Unchosen

A week ago, I wrote about my childhood fears of scary things lurking in the closet or under my bed and of my persistent dread that someone would break into our house and harm us.  It wasn’t until my Father intervened with his unique form of reassurance that I began to let those worries abate.  Oh, certainly, there were (and are) still times when I feel unsettled and unnerved; however, now I do my best to turn those emotions over to my Father in Heaven.

A few days ago, I opened my Bible to  1 Peter 2:9 as I’d come across that scripture earlier and wished to memorize it.  As I wrote down the lines of the verse on an index card, images of another childhood anxiety washed over me; ones that I’m certain many others will be able to resonate with:  the fear of being unchosen.

I’d really like to find the person who first came up with the idea of putting two children in charge of picking who they want on their team and smack them up the  side of their head while saying, “What in the world were you thinking?”  Ok, maybe I wouldn’t physically assault them, but I would still question their wisdom in concocting a scheme that, over the decades, has tormented countless children and left so many of them emotionally scarred.  And those are just the ones forced to do the choosing.

On the off chance that some readers don’t know what I am referring to, here, in general, is how this typically played out.  A Physical Ed teacher gathers around a group of  kids  and picks two of them to be Team Captains.  Then, each Team Captain in turn selects someone from the remaining group of children to be on their team.  Back and forth, so it goes, until all children are picked for one team or the other.

So, yeah, the agony for those of us who were either clumsy klutzes with zero grace of movement (FYI:  that little ditty about “Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace…”?  I’m a Tuesday child.  Physical grace, um, not so much!) or who were at the bottom of the totem pole of popularity while we waited and waited and WAITED to be selected.  Even worse, the grimaces and groans and shrugs of resignation when one of the Team Captains got stuck with us.  Fun and games indeed.

The thing is, this fear of not being chosen can continue to haunt us as we progress through adolescence and well into our adult lives.  Some of us might be better at disguising this fear than others, but I’m betting that even those smug Team Captains of 3^rd grade have had their moments of angst at some point or another.  As I’m writing this, my mind is humming with the memories of all the moments in my life where I’ve either been chosen, or not; or when I’ve done the choosing, or not.  Frankly, I’m not sure which feels worse now; remembering how it felt to be left out, or, remembering those times when I shunned someone else.  To quote our Pastors’ three year old daughter, “Oooooh, it’s too REAL!”  Nope, I don’t really want to go there. 

And, oh by the way, I’m not the only one in the universe whose mind is dwelling on this whole “chosen” thing; I started writing this post on Saturday August 6^th.  The meditation in The Upper Room for Sunday August 7^th was entitled, “Chosen” and the referenced scripture was, you guessed it, 1 Peter 2:9 (if you’re thinking that I must have somehow seen the meditation and subconsciously absorbed it and copied it, then you don’t have a clue as to how totally incredible our God is).

So, here’s the verse:

“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”  1 Peter 2:9 (NRSV)

We are chosen.  God chooses us.   God chooses ALL of us.  Yet, unlike those moments in childhood where we were picked by a Team Captain and then forced to play a rip roaring game of kick ball with our two left feet, we have the option to not join God’s team.  It’s called Free Will, folks; and people certainly exercise that option.  Yet, God wants us to join in, He always has.  He said to the Israelites long, long ago as they were about to finally enter the promised  land: 

“I call heaven and earth to  witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.  Chose life so that you and your descendants may live.”  Deuteronomy 30:19 (NRSV)

Thousands of years later, He sent THE ultimate in Team Captains to go about the business of picking everyone for God’s Team; His son, Jesus Christ.

Join the team and you’re good to go. 

But, wait.

Anyone who has ever been on a team knows what it means to be a team player.  You can’t laze about, watching your fellow team members carry the day while you cheer them on from the sidelines. You have to contribute. And you have to perform; but, you do so not necessarily for your glory, but for the greater good; so that the team will succeed.  There’s no “I” in team”, and all of that. 

Join.  Contribute. Perform for the greater good of the team; of the Kingdom. 

The good news is, you’re chosen!  You can trade in all of those fears and anxieties of being alone, never being good enough to belong.  Yet, you don’t get saved and just sit there. In other words, there is significant responsibility involved with responding in the affirmative to God’s offer to join up.

And herein lies the dilemma for many folks, myself included.  What, exactly, does this really mean?  And, does it always mean the same thing?

When I rejoined God’s Team in 2011, it was, initially all about practice; soaking up the grace that I so desperately needed, getting back into the groove of weekly community worship, beginning to seriously delve into the Bible, and developing the discipline of daily devotion time and prayer.  As the months went on, I stuck my toe into the stream of service, of active participation; serving communion, helping out with packing sacks of weekend food for low-income children, and assisting with the church’s annual Hanging of the Greens program.  Five years on finds both my husband and I considerably involved in leadership roles and a variety of other servant opportunities such that we are either at our church or out in the community several times a week. 

Yet, despite this, I still wonder if I’m contributing what God desires of me.  The majority of my fears and anxieties are gone (heck, I don’t have time to be afraid) only to be replaced by a sense of being, not so much underutilized, as MIS-utilized. 

An illustration:  When I was in high school, I played on a girls’ softball team for several years.  We were pretty good; we even made it to a few championships.  However, in the first season we played together, the coach put me at second base and, as a leftie, I totally sucked in that position.  After a few dismal games, someone finally got wise and moved me to first base and sometimes pitcher, where I (and therefore, the team) performed more effectively.

I’m wondering now if I’m in the right position on God’s Team.  Am I performing in the roll of second baseman when He really needs me to be the short stop?  Or, the pitcher?  Or, the manager?  Or, the bat boy? 

