Sabbath Sunday: The Chosen

As soon as I took this picture, it hit me hard.

Because I could relate.

That leaf looked so out of place.

So last season.

And alone.

Cold and lonely wondering why it has to be this way.

Of all the Christmas stories out there growing up, I would cry watching Rudolph.

Because before I knew rejection, I sensed my life’s call as a misfit.

Then I grew and I realized there was One who knew that cold and lonely life in a way I never would.

Jesus.

That babe born in a barn.

The child who hung out in tabernacles when other kids played.

The Savior who hung while everyone mocked or disappeared.

Years ago a traveling preacher visited our church and prayed over folks at the altar.

We went forward and my husband received this encouragement:

“Those things that hurt you, you wondered if it was because of what you did or didn’t do. You wondered why. Those things were to make you more like My Son.”

To be like Him means forsaking the world and taking the narrow path.

Sticking out and looking so last season.

Feeling cold and alone.

But the reward is great.

Intimacy with the One who chose you.

Eternal life.

Love.

Now when I see something that looks alone I don’t feel sad.

I rejoice.

Because that object was chosen.

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