“Our God doesn’t teach us how to climb high, but how to bow low.” – Casey Page Culbreth
As a kid, I always had this feeling that I was different from everyone else. I wasn’t terribly athletic. I like sports, but I never felt like I had the right mix of attributes to be very good at any of them. My baseball career was short lived. I still can’t dribble a basketball to save my life. And while I love football, we didn’t have youth leagues for me to play. The school I attended was considered a soccer school, and I hated soccer. It wasn’t the running so much, but the running and kicking combined that usually meant I was going to end up face down in the dirt (did I mention that I’m not very graceful?)
I really wanted to be good at something. I wanted to fit in with friends. I didn’t want to feel like the oddball who was last to get the joke. I didn’t want to feel left out. Looking back, I see how often I tried to fit in – to be a part – to grasp at some kind of normal. If I couldn’t be great at sports, I would be the friend others needed. I would be the most willing participant. I would be the guy you could count on. I would be the friend that you would miss if you didn’t have him around.
There was a part of this adopted identity that really bothered me. Now hang with me, because this is going to sound weird, but I always felt like a thumb. In my friend groups, I did feel like I as a part of something. I was valued for what I could contribute, but I still didn’t always feel close. I was striving to be a part but I still felt on the outside looking in. Sometimes I imagined that I was the last option to people; needed but not close. The image I had was of a hand. The fingers were close and were busy doing things. I was just the thumb, needed and even wanted at times, but still over to the side and only casually connected.
Now before you think it’s time for me to talk to someone about a raging inferiority complex, I have discovered something about my “being a part struggle.” Whenever I explain this to someone, 9 out of 10 times I hear agreement. “Your kidding, I felt the same way.” Or, “a thumb, I never thought of it that way, but that’s exactly how I feel too.” Even people that I assumed were fingers have told me that they felt like they were the thumbs and they were struggling to keep up and feel a part. And the more I hear those confessions, the more I realize that my problem really isn’t just my problem.
In Day 7 of God is Here, Casey invites us to embrace the difference of living in the “upside down kingdom of Jesus.” His world is so very different from the constant striving and grasping of our broken culture. His way is one of others first. It’s of humble care. It’s of not thinking so highly of yourself, but instead thinking of your self rightly. It’s a way that says arrogance and pride are the surest ways to be alone and cut off from what’s real and true.
Following this king born in a cave is an invitation to be different. Saying yes to Jesus isn’t just about fire insurance – getting a “get out of hell for eternity” card. Instead, saying yes to Jesus is about embracing a kingdom that shines a light on what our culture thinks is success and revealing it to be a lie. Instead of grabbing and squandering and hoarding, we are invited to give…freely. Instead of racing to the top for fame and renown, we live content lifting others ahead.
I really needed this reminder this morning. Like everyone else, this pandemic has taken a toll. It has worn on me and it has invited a weariness that is hard to explain. It has also revealed to me those places where I’m still striving to be a part. It has revealed to me areas where I still feel like that elementary or junior high student that wants to be included. It has revealed to me places where the different I am striving for really is, when compared to Jesus, a different I don’t want – a different he doesn’t want for me.
Jesus came to include us all, and to call us by a different name. He came to join us to the work of Abba God – the one who calls us sons and daughters. He came to invite an end to the silly striving of grasping, and instead to the constant reality of being found in Him. He came to call us Beloved – chosen – anointed – holy.
And as I think about the steps the God-man has taken to include me, suddenly I find myself worrying a little less about a lot of the other stuff. Instead of worrying or feeling disconnected, I end up seeing just how connected I am. It’s a truth that, sometimes, I need to remind myself of hour by hour as our culture wants to tell me the opposite. It’s a truth that as I embrace, even in small little doses, I find that being different is really the best way for me to be.
Abba, thank you for calling out to me and for making me your own. Thank you for naming me. Help me when I slip into ways that mimic anything but your Way. Help me to have eyes that see what you have for me instead of eyes that long for a connection that won’t last. Help me to see myself and those around me with your different kind of eyes. Thank you Jesus for including me. Amen.