The party sounded amazing. The people I’d heard were going are easy to be with, incredibly fun, and all have mad skills in the kitchen. And when I saw the invitation posted on a friend’s refrigerator I smiled at the creative brilliance.
The only problem was I didn’t get one.
I’d been checking my mailbox for days.
Every time I walked back down the driveway empty handed, I kept assuring my sinking heart that because we live in the country my mail is always a day or two or even seven days behind everyone else’s. No big deal.
But three days before the party when the invite still hadn’t arrived I ran out of assurance. I lost the pep in my rally. And I realized I was, in fact, not on the guest list.
When I ran into one of the hostesses later that day I lobbed out the equivalent of a Hail Mary throw in the final seconds of a game, “What do y’all have going on this weekend?” And then I felt as pitiful as the quarterback who watches the opposing team take what would have been his shining star moment and turn it into an interception.
She replied, “We’ve got plans with friends most of the weekend but would love to catch up with y’all on Sunday after church.”
And that’s when the hardest of all the realizations hit me.
We weren’t invited because they simply hadn’t thought to invite us. We weren’t in the circle of “weekend plans with friends.” Immediately the thought that hopped on me and stuck with super glue tenacity was “I’m not good enough.”