Blue Jean Girl here.
Speaking in a broken whisper after tip-toeing past the sticky notes cluttering my office floor to the computer. My Mead notebooks are getting cramped. Maybe the only way they will become books is to toss them into this wind.
The blog name, you ask? My name (Amy) as defined means “be•lov•ed.” I think God knew I needed a direct assault. “Name her beloved and maybe then she’ll claim it” was surely His commandment over me. A directive. He knew that a plank-up-side-the head is usually what is required with this blue jean girl. I struggle to accept HIS status of me as be•lov•ed.
I wonder if I am the only one?
I pray that we’ll discover our beloved-ness in HIM together.
And just maybe we’ll share discoveries, ragamuffin tales, and laugh like tween girls at a slumber party giddy on thin mints.
My plan? I’ll toss out some ramblings. And ask other blue jean sisters to do the same.
Some of my writings have fresh tears spattering them. Bear with me on those.
Some of my scribbles are inked out on lined paper and are older than my cancer scars. A few remain next to a dozen or so e-books on my iPad. Only my cat and I have shared them late at night. Every once in awhile she and I fall over snorting because we think I am the funniest writer alive. You can be the judge of that. (But be kind…I’m a bit vulnerable right now.)
Deep breath. A bit like looking down from the high dive.
Here’s the inspiration: Norman Rockwell. I have loved his artwork since I was 10. He decorated the pages of my childhood diary circa 1978. He depicts snapshots of real life. Always. I wrote this poem “Blue Jean Girl” based on “The Prom Dress.” It originally donned the cover of The Saturday Evening Post in 1949.
I was so enthralled with Norman Rockwell’s view. On everything. But especially this one girl.
Because it was me. In the mirror I saw beautiful. Behind the mirror, ragged and torn. What appeared in the reflection contrasted with the “behind the scenes” of this girl and it leveled me. I have never been the same.
I nicknamed myself Blue Jean Girl soon after I wrote this poem in 2006. (Is it even POSSIBLE to give yourself a nickname? Whacky, I tell ya! ) But hey- If I’m gonna be GOD’S beloved, I figure HE would certainly have a cute, sweet nickname for HIS girl!
Please read this poem S-L-O-W-L-Y……If I could write it with huge spaces between each word with lack of punctuation all ee cummings-esque and pull it off, I would.
And if you’ve never fallen in love with the works of Norman Rockwell, please do so now.
Blue Jean Girl
I showed up in blue jeans and knees a mess.
No veil to wear, no pearled white dress.
I knelt before you, so ashamed. My gift to you~ my sins I named.
“There are so many” I began…. and fumbled with my list in hand.
I looked down at my faded clothes And felt unsure as I arose….
“My list is very long you see. Not sure where to start, be patient with me….”For times I stumbled, to chances lost-I’m ready to pay, just name the cost.
I have wandered so far from you. Not intended, but still it’s true. So here I am, a tattered mess.
With a ponytail and sins to confess.
He took my list, but didn’t look. “My child I know, we could write a book…
But take this mirror, and tell me dear What tattered mess do you see here?”
And then I saw her, Just a glint~ a white-clad beauty, just a hint. I had never seen the beauty there….
the pearl white dress and perfect hair.
“This is how I see you love~ not there below, but up above.
And you have gifts unseen by them. I placed each pearl and stitched each hem.
You are so beautifully made~ let memories of those blue jeans fade.
I don’t see you in them at all since you took my hand and followed my call.
So drink a toast and dance with me. And you will never, ever be that girl in blue jeans that others see.”
~Amy aka “Blue Jean Girl” 2006
1 Corinthians 13:12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; THEN we shall see face-to-face.Now I know in part; THEN I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
If you’d like to leave a comment I’m listening…. . I’m excited to hear what you have to say.