The only thing that keeps me from biting into a big, fat, juicy cheeseburger and falling to the floor in a childhood tantrum is a label. Without them, life for me would be mayonnaise tears and mustard sadness. See, labels bring me happiness. They also keep me from blow drying my hair while I’m the shower. Labels make life simpler… most of the time. Except for when they don’t.
One day many, many years ago, a man (more than likely) looked at a fried chunk of meat, slapped a piece of cheese on top, added two buns, and said: “I will call this a cheeseburger. It will change history forever, and many Americans will be obese because of it!” (I think he said it in a circus voice with the mustache and everything too.) That’s how I want to envision the birth of the cheeseburger. You have your dreams, I have mine. Don’t try to take them from me. Either way, the cheeseburger was born, that easy. The thing is; a cheeseburger can never be anything but a cheeseburger. It can play dress-up, wearing a skirt of lettuce, necklace of onions, top hat of pickles, and perfume of mustard or mayo; but no matter how fancy you make it… It will always be a cheeseburger. You can take the player out of the game, but you can’t take the game out the player.
We, as people, sometimes get in that rut of labeling people in our minds. “That guy was a player in high school. I bet he still is.” Or, “That girl cuts herself, she is so emo.” Or, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” Or, “Whore”, “Trash”, “Fat”, “Ugly”, “Poor”, “Freak”… You get the point. Those labels are slapped on a person easily, and they are hard to remove. Have you ever had an adhesive name tag or sticker on your shirt and forgot about it? It cycles through the washing machine and then the dryer, and when you pull it out you face palm yourself. How fun is THAT to remove? Or you buy something with a label on it, and try to scrape it off with your fingernails. It leaves a film of scratched off mess and stickiness. Without some rubbing alcohol and a little more TLC, it’s not going anywhere. Some labels leave behind aftermath, often never disappearing for good. My point is. Labels are good when they benefit you, but they’re bad when they make your life a living hell.
Have you ever felt the aftermath of the sticky residue left behind from a label? We’re talking life labels here, not adhesive ones. I have. It sucks. Removing a label I didn’t stick to myself wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. I was bound and determined that I wouldn’t walk around maimed forever because of a label I didn’t choose. And, for all I know, some people might still see that label when they look at me or hear my name. What I’ve learned through the labeling is this: It’s not permanent. I’m not a cheeseburger. I can do or be anything or anyone I choose to be. It takes help from God though. God was the rubbing alcohol that removed my label once and for all. He made it disappear. Now anytime I feel like I’m getting some sort of unwanted label thrown my way, I turn to Him. I don’t even try and scratch it off myself anymore. #God Life Hacks
Peace, Love, and Jesus,