The feeling starts early in life. It is an emotion that is so powerful it can sweep one away. Just like the moon pulls the ocean tide, so does the need to be chosen. It pulls us whether we like it or not.
The scene is a 4th grade classroom, everyone with hands raised. “Pick me! Pick me!” I could waste my breath, but even at 9 years old I had already discovered that it was pointless. I was never the one that was picked. Never! Maybe my hair was not pretty enough. Maybe my clothes didn’t have the right name on them. Maybe they thought I was stupid because I didn’t know my right from my left. Whatever it was, I was never the one picked.
Disappointment swept over me like a cold winter’s night air. It hurt to the bone, over and over again. Through time, I learned to “wear more clothes.” I learned that if I expect to not be chosen, I would not be let down.
5th grade came and there was a new boy in town. He thought I was the prettiest girl in school… for about two days. Then some other girl with prettier hair came along.
In 7th grade I was picked to be on the “good” softball team. I was so happy for my new-found role and I held my head a little higher. That is, until the leader found I was replaceable.
In 9th grade, I found myself 15 years old, pregnant and as lost as a sheep. Did he chose me? Yes! But how long will it last? At 16, I had a tender baby in my arms, gazing out my mom’s living room window as I waited for him to come back to me. “Pick me! Pick me!” Was I wasting my breath asking a 17 year-old, immature male to choose me over his weekend fun? I longed to see his car come down the drive, to know I had been thought about, to know I had been picked. How long had I been waiting? I was certain he would come back, certain that he would do his best. But his best did not satisfy.
It’s strange to dig up all these old emotions. So many years later, I can remember some of these details so vividly. They have made a deep impression inside me, an impression that won’t stop whispering in my ear, “You are not chosen.”
God’s grace saved me at 17. He gave me a new life so I could grow, life that allowed me to chose love for a baby that needed me. His grace is sweet and His provision and will are perfect in every way. Still today I stand amazed at the fact He chose to open my eyes and breathe new life into me. The instant He chose me I could see things as they were – my reality, the ugliness of my situation – and He gave me the power to change it. I was blown a way; but just like most of us do, I forget. I forget the day that my life changed, the way I felt, the power of it. I listen to the whispers again and keep trying to find others to chose me.
Just three years later I found myself 20 and in love… but Eric did not know it yet! My heart stopped beating for, let’s say, a few months. Once again, I’m staring out the window waiting for him to choose me. Life as I knew it was on hold. “Pick me! Pick me!” I screamed very quietly.
Finally, the day came and I am chosen, to have and hold until death do us part. This choosing was sealed with a kiss and a lifetime guarantee I will always be chosen by him.
Come to find out, Eric actually likes things other than just me. Imagine that! Our days are not spent gazing into one another’s eyes and sipping wine! With 4 kids, two growing business, hobbies we both love and very little time left over, we have a long list of to-dos.
I am writing this post because I’m in the middle of a very hard week. It made me feel those deep impressions that I have not felt in a while. Eric has been very busy, working late and doing something that he loves, something that also provides for our family. I have felt a bit like a single mom, a little over loaded. I found myself looking for the car to come down the drive… not so much to have company but to feel chosen. The lie I believed when I was younger, the whisper that said “Something better will come along and you wil no longer be good enough,” was ringing in my ears again. That had been the pattern of my life; not chosen, or chosen only to be left soon after. I wanted to believe the whisperer again this week. “What you do is not enough. Try harder.” I remember trying harder in 6th grade – my best dress, tons of makeup and some weird hairdo. I looked that little boy right in the eyes and said (get this!) “Like me! Please!” Surprise… that approach didn’t work so well! I am sure he still laughs about me today.
One thing I have learned is that you can’t make people like you. Two even more important things that I know are that God chose me in my mess and I chose to love who I am through the mess.
My skin is comfortable. I am learning how to live in it. I am learning how to be me. Yoga has taught me many things and it is still teaching me. One truth I have found is there is no better place to feel free than truly being me. I can chose me when no one else does. I have to embrace the good with the bad and not hide from the truth. In that place I find a beautiful me that was chosen before the world was fashioned, chosen to be a daughter of the King. I no longer have to feel a need to be sought after because I have been found by Him and by me.
Chosen.
(I praise God for a wonderful husband that leads me and my home so well. I thank him for choosing my mess and walking me up and down hills of change. He is one in a million… and he does like things other than just me. I actually am glad for that. I am blessed by him.)