What I should have said.

As I walked into the bathroom tonight, I didn't plan on making small talk with the three teenage girls that occupied it.  In fact, I was in a bit of a rush to get past them because they were teasing each other by holding the bathroom door shut, forcing me out to wait to enter as well.

I walked in and weaved my way through the two girls looking in the mirror, not really paying attention to what they looked like, when I heard a third voice say from a stall, "I wish I had my phone, I really want to know what time it is."  As the other two girls responded with apologies for not having their phones either, I reached into my pocket and took the risk of being an awkward bathroom eavesdropper and solved the mystery of what time it was for them.

I responded with, "Um... it's 5:52, not to be weird or anything."

"Thank you!" was the response.  Followed by, "I love your shoes!"

She was referring to my sparkly Toms. I responded with an enthusiastic "Thanks!" (because I love them too) and considered telling her about Toms shoes, but felt like it was just too weird to talk from a bathroom stall. By now my shoe-admirer was washing her hands out and washing her hands.

She went on, "They're so sparkly.  They're like princess shoes.  I wish I was a princess.  Or some kind of royalty. I'm not though, I don't feel like that ever. I'm just normal, plain, Abby."

In my head, I immediately responded with, "No you aren't, Abby!  You are the daughter of a King! You are an heir to the Throne.  You are a princess in Gods eyes.  You ARE royalty." What a great response, right?  If only it wasn't IN MY HEAD.

But the potential for awkwardness locked my lips, and and where encouragement should have been have been spoken, only silence was heard.  Hurriedly, I finished what I was doing and walked out of the stall to start a conversation, but I was just in time to see them walking out.  When I say "see" I mean, their backs and not their faces.  As I washed my hands, I began mentally beating myself up for missing the chance to share with three vulnerable, insecure girls about who their true identity is. Not giving up yet, I rushed out behind them hoping to catch them.

But they were gone.

and

I don't know their full names or what they look like.

So I can't tell them the truth about who they are.

and I regret holding onto those precious words and keeping them all to myself. I loathe my fear of being awkward or coming across as weird.  I missed my chance.  I blew it.

So I'm sorry, Abby.  I sure hope someone else tells you that you are a princess, and that the King of Kings calls you his daughter, his child, his precious one.  Because that's who you are, and you don't need sparkly shoes to claim those titles.