I Need It For My Face
We recently got to visit with some friends of ours from Minnesota, and what a wonderful time it was. One of the topics of conversation had to do with accents and the differences in how we pronounce certain words. Discussion about the use of pet names and the variances of the inflection in our voices while speaking led me to remember a funny story from when I was in the 6th grade.
It’s a night I will never forget, primarily because I was humiliated.
It was the first time I was staying the night at my best friend’s house. We were getting ready for bed, and I needed to wash my face. The conversation went as follows:
Me: “May I have a worshcloth?”
Friend: “A what?”
Me: “A worshcloth.”
Friend: No words, just hysterical laughter.
Me: Confused because I missed the joke. “I need it for my face.”
Friend: “It’s called a WASHcloth!”
Me: Bursts into laughter. “That’s not what it’s called.”
Friend: “What do you do with the worshcloth?”
Me: “It’s for washing my face.”
Friend: “Exactly.”
LONG PAUSE AS I CONTEMPLATE EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER KNOWN.
Me: “Stop messing with me.”
Friend: “We’ll go ask my mom.”
Me: “Fine.”
I HAVEN’T LOST MY CONFIDENCE. MOM IS GOING TO VINDICATE ME.
Friend: Thrusts the worshcloth into the air. “Mom, what is this?”
Mom: Seems uncertain of how there could be any confusion, “A washcloth…”
Friend: Spins towards me. “See!”
THAT WAS THE DAY I LEARNED THE PAST TWELVE YEARS OF MY LIFE HAD BEEN A LIE.
Ok, that’s a little dramatic, but I couldn’t wait to get home and ask my mom about these crazy things called washcloths. I remember getting home and going straight to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. My mom was doing laundry at the time, so I walked back to her, thrust the washcloth out just as my friend had, and asked, “What is this?” Without missing a beat, my mom replied, “A worshcloth.”
Now, I was annoyed. I looked at her and said, “Do other people call them something different?” As to which she said, “Oh, yeah. It’s technically a washcloth.”
For twelve years, I had fully adapted to the habit of using worsh as a noun and wash as a verb. I used a worshcloth to wash my face. I used a dishworsher to wash the dishes, and the worsher was simply for washing our clothing. I would like to say the habit stopped once I was made aware of my mistake. However, to this day, I still use worsh as a noun and wash as a verb.
At times, I very purposely say the words correctly. And when I do, I make sure everyone within earshot acknowledges my fancy proper speech.
I love revisiting this story because it reminds me that our Father in heaven has given us the greatest translator – The Holy Spirit. We may not know the technical word, or the exact way to communicate our need, but the Holy Spirit takes our prayers, tears, and grumblings and communicates our desires to The Father.
So don’t be afraid to ask. Use whatever words you have. Ask for what you need. There is no better worsher than Jesus’ Blood. Stay washed in His truth, and He can provide precisely what you need, even if it looks or sounds different than what you had anticipated.
The best part of it all is when He lovingly corrects and redirects us. He can take our incorrect words and teach us new ones. New words that allow the desires of our hearts to begin to align with His will for our lives. I might have needed the worshcloth for my face, but I praise, petition, and ponder before the Lord because I need it for my faith. Will you join me?
