White Trash Confession

This post requires a clarification from the beginning. My intent is not to offend or make you uncomfortable. This is simply a personal confession. Because…"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." 1 Samuel 15:26.

Many, many moons ago, I attended a church meeting where I heard a woman use the derogatory term "white trash" as she described someone. Truly, it wasn't very kind. But my internal reaction to her words was immediate, overwhelming, and troubling.

I don't remember anything else from that meeting. My mind raced. I felt bruised like she had slapped me. And the internal questions started flying. Why do I feel so insulted? And hurt? Why is my face burning with embarrassment? It felt like my deep dark secret had been exposed on a theatre marquis. Why?

A few times, through the years I've mentioned this event, my reaction, and my identification with white trash to other folks. And always I hear the same response. "Oh, no. You're not white trash. Stop talking like that." I do just that, stop talking. But it hasn't changed my mind.

Now if you saw my house or my car, or met my family, or talked with me in person, you'd probably say the same thing. Okay, maybe the southern accent may slightly lead some credence to my argument. But that is judging me by the cover. You just can't see deep inside where the true identification exists.

And believe me; I've analyzed this to death.

It's not the home I grew up in, or my childhood, or my lack of college education, or my tree hugger mentality, that makes me feel this way. All right, maybe most girls don't know how to siphon gas out of a barrel or understand how an engine works or hide out in tree tops to avoid a painful encounter, but that's not the connection either.

This is an inside recognition. Deep down inside my soul, I relate with the poor, lower class, struggling, rough-around-the-edges individuals who are doing the best they can, where they are, with what they have, in a better-not-let-your-guard-down world. They are like deeply linked relatives who don't share the same DNA. They are my people.

I see us as folks who struggle with self-esteem, bravely forging a life for ourselves in a tough world. Frequently, behind the eight ball of life, we chalk our pool stick, close one eye taking our best aim and then shoot. And pray for the best.  We may gripe about the lemons of life but we are great at making lemonade. We may not feel successful by the world's standard, but we appreciate where we are, what we have, and who is in our lives.

Just yesterday someone used this term again. And the same issues surfaced for me.

But this time I've come to a different conclusion.

People usually say these two words to be insulting, and yes, inside I do feel offended. Now I can stay offended OR I can remind myself that we are all created in the image of God and He doesn't make trash of any color. He loves me, just like I am, flaws and all.

So I hold my head high, take a deep breath and smile.

You see, by the grace of God, I'm a redeemed piece of white trash.

Because I know the Truth and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Do you remember an encounter that left you bruised and not sure why? Did you learn something valuable along the way? I pray so. God bless.