stands with fluid grace. Her bright red canvas high-tops peek out from underneath the legs of her jeans. Her silky, long, navy blue scarf covered in white polka dots flows over her shoulder from where it’s wound loosely around her neck.
“’Bye, Mrs. Peckham!” She sails from the room with a cheery farewell.
Jordan, who has never taken his eyes from Shelby’s face throughout the entire conversation, also stands and heads out, shaking his head silently, smiling at the floor.
Matt leaves with a frown on his face. I wonder if he’ll figure out a way to sniff his head that night, to be sure about how it smells. I manage to wait for the room to empty before I laugh.
What, I wonder, do I miss hearing each day?
I’m sure God sends me messages every day, messages I don’t pick up. What a loss.
How can we ensure our lines of communication are open? How do we keep the line from being busy when He calls?
I think a good way to clear the obstructions is to start the day with prayer. Quiet time with God sets the tone for the day, reestablishes the connection. Plus, it puts us in a frame of mind to listen, to actively search for the messages He sends.
I don’t want to miss God’s call. I imagine my world would be a lot nicer and more satisfying if I receive what He has in store for me.
What about you? What messages does God have for you? Wouldn’t you love to know?