Chosen...Or Not
This is one of those blogs that I've tried to write in my head for awhile now and either the words don't come at all or they do but I fear looking/sounding like a loser! How's that for an opener?!
Chosen. Such a loaded word. Remember as a kid when you were picked first for a team? Or a friend chose you to be their partner for a project or to sit by on the bus? What about those all important birthday parties where, as kids, being chosen to get an invitation was a huge deal. Of course it was equally as crushing when everyone else got invitations but you didn't. Or you were the very last one picked for a team during a game of dodge ball. I remember being in middle school and getting an invite to one girl's birthday party only to have her ask for it back on the bus on the way to a volleyball game. Ouch. I still remember the sting of that one.
Why does it matter so much that we are chosen and why does it hurt so much when we're not? When I first became a Christian, I was so in awe that God chose to sacrifice His son for my sins when I was nothing but a huge, hot mess. When I was at my very worst, He offered His very best in exchange because He CHOSE me. When this life is over, He chose me to spend eternity with. Me! The hot huge, hot mess mentioned earlier. I fail Him miserably every single day and yet He chooses to love me in spite of my shortcomings. I became a Christian the week that I graduated high school, in 1999, when the internet and email was really taking off. I remember trying to come up with my very first email address that would be all mine. It had to be important and memorable and, well, cool. Back in those days, fancy shmansy email addresses were all that and a bag of chips. I was surprised at how fast an idea came to me and boy did I love it - Chosen_by_God@********.com. I remember being so bummed when I had to change it because I was overrun by spam so I tried to stay along the same line and came up with Chosen_by_Christ. It has always blown my mind that the God of the Universe chose me.
I'm sure being chosen by God is meaningful to all Christians, but for me it held a special meaning. Growing up without a mom because she chose to leave was brutal on this girl's heart. She made the choice - deliberately and of her own free will - to walk away and start her own life. That choice was all hers and she made it, seemingly, without looking back. What does it say about a person if their own mom chooses to leave? I used to wonder if I was a particularly 'difficult' child or if she just never bonded with me. Was that why she left? She has always said she left because she believed it was the best thing for me and I've had friends suggest that my life could have been very different - in a bad way - if she had stuck around and I get that. I really do...in my head. My heart has always had a harder time trying to make sense of her leaving even now, 34 years later.
Please don't misunderstand - I have had many, many people choose to love me. I have had women choose to love me as their own daughter. One such woman reminds me often of not only her great love for me, but also God's great love for me. I have friends who have chosen to share their hearts with me even when I have nothing to offer but listening ears and a hug or coffee. I have a grandma who isn't related by blood but chooses to call me a granddaughter and love me like she loves those biologically related to her. These people don't have to love me or include me in their lives but they chose to because they love me.
So why can't that be enough? Why is it those who have not chosen me that cause my eyes to fill with tears? I have written before about believing God has called me to be single at this time in my life. Whether that's temporary or until I see Him face to face remains to be seen, but I usually have a great peace knowing I am at the place in my life He has placed me. But I'm not going to lie. Some days it is a hard road to walk. I was looking on Instagram once and saw where a newlywed wrote about how thankful she was that her husband chose her to love and spend the rest of his life with. Boy has that stuck with me. There are days Satan comes knocking at the door of my heart and even when I think I'm going to be strong and not answer the door, he manages to slip that little thought under the door - no one has chosen you. Even typing that makes tears run down my cheeks and an incredibly pain well up in my chest. Everywhere I look in this world around me, I see women who are married or engaged or in a relationship. Women who were chosen by a man. There were a few Sundays recently where it took everything I had not to get up and walk out of church as Satan seemed to be standing there, pointing at women and saying, "She was chosen!" and " Look at her, she's been chosen twice!" or "See that man holding that woman's hand? He chose her!" Brutal. Am I defective? Is there something wrong with me? Inherently maybe? Is the same reason my mom chose the leave the same reason no man has ever chosen a relationship with me? I have never seriously dated anyone and haven't even had a guy interested in me since I was in college. Oh, and this 38 year old right here? Hasn't been kissed since her junior prom. Even more brutal. Add to all this the sexual abuse by my grandfather after my mom left and that only makes it worse. Am I used goods? Dirty? Why doesn't anyone want me?
What's the point of this blog? To make you, the reader, feel sorry for me? Have pity on me? No. I just want to be real. I have a little sister in Christ that I have been 'mentoring', if you will, for the past few years and she recently wrote me about issues with a boy breaking her heart. She talked about how hard it is to see all her friends (college aged) getting married or engaged and how she feels left out and, yes, defective. I shared with her that I struggle too because I want her to know I don't have it all figured out yet either and I've got almost 20 years on her sweet self.
Chosen. Beautiful when we are and painful when we're not. Amen?