So, to prayerfully consider this (among other things) and hopefully to discern some answers as to my purpose and direction now, I’m heading to a 3 day (mostly silent) spiritual retreat next month. I’ve been writing this series as a way to both prepare myself; and, also, to ensure that I hold myself accountable to myself and actually GO.

I apologize (somewhat) for the seeming randomness and rambling of my postings, but this is the road I’m on now, folks.

Which calls to mind a  poignant verse from the Prophet Jeremiah:

“Thus says the Lord:  Stand at the crossroads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it and, find rest for your souls.” Jeremiah 6:16

That sounds good to me!

Mrs. B.

From Now Until Forever from Now

Not sure where I'm heading with this but here goes....

Why?

I dodged God, religion, church, and most especially Jesus, for well over 30 years.  Unlike my husband, who experienced a similar aversion for a similar period of time, I couldn’t point to any particular reason why; why I walked out of church one Sunday morning in the late spring of 1981 and never went back.  Why I chose to leave a church family who had nurtured me through my teenage years; through a long series of confirmation classes, who witnessed my Baptism at 16 and my confirmation a few months later.  Why, for the next three decades, I thought I was in control of my life and could handle anything that was thrown at me without either turning to God for comfort or to a body of believers for support and sustenance. And as God and a few others who understand me well know, there were certainly many times over those years that I could have used it. Or, a good talking to; a gentle, loving, but assertive rebuke of and accountability for my behavior, actions and where I was (or wasn’t) heading spiritually. 

And Then

Later, I’d come to believe that there was no “why”.  There was no plausible reason.  I was 17 years old, I had other things on my agenda, and it appeared the whole “God Thing” just hadn’t stuck.  I was heading to college in the fall.  I had the entire summer ahead of me that for the most part would be spent with my boyfriend and friends engaging in behavior that was not something I wanted God to know about.  And then, I was in college.  And then I was 21 and having way too much fun being way too irresponsible.  And then I was in the midst of embarking on my first real job.  And then I was meeting my first husband (who was decidedly NOT into God).  And then I was climbing the corporate ladder.  And then I was divorcing.  And then I was in my late 30s living alone with two cats.  And then.  And then.  There were a lot of “and thens” over the course of those 30 years.

Dark and Drastic

And then, I ended up in a really awful place in the fall of 2001 and although the tragedy of 9/11 did not help matters, I cannot blame the events of that day for where I was.  The last few months of that year and the first few of the following were especially dark days.  Who hasn’t had these?  We all have.  As a result of  my “those days”, I ultimately made a decision that would drastically change my life.  “Drastically” sounds like a bad thing, but in my case,  one must think of the word “drastic” more in terms of a major shake-up of the way things were.  Had it not been so significant, I’d still be where I was.  I needed to move; literally and figuratively, and the only way to get me off the wheel I was on and out of the cage I was in, was to do something drastic.  And so I did.  With a lot of pre-planning, necessary both to make the plan work and to keep me from backing out, I eventually quit my job, went to Italy and took a total immersion course, returned to the states, moved myself from California to North Carolina, and found myself in February of 2004 wondering what was next.

But for the Grace of God Go I

The origin of this statement was one John Bradford, an English Protestant martyr, who uttered these words in the 16th century while watching fellow Protestants being led to the scaffold. The actual phrase was "There but for the grace of God goes John Bradford".

This statement has come to be used when one is counting one's blessings as compared to others less fortunate/the fate of others.

Note above I wrote "...and English Protestant martyr..."; unfortunately for Mr. Bradford, his good luck did not hold out and he was ultimately burned at the stake as a heretic.

Anyway, this sentiment popped into my head this morning as I returned from dropping The Kid off at school.

The route we always take, 15/501 to either the Erwin Road or Cornwallis exit, was as usual, heavily trafficked this morning. Mr. B had commented a few days ago that he'd noticed people were going considerably slower there due to increased cop visibility. In other words, the traffic cops had been targeting this stretch to pull people over. A good thing, as, despite the fact it is a 55 mph zone, folks routinely go almost 80 mph. Today, however, it seemed to me that people were once again driving with no consideration given to the speed limit.

It takes roughly 20 minutes to get from the exit, to The Kid's school, and back onto 15/501 heading home. When I got back onto 15/501, I immediately noticed a lot of flashing lights on the other side of the road (e.g., where we'd been 20 minutes earlier) and that eerie emptiness of traffic (because everyone was backed up behind the flashing lights). As I approached, it was hard not to notice the throng of tangled up cars turned every which way, all of the ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, etc. For about 1/4 of a mile behind the flashing lights, there were even more cars that were apparently caught up in the frey. And, the backed up traffic stretched for at least a mile behind THAT.

Probably some idiot yakking away on their cell phone (or, worse, text messaging) caused this, or maybe more than one; combined with other people going way too fast. A deadly mixture, indeed.

So, yeah; but for the grace of God, we could have been caught up in that nightmare; either hurt (or worse) at the very worst to simply being stuck in a traffic blockade that, from the looks of it, could well have lasted more than an hour while they cleared the road.

What IS it that kept us from being involved while others (likely most of the people involved were doing nothing but driving to their destination while listening to NPR or something) were caught up in it? If we'd left the house just a few minutes later, we might have been caught up in it; no, we WOULD have been (it was pretty obvious to me that the accident occurred not long after we passed through, given that the ambulances, fire trucks, etc. were already there by the time I was headed back home).

God, guardian angels, fate, luck; whatever you chose to believe, kept me and The Kid alive today. I'm thankful, yes indeed. However, this is also one of those things that you cannot dwell upon overly much; for, as with the unfortunate Mr. Bradford, at what point will the grace be gone?

Mrs. B