It explains how it is only acceptable and permissible for a ginger person to call another ginger, ginger. If someone with, for instance, brown hair should say it then it is equal to a capital offense effectively. Might seem slightly over dramatic, but such is life as a red head.
Which, as a side note is just another way to call someone ginger without actually uttering the words.
So, why am I banging on about why you cannot call me a ginger? (Unless of course you are one).
Because that's not what defines me.
Sure, I have curly ginger hair, that sticks out at awkward angles and never does what it's told. Believe me, I have often lectured my inarticulate strands of hair about their job in life to no avail.
Moreover, when people are describing me to others, it's always 'the tall ginger one', that are the first words to come out. Maybe followed by 'always wears strange patterned jeans and always keeps us late after Unite chatting'.
I have always seen my hair as a thing that belongs to me. I love my hair colour and the way my hair curls. I always cherish compliments I receive about it, often from old ladies at my home church, reminiscing about their own hair when they were young. But the comments haven't always been so nice.
Back in Junior School is when I fully remember being bullied for the first time. The most memorable thing I remember them picking out to hurt me was calling me ginger. I used to hate it, and insist that my hair was Strawberry Blonde. This fact was incredibly important to me, and I held onto it until Secondary school. But that was just another way for the bullies to latch onto me. I let them hurt me because I believed that my hair colour was one of the most important defining traits that I had. To say I was ginger was giving me an alternative identity. My hair wasn't ginger. That was someone else's attribute and they were missing the real me.
I still remember countless times that I let the simple word ginger ostracise me from my class. I've often wondered why I found it so hurtful to be called ginger. It was only the start of other things the bullies would say, but it was always their way of gaining my attention. I was so adamant that I was who I thought I was, I hated being mistaken as someone else.
But looking back, I was all wrong.
Colossions tells me that my old identity is hidden in Christ. I am no longer that girl being picked on. I am a woman of Christ and a sister to Jesus the Messiah. That's mind blowing. Like seriously what. Who just becomes a sister to Christ? God's children, that's who. My identity is found in Christ. A new creation. He created me. He knows me. He knows what hair colour I have, what my favourite ice cream flavour is and who my best friends are. But he doesn't define me by my jeans or my hair. He defines me as His sister. What other people have said is rubbish.
And that fact is incredibly freeing. Unbelievably so.
I can go about life living for Jesus and serving Him as best I can because He has blessed me and cherishes me as part of His family. I can call out to Him and He will save me.
It might seem so trivial to be hurt because of my hair. But the affects have been long lasting. I still spend time reminding myself that when someone calls me ginger it should not be taken as a negative. My friends tease me as a sign of affection. I know that in my head, but my past associations mean that sometimes I have to ensure my self-worth and esteem are not being chipped away at again.
My worth is found in Jesus Christ. I was created in the image of God, the creator of everything. Literally everything. Even me. And my silly ginger hair.
This has kind of been a personal therapy post, with some home truths that I'm speaking over myself more than anything. I just need to spend time asking God to forgive the way I made my hair colour an idol over Him in my life. God is my priority.
I am ginger, and proudly so. But it doesn't make me who I am :).
No comments:
Post a Comment