Chosen. Such a loaded word. Remember as a kid when you were picked first for a team? Or a friend chose you to be their partner for a project or to sit by on the bus? What about those all important birthday parties where, as kids, being chosen to get an invitation was a huge deal. Of course it was equally as crushing when everyone else got invitations but you didn't. Or you were the very last one picked for a team during a game of dodge ball. I remember being in middle school and getting an invite to one girl's birthday party only to have her ask for it back on the bus on the way to a volleyball game. Ouch. I still remember the sting of that one.
Why does it matter so much that we are chosen and why does it hurt so much when we're not? When I first became a Christian, I was so in awe that God chose to sacrifice His son for my sins when I was nothing but a huge, hot mess. When I was at my very worst, He offered His very best in exchange because He CHOSE me. When this life is over, He chose me to spend eternity with. Me! The hot huge, hot mess mentioned earlier. I fail Him miserably every single day and yet He chooses to love me in spite of my shortcomings. I became a Christian the week that I graduated high school, in 1999, when the internet and email was really taking off. I remember trying to come up with my very first email address that would be all mine. It had to be important and memorable and, well, cool. Back in those days, fancy shmansy email addresses were all that and a bag of chips. I was surprised at how fast an idea came to me and boy did I love it - Chosen_by_God@********.com. I remember being so bummed when I had to change it because I was overrun by spam so I tried to stay along the same line and came up with Chosen_by_Christ. It has always blown my mind that the God of the Universe chose me.
I'm sure being chosen by God is meaningful to all Christians, but for me it held a special meaning. Growing up without a mom because she chose to leave was brutal on this girl's heart. She made the choice - deliberately and of her own free will - to walk away and start her own life. That choice was all hers and she made it, seemingly, without looking back. What does it say about a person if their own mom chooses to leave? I used to wonder if I was a particularly 'difficult' child or if she just never bonded with me. Was that why she left? She has always said she left because she believed it was the best thing for me and I've had friends suggest that my life could have been very different - in a bad way - if she had stuck around and I get that. I really do...in my head. My heart has always had a harder time trying to make sense of her leaving even now, 34 years later.
Please don't misunderstand - I have had many, many people choose to love me. I have had women choose to love me as their own daughter. One such woman reminds me often of not only her great love for me, but also God's great love for me. I have friends who have chosen to share their hearts with me even when I have nothing to offer but listening ears and a hug or coffee. I have a grandma who isn't related by blood but chooses to call me a granddaughter and love me like she loves those biologically related to her. These people don't have to love me or include me in their lives but they chose to because they love me.
So why can't that be enough? Why is it those who have not chosen me that cause my eyes to fill with tears? I have written before about believing God has called me to be single at this time in my life. Whether that's temporary or until I see Him face to face remains to be seen, but I usually have a great peace knowing I am at the place in my life He has placed me. But I'm not going to lie. Some days it is a hard road to walk. I was looking on Instagram once and saw where a newlywed wrote about how thankful she was that her husband chose her to love and spend the rest of his life with. Boy has that stuck with me. There are days Satan comes knocking at the door of my heart and even when I think I'm going to be strong and not answer the door, he manages to slip that little thought under the door - no one has chosen you. Even typing that makes tears run down my cheeks and an incredibly pain well up in my chest. Everywhere I look in this world around me, I see women who are married or engaged or in a relationship. Women who were chosen by a man. There were a few Sundays recently where it took everything I had not to get up and walk out of church as Satan seemed to be standing there, pointing at women and saying, "She was chosen!" and " Look at her, she's been chosen twice!" or "See that man holding that woman's hand? He chose her!" Brutal. Am I defective? Is there something wrong with me? Inherently maybe? Is the same reason my mom chose the leave the same reason no man has ever chosen a relationship with me? I have never seriously dated anyone and haven't even had a guy interested in me since I was in college. Oh, and this 38 year old right here? Hasn't been kissed since her junior prom. Even more brutal. Add to all this the sexual abuse by my grandfather after my mom left and that only makes it worse. Am I used goods? Dirty? Why doesn't anyone want me?
What's the point of this blog? To make you, the reader, feel sorry for me? Have pity on me? No. I just want to be real. I have a little sister in Christ that I have been 'mentoring', if you will, for the past few years and she recently wrote me about issues with a boy breaking her heart. She talked about how hard it is to see all her friends (college aged) getting married or engaged and how she feels left out and, yes, defective. I shared with her that I struggle too because I want her to know I don't have it all figured out yet either and I've got almost 20 years on her sweet self.
Chosen. Beautiful when we are and painful when we're not. Amen?
I remember when you "chose me" you came to my house with Bridgette, you Chose to show me a different side of you that was hidden away from so many. Thank you again for that day and choosing to come visit and show me the real Angie.
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