I’ve been denying it for years, but tonight I feel the need to confess what I know to be true. Sometimes I pretend that I’m cool, but deep down, I’m really kind of a dork.
No, I’m not the kind of dork that collects Star Wars memorabilia or counts down the days to MegaCon every year, and I’m certainly not the type of dork that is deemed cool by Hollywood’s standards right now. Yeah you know what I’m talking about, the “hot nerd” type- aka- the beautiful celebrities that claim they are really big geeks. Nope, I’m just your average dork. There would have been a time when I would have been ashamed to admit this, like say, every day until yesterday. So why come clean now? I would say it’s the fact that I am totally vibing that song, “You think you’re cooler than me,” but I know that it’s not. (Although it does make me laugh every time and prompt me to pretend that I'm cool while cruising down highway 90 in my aviators and extra lipgloss). No, the real reason I share this juiciness with you now is that quite frankly, the Lord is bringing me face to face with this reality. And as strange as it sounds, I think He wants me to share it.
My descent into dorkdom/denial of dorkiness started approximately 10 years ago, just a few days before my sophomore year of high school began. For the past 10 years, that day has lived in infamy as the day I was branded "dorky".
I don’t remember exactly where I was when my best friend delivered the news, but I do remember exactly what she told me. As we chatted, she recounted the events that had transpired in the hallway that day. I walked by in my shortalls and floppy Blossom-esque hat on my way to the TV production classroom (I really am not making up these details to make myself seem less cool. This is for real)for mandatory pre-planning. I smiled and waved to my best friend and the two other girls she was with as they worked on tasks for student government(SGA- aka- the cool kids). A few minutes later, the conversation had somehow taken a trip down memory lane, when in the sixth grade, my feelings had been crushed when this same friend had informed me that some of the things I said and some of the clothes I wore were, well, dorky. And to be fair, she was right. I really was dorky. But somehow I had believed that that was then, and this was now, right? Wrong. Apparently I still was a dork, because right before my BFF had a chance to redeem the rest of the story and say how wonderful she thought I was now, one of the girls blurted out, “well, it’s true!”
“Well, it’s true.” That’s all that was said. The conversation changed right after, no other comments were made, no more laughs delivered at my expense. Most people would probably not see count this as a big deal, but I am not most people. And I can tell you in that moment, I. was. crushed. Mortified. Ashamed. I felt so foolish, for you see, I kind of actually thought I was friends with “well, it’s true” girl. Sure, she was beautiful and popular and stylish, but she had always been nice to me. I mean, we had cheered together as little girls! She knew my name!
This is probably seeming a little ridiculous by now, and maybe it is. Truth is, if I can count hearing that a pretty, popular girl said I was dorky as one of the most traumatizing things that has ever happened to me, then I’ve really had a pretty good life. But as a 15 year old with fragile self-esteem, I felt that night like my world was going to end. I cried myself to sleep that night and maybe the next night too. Yet even worse than my shattered ego was the attitude of my heart. I hated pretty, popular girl for what she said about me. I hated me for being so uncool. I envied her for being so pretty and likeable. And years later, as graduates of the same university, I still feared her. I feared what she thought of me. I feared what everyone thought of me.
I have to interject now, lest I go any further in my not-so-sad sob story without informing you that this girl is actually a very nice person. She loves the Lord, genuinely loves people, and I promise you that if she even had the slightest idea of how traumatized I would be by those three little words she whispered almost a decade ago, she would never, ever had said them.
But those words stuck like shrapnel in my brain, the only “truth” about myself that I could believe. I let that belief shape a lot of who I became. Because surely, if somehow that pretty and likeable thinks I’m a dork, then everyone must think that, right? I don’t think any change was visible on the outside, but something inside me changed that day. That was the day I started living in denial, denial of who I was and denial of who the Lord said I was. That was the day I started offering only the pieces of me that I thought people would like.
Flash forward ten years to today, where the Lord has brought me face to face with my fears. I think he’s tried to make me do business with this one before, but in my own sin and stubbornness I have refused to listen. This has nothing to do with that girl; I’ve forgiven her in my heart a long time ago. But now the Lord wants me to forgive me. Forgive myself for not being cool enough, or pretty enough, or nice enough, or godly enough. He wants me to believe that being a dork isn’t bad, because really, what is cool anyway? He so desperately wants me to believe in what I have to offer and give myself wholeheartedly to others, because he believes in me. He wants me to hop down from the shelf, in all my dork-glory, and be the woman he created me to be. And he wants me to invite others to do the same for themselves.
So today I present to you Katie Stickle, in all my dork finery. So what if I have an unhealthy fear of blushing because I get embarrassed easily and my whole face looks like it’s on fire? Or if I’m totally okay with wearing something that is so last season as long as I think I look cute? Who cares that I’m still totally awkwarded-out when guys try to hit on me, or that I get intimidated by pretty girls because I wonder if they can sense how not cool I feel. (And to think that the Lord has called me to ministry to sorority women. Crazy!) I’ll fess up now that I own an Aladdin thermos, and that try as I may my hair never stays in place, and that one of my shoes is usually untied. I may be shy, but I’m totally loveable.
That’s me. And if that makes me a dork, so be it. God told me he loves the dorks too.
