Georgette, Where Are You?

My frustration came to a head the day Mother dropped me off at the high school to register for classes that fall. It was a very depressing job for me to face the reality of this new school. And the crowning blow was when I was informed that I would not get to follow the plans I had long held to take certain specific courses my senior year. It seemed that there were requirements in this new school that were quite different from my former school. Home Economics, for example, was required of all girls. That had to take the place of French III which I had always planned to take. There were other snags and my final schedule was very upsetting to me. I could not get around these new requirements so I signed on, trying to hold back the tears until I could get safely back in the car with Mother. I couldn’t wait to tell her how messed up my whole life was. I rushed out, spotted our car and bolted toward it. Then I suddenly saw a familiar form sitting boldly in the front seat with Mother. Georgette! And talking so loudly that I could hear her well before I got to the car. I was furious! It was like the last offense I could possibly tolerate. I wanted to scream. I wanted to order her right out of the car and tell her to go drive some other family crazy. The only thing that kept me from saying scorching, ugly things was the absolute certainty that my Mother would NOT put up with such an outburst—not for one minute. So I just got in the back seat and kept my mouth shut until I felt I would not start crying if I spoke. When I did finally manage to try to tell Mother about my disappointment, Georgette pelted me with unsolicited advice and I ended up even more furious.

Soon after this incident, we had a family discussion about the problem of Georgette. I was generally upset with everything, but Georgette was the specific target on whom I was focusing. Mother and Daddy and I rehearsed the situation as we had done before, and my parents stated again their commitment to befriend Georgette. My father admitted that he was also often weary of her presence, and we all agreed on the challenges involved in this situation. But this was not to be about our inconvenience and what we liked or did not like. It always returned to the question of what was the right thing to do. My parents called me to a higher standard than to think only about myself. As always, my father urged me to try to walk in someone else’s shoes. He asked if I would like to face Georgette and tell her that she should not come back. Since the biblical mandate to reach out to the poor was clear, he said, we would be given the grace to follow it.

The thought of me personally asking Georgette to leave jolted my thinking. It made me realize I could not face myself if I were so unkind. And I knew that I needed to ask God to help me with my attitude. I knew I was a mess and I sadly admitted that my peace was gone—that which I thought was assured to me from my earlier “bargain” with God. I knew it was my attitude that had cost me my peace. I knew I had a very bad attitude toward a lot more than Georgette.