 |
We swapped our rejection stories last Thursday around dinner table.
For some reason our kids seem to enjoy the blow-by-blow
accounts of our miserable middle school days much more than any glowing success
stories we might want to share from that uneasy time of not-any-more-but-not-quite-yet.
The age of insecurities, and search for identity and
belonging that is not as simple and natural as it is for a little child.
The search for purpose that appears to them much more simple and natural
for an adult in mid-life.
They want to hear that we, too, have been wounded and
betrayed along the prickly journey of growing up.
Called names.
Publicly humiliated.
Plowed over.
Excluded from the inner circle...
So, we pass around our old grief and anger like salt and pepper shakers until they pop off their lids and start sharing their rejection stories.
...But I was the only one not
invited…
...Today, I was the last one
picked…
They STILL do that?!!!
My husband’s outrage was fueled by
his own #last-one-picked#bottom-of-the-pecking-order
trauma.
Yea, they do. … But,
it’s O.K. Dad. I don’t hold it against them. They did it because they don’t
know what’s in me. They have no idea what’s inside me…
We all giggle at the preposterous thought. But in
the quiet echo of the laughter the greater truth rings loud and clear. .
If they knew Me, they
would not have done it… If they really, really knew what’s inside, they would have chosen Me sooner...And the grace of the despised and rejected Savior spills into our cracks and wounds - old and new, filling them with healing and hope that only come from Him.
Father, forgive them,
they don’t know what they are doing. Luke 23:34
He was despised and
rejected… He was looked down on and we didn’t esteem Him. Isaiah 53:3
No comments:
Post a Comment