The Ugly Stepsisters knew they were ugly. Otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to stuff their big feet into a teeny tiny glass slipper.
I am an Ugly Stepsister. I am constantly trying to stuff myself into something that just doesn’t fit. Whether it is a friendship circle, a church, a ministry…I often try to shove my giant feet into someone else’s shoes.
I think if I am successful then I have to walk around in painful shoes all day. I won’t enjoy myself because all I will be able to think about is how much my feet hurt.
Why do I do that? Why do I look in the mirror and worry that Cinderella has got it better than me? Why do I feel like I am nothing unless I have what she has? Why do I have to compete with her, or worse, tear her down in order to for me to be uncomfortable for the rest of my life?
Say I stuff my feet in the tiny shoes and win the prince. Would I really be happy? I suspect not because that’s not my path. My big feet were made to walk a longer, and sometimes harder, road. Cinderella may be a princess but I’m not a glass-slipper kind of girl.
I’m a combat-boots girl.
And that doesn’t make me better or worse. It doesn’t make her beautiful or me ugly. It doesn’t mean she is more successful than I am. Her great adventures will include hosting foreign dignitaries and throwing amazing balls. Mine will include more of in-the-field sword fighting. Throwing balls does not excite me but I hope and pray it excites her. That’s her element. Not mine.
None of this means that Cinderella and I can’t be friends. I totally giggle at the thought of stopping by her castle for a cup of coffee and putting my combat boots up on her super fancy table. She will laugh and be delighted because she is FOR me and she thinks I’m kind of cool. We will visit and love each other well and then I’ll be off to the next battle and she’ll be off to the next party.
I think being an Ugly Stepsister speaks more about the state of my heart than my position in life. I used to want to be Cinderella. I did. She’s so pretty and talented. People love her. But I realize now that I might die if I have to wear those shoes.
The shoes that God intended for me won’t hurt my feet. Even if they are combat boots, I will feel great in them because they are mine. Cinderella and I will both do great work. Separately and together. Not in competition. And I will no longer be the Ugly Stepsister. I’ll have a new moniker. A better one.