Will the real cool kids please stand up?

"She wants to be nice to her friends, but who she is gets in the way of that."

-a children's ministry leader, on a certain "relationally tricky" child

How I laughed when my fellow CM worker described a child this way--and how I related.  Of course I want to be nice to people, and think well of them...but who I am is a bit of a problem sometimes.


I was challenged all weekend at the recent women's retreat to be mature and confident.  First of all, we were encouraged to find our own roommates for the hotel stay.  I asked six different women to room with me and they all turned me down--a blow to shaky self-esteem even if they did have other plans for the weekend.  


I maturely signed up anyway, after which I was assigned a young lady for a roommate that I was absolutely thrilled to have--someone I didn't know was going, whom I love and admire, and was excited to catch up with.  She was likewise pleased to room with me and we made plans to ride together and have dinner together.  It was shaping up to be a lovely weekend after all.   


Then my roommate got sick right before the retreat.  As in, collapsed-in-public, in-the-hospital, needs-surgery sick.  So, probably not a ruse to get out of spending the weekend with me.  


Again, I gathered all the maturity I could muster and courageously drove myself to the hotel, survived a minor panic attack when I couldn't find a parking spot and had no one to help me find one, and checked into my solo room, reassuring myself that the weekend would be extra restful for me in my quietude. 


As we were meeting in a conference room with tables, I picked up my name tag fervently hoping for assigned seats.  I could already see that people were making their way into the conference room in groups with their roommates.


No assigned seats.  


Praise Jesus, another chance to muster maturity and confidence.  


I timidly asked if a seat was taken next to someone I marginally knew, and was relieved to hear that it was available for me.  


The opening session was good, my marginal acquaintance took charge of leading the discussion questions at our table after the presentation, and by the time we were done I was feeling bonded and comfortable with my group.  


Then I found out we were to be in a different conference room the next day, so--all new tables.  


Perfect.

Do bunnies worry about fitting in?

However, also at the opening session, word started to leak out that I had an empty bed in my hotel room, and then offers started to come in.  Many women were bunked up so snug that they were sharing beds.  My friend at the discussion table was one such lady, and I gladly welcomed her to join me in my room instead.  

The relief I felt at having a roommate was accentuated by discovering that right next door to my room was a room of four ladies.  All of them live near each other in real life, are friends, and are the ones who turned it into a party by bringing bottles of wine, Solo cups, and other assorted adult beverages.  I heard them giggling together late into the night.  

They spoke in my ear both before and after the opening session that they had wine and would I join them that evening in their room?  I was of course happy to be included (and who doesn't like wine from a Solo cup in a hotel room).  

We laughed and talked and they were sweet and kind.  Maybe my maturity had just been strained too much, or maybe I'm too deeply scarred from middle school...but it's so hard for me not to often feel like an outsider looking in.  They all knew each other from way back when, had gone through pregnancies together, had gone to the Caribbean on vacation together.  They're beautiful and savvy and look cute in their pj's and bed hair.  

And I'm convinced in those moments that I'm still an awkward, nervous 12-year-old.  

It's painful.

Is 38 too young to hope to be over pubescent insecurities?

Apparently.

Sometime after the retreat my friend who also happens to be the children's ministry director at our church--a very visible and well-known position--asked me to have lunch with her.  I like her so much I accepted without hesitation, even knowing that it was possible she had an agenda--like some role she wanted me to consider filling, or brainstorming about programs or something.  

Lunch began with an assurance that she did not have an agenda, and then chastisement for me thinking that she didn't like me very much.  "How could you think that?  You need to start believing truth!"

We compared notes about the retreat.  She roomed with her mom just on the other side of what we agreed was the "cool kid room."  I confessed my insecurity when no one wanted to room with me, and she told me that no one had ever asked her to room with them on a retreat.  I was taken aback.  Why didn't you ask me? she said.  I spluttered that I figured she was so important (famous, as my kids say) that she always has roommates and tablemates and friends lined up.  I tried to insist that she is one of the cool kids, just like the ladies next door to us.  She came back that she sees me as one of the cool kids.  I became thoroughly confused.  Do you even know me at all?

I remember one wise friend I had in college, a couple years ahead of me.  We were both involved in a large campus ministry group, several hundred students or so.  He said that he spent a long time trying to get into the "inner circle"--the cool kids--and when he finally got there, he discovered that everyone there was also trying to find the inner circle.  

In other words, no one believes that they themselves are one of the cool kids.  

When I was twelve, it was very clear to me who were the cool kids and who were not.  I have a hard time wrapping my head around the thought that they themselves did not know they were In.  

But if the gospel I believe tells me anything, it's that we are all the same.  The human condition is sin, yes, but also fear, uncertainty, desire to fit in, and disconnect with our fellow (wo)man.  I don't think I can bring myself to believe that there aren't others who aren't genuinely funnier, prettier, and slicker than I am.  But I must believe that even they are hurting inside at the fear of rejection and in need of kindness, even from me.