I don’t know about you, but I like acceptance. I like to be liked and appreciated and, well, adored! Okay, adored may be a bit much, but I do respond to people who think I’m smart and funny and interesting — and whatever other qualities you want to throw in.
Surprisingly, not everyone thinks that. Sometimes, someone I was sure would accept me, no matter what… doesn’t. It comes as a nasty little shock. I don’t know why, given how many times we are rejected throughout our lives. Even a slight rebuff humbles me, makes me wonder why I’m surprised. I mean, I have those thoughts of others, too.
The beauty is that sharp sting of rejection pushes me headlong into God to heal my wounds, to tell me He loves me and will always accept me. Why does that feel like the consolation prize? Like the time Dad took the other kids to Six Flags, and my mother and oldest sister and I shared a Sara Lee French silk pie as consolation (because I was “too little”). The pie was yummy, but it wasn’t Six Flags.
If God is the consolation, what must I think of people, for heaven’s sake? People are fickle and wounded and see through a glass darkly — every one of us. The very God of the universe is delighted with me — seems no one else’s opinion should matter!
Sigh. This isn’t the first time I’ve arrived at that conclusion. I’m disconcerted that I don’t live here, in this safe place of God’s ever-present acceptance. I’m hoping maybe this time, I’ll stay at least for the summer.
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