The thing about being judgmental is that you are almost always wrong.
I remember being a young mother with two darling little girls. On Saturday evenings, I would bathe them both and then sit behind them, brushing out their wet hair, as we watched a Disney movie or something. Then I would work little braids into their hair, ending each strand with a sponge curler, just as my own mother had done almost every Saturday night of my life. It would ease my massive homesickness since we lived thousands of miles from our families. I would get their cute little dresses ready to go, and if shining shoes were still a thing to do, I'm sure I would have shined their shoes.
On Sunday mornings, we were dressed in our "best" and ready to go to church amongst our dear friends. I cherished being in the chapel with my sweet little family. I loved the way it was different from all of the other days in my week. Some weeks, it was the only thing on my calendar. I was happy to show my girls that going to church was important to me. I was just so happy to be there.
Did I notice that some families rolled in looking like their children just fell out of bed? Yes. Did I notice the disheveled clothing and unkempt hair? Of course. Did I wonder about that? You betcha. But did it stop me from trying to love them, worship and serve with them, and hopefully become friends with them? NO!
One day at a play group, as I worked to build friendships I so desperately needed, one of the mothers who brought her children to church like this made a comment that gave me pause. She said that she didn't like seeing mothers bringing their children all decked out and fancy, like they had to show off and prove just how good they were. She wanted her children to know that they were welcome at church no matter what they looked like. And she would never make her kids feel like they needed to show up and show off. She was on a mission to teach her children that they weren't "better than" the other people around them.
I sat there stunned. First of all, she had purposely brought her children to church looking like this. And second of all, she had completely misjudged my intentions for bringing my children to church looking like THAT!
I actually went home and smiled. But not before I gently told her that it was just a way that helped me feel like I was honoring the sacredness of the Sabbath Day. I hoped she understood that. And I assured her that I wasn't judging her for the way her children looked. I loved her too much to care about that.
The other day while talking to a group of moms at a party, we laughed about the way one of the kids had come over with a plate piled high with cookies and cheet-os. The mother was so embarrassed. I laughed and told her I understood and then assured her that we were in a no-judgment zone. All of the other mothers agreed.
I've later thought about that. Every time an article passes around the internet begging women to stop judging each other, we come out in droves to support the sentiments in the article. None of us want to be judged, and I kind of think none of us really wants to judge each other. We know how hard it is! But for me, I find myself continuing to make judgments like rapid fire as I go about my day and life. It frustrated me to no end. I make promises and pacts with myself that I will stop judging other people. And then I see someone doing
something, and I judge. Why? WHY? Why do I do this? I hate it. As soon as I catch myself, I know that my judgments haven't been fair. And I try to quickly replace them with loving thoughts, but the deed is done, and my judgments have been passed.
Today as I drove, I thought about this. I thought about all of the millions of ways I fail (or feel like I fail) every day. I know firsthand how hard it is to be a mother and a woman, and to live up to the perfection we set for ourselves. Why would I think
anything about someone else who drags her kids in late, again? Or who I see pulling through the drive-thru lane, again? Or who obviously has put on a few pounds, again? Or who has a child going wild? Or whose marriage is falling apart? Or who I think is spending too much time at the gym and the salon--because c'mon, how can she look SO good? You see, with women, it doesn't matter if you are doing well or failing, other women are going to pass judgment. I know that's true. I've heard it. I've said it. And I've thought it. And I hate it so much.
I desperately want to be Christ-like. I want to look at another woman, a fellow mother, and love her so much for all the beauty I know she brings into the world. I want to be happy when she looks good and put together, and loving when she doesn't. I beg myself every day to be completely non-judgmental. I want it so much.
Suddenly, I thought about something today. Maybe we judge each other because it is so hard to feel good about ourselves. Maybe when I see another woman whose car looks like a trash can, then I stop judging myself so harshly for the way my poor car always looks. Maybe when I see a woman who is ultra fit and beautiful, I make assumptions about her priorities just so I don't go jump off a cliff of depression about my own physical failings. Maybe when I see a mother snapping at her children, I forgive myself a little for the times I've fallen short. Maybe when I see a family roll into church looking totally a mess, I allow myself to feel a teensy bit of pride because I did something right today. I was successful at ONE thing.
When Greg and I were building our dream home, I kept feeling totally embarrassed. Greg wanted to go bigger. I wouldn't let him. "What will people think?" I asked. His response was always, "Who cares?" But I always knew that I cared. And I don't think it's totally prideful. I really care about what other people think. It's what drives me to smile when someone seems sad. It's what drives me to offer help when I can see it's needed. It's what leads me to apologize when I think I might have hurst someone's feelings. It's what pushes me volunteer, lend a hand, keep working hard every day. It's not just that I care about what other people think of me. It's that I CARE about other people.
So, I decided, if someone struggles to get her children to church on time, and she sees me there with mine all looking nice and orderly (which says nothing of the struggle I had all morning to get us looking "put together"), I desperately do not want that to make her feel bad. Maybe she stayed patient all morning while I yelled at my kids to get us there on time. Whatever we are thinking about each other, we are almost always wrong!
The only antidote I have ever found for judging unfairly is love and friendship. The closer I get to someone, the more loving and understanding I feel about everything. What I used to think was a selfish obsession with fitness, usually turns out to be a coping mechanism for a difficult marriage. What I used to think was poor housekeeping turns out to be a struggle with depression. Where I used to see someone I wasn't sure I would like, I usually find someone I can love.
I think (and I could be totally wrong!) that we are all pretty hard on ourselves, unsure if we are doing things right. I think (and I could be totally wrong!) that none of us wants to judge each other. I think (and I could be totally wrong!) that what we all want is to be loved and valued.
The thing about being judgmental is that you are almost always wrong.
But unless you take a step closer, open your arms wider, and make an effort to really love those around you, you will never find out how wrong you were.
I don't think our brains can stop making quick judgments. At least mine can't. I've tried. But I'm so happy when I prove myself wrong. My new goal is not going to be to stop judging. My new goal is to try to get to know people enough to find out why they are doing what they are doing. If that mother from that playgroup of years ago would have asked me why I brought my little girls to church with their hair all curled up fancy and their dresses just so, I would have told her about my mom curling my hair, and how much I missed my home, and how lonely I was everyday. And maybe we could have been friends.
