Our deputation journey has recently led us to South Georgia and Northern Florida. It was here I saw some of the most intriguing trees. The trees themselves were majestic oaks, but they were covered with this filmy, grass-like substance that hung down from the branches like hundreds of brown fingers reaching toward the earth. It gave each tree a weeping-willow appearance (and in case you didn’t know, the weeping willow is my favorite tree). Anyway, they were beautiful and mysterious, eerie and amazing.

After some research, I discovered the substance hanging from the trees is called Spanish Moss. Ironically, though, it is not a moss, and it did not originate in Spain. It’s actually from the Central American region and belongs to the same family as the pineapple. Strange, huh? The “moss” does not feed off the tree but rather from particles in the air, and it does not have roots. In short, it’s a fascinating plant!

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered how it had gotten so mislabeled. Why call it Spanish Moss if it is neither Spanish nor moss? It makes no sense, but I know from experience it happens.

I am an introvert. I am not outgoing, and for the most part, I don’t like meeting new people (not the best character trait for a missionary on deputation, let me tell you). Now, once I get to know you, I’ll talk your ear off, but until then, I’m happy to stand in the corner and avoid making eye contact with anyone. To many, it appears as if I’m rude, so they automatically label me as being “stuck up” when really, I’m just very uncomfortable in social settings.

Another thing that’s getting me these days is my allergies. I’ve always suffered from temperamental sinuses. As allergy sufferers know, travel can wreak havoc on the body. The change in temperatures, humidity levels, climates, and so much more can cause severe allergy attacks. For the most part, I deal with it the best I can and do my best to live a normal life. But these days, amid this pandemic, if I sneeze or sniff at the wrong time, people automatically label me as sick with the virus. So, to avoid scaring people, I’ve been doing my best to keep it all in and suffer in silence. After all, I don’t want to be mislabeled.

It’s rough having a label—no matter whether the name was intended to be good or bad. Who wants to live up to the title “Perfectionist” or “the Smart One”? No one! Nobody wants other people to think of them as a snob, a drunk, a flirt, or naive. We strive in life to avoid titles like “worthless,” “hopeless,” or “unwanted.” We long for people to see us for who we are, not who they think we are. We want them to see a pineapple instead of a moss.

Fortunately, we have a Heavenly Father who knows exactly who we are. In fact, He knows us even better than we know ourselves, and He loves us anyway. He sees beyond our character flaws and bad habits. He knows us inside and out. And the only labels He uses for us are those that bespeak love and affection. Beloved. Apple of my eye. Lovely. The one in whom I delight. This is how we are known to God.

Likewise, we should show such grace to others. Just as we don’t like to be labeled, others don’t either. Let’s be careful not to jump to conclusions about other people based on a few moments of observation. Labels can be harmful. If we were all more concerned with loving than labeling, the world would be a much better place.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden craving for some pineapple!