The pain of not being chosen is the kind of pain that runs deep. It’s the pain that keeps you up at night, the kind that brings new haircuts, tattoos, tears. Sometimes it happens on a soccer field in fourth grade. Sometimes it happens with that pink slip that you’ve lost your job. Other times it’s their words, casually cruel in the name of being honest, yet you carry them around as if they are a new name:
you’re a mistake.
you’re not enough, or you’re too much.
you’re not worthy.
And you wear that pain around your neck for a long time. Because you believe it to be true, after all, spoken out loud those words cling to you like a static-y sweater. You believe their words are the spoken truth of who you are,
until one day
it’s raining. And there’s a man up front, preaching grace and redemption yet all you can hear are the words you’ve heard spoken. The ones that pierced your soul. You’ve heard them so long you missed the Whisper of truth –
that you are Chosen.
Man calls you a mistake and Christ says, “She’s mine.”
He says you are unworthy and Christ calls out, “I know her by name. I know when she sits and when she rises. I know the numbers of hairs that fall down her back because she was knit together with these fingers.”
And you are hit with a wall of truth: it is often in the rejection of man we discover the acceptance of Christ.
You are beloved, my darling. You are needed and chosen. Do not let the rejection of another determine your worth –
but let it be an opportunity for the grace to seep into the shattered places,
the broken cracks Jesus longs to fill.