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When you’ve experienced rejection in your life, a serious rejection of all that you are, you see everything through the lens of being unwanted and unworthy. Worthless, as a matter of fact, and disposable. You very easily operate from the assumption that who you are is never enough, and you believe with every fiber of your being that even your presence in a room is tolerated but never wanted.

Every interaction is guarded, and you wait for the inevitable moment when you will be pushed aside, cast away like the rubbish you are. Small slights from others reinforce your beliefs about your value, and self-preservation begs you to build walls to protect yourself from further destruction. You isolate yourself because you know you are an outsider, a person whose purpose is to be seen but not heard. Noticed but not acknowledged. Tolerated but never loved.

The rejection becomes something not just done to you, but your very identity. You weren’t rejected – you are rejected. It’s never a past-tense action; it’s ongoing and assumed in the future. It’s the air that surrounds you, the enveloping presence with you forever.

Living as one rejected is excruciating, and without intentionality, it becomes your default and your downfall.

Humans are built for relationships, and relationships were intended by the Creator to be an extension of His love, a revelation of His commitment, and a picture of His devotion. But in a sinful world full of broken people, relationships fail.

Love fades.

Commitment ends.

And in our minds, if we’re not careful, the treatment we receive from others can become what we believe will be our treatment from God. It can become the defining characteristic of our lives – feeling rejected. Knowing we’re unwanted. Understanding we weren’t chosen.

And the worst part is perhaps not just knowing what happened to us in the past, but believing – knowing – assuming – it will happen to us again in the future. We begin to look for these rejections, subconsciously, at least, and when we look for them, they’re all we see.

I received an email this week informing me I wasn’t chosen. “Well, of course not,” I told myself.

I heard about a gathering I wasn’t included in. “Naturally,” I told myself.

I saw posts about an event I wasn’t invited to. “Why would I be?” I asked myself.

When you consider yourself someone always rejected, that’s who you become. The world just reinforces what you already believe.

I’ve found recovering from rejection to be a years-long process. Maybe sometimes the healing happens overnight, and maybe sometimes the mindset of rejection is miraculously removed. But it hasn’t been for me.

Recovering from rejection has been, for me, a daily surrender to the truth of God that says, “You are mine. You are chosen. You are wanted.” For me, it is a moment by moment decision to retrain my thoughts from feeling worthless to worthy. Loser to loved. Rejected to ransomed. For me, it has been two steps forward and three steps back. For me, it has been hearing people say, “It’s time to move on,” and people not understanding why old feelings rise up again.

To those of you who have faced crushing rejection, I want you to hear these words.

I understand.

When the rest of the world is ignorant and intolerant of the load you feel you can’t bear, I understand. I know what it’s like to peer at your surroundings, suspicious of where the next hurt will come from. Where the next unkindess will originate. When the next blow will level you. I understand.

I understand the feelings you can’t put into words and the new you that never existed before. I understand why caution is the impetus behind every action.

I do. I really understand.

But I also want to invite you to join me in this journey of healing.

We could continue as we are for the rest of our lives, living in self-protection mode, holding people at arm’s length and assuming the worst. We could keep right on believing we’re the outsiders, the ones nobody wanted or will ever want again. We could. But let’s not.

Let’s not live perpetually wounded, but perfectly recovering. Let’s not reject the good we could find and the love we could receive by hiding in the shadows where we feel we belong. Let’s not forfeit lives of purpose by wallowing in past pain.

We have a choice.

When rejection marches toward us again – and it will – let’s remind ourselves we are loved by a God who sacrificed to save us. When we see evidence we were excluded, let’s remind ourselves that rejection is often protection. When old wounds break open again, let’s give ourselves permission to pursue healing. 

Let’s be people not defined by our pasts, not controlled by others’ rejection, and not at the mercy of what has been done.

Let’s be people moving toward healing, stepping into wholeness, and believing we are loved.

We have a choice about what happens next. Let’s choose to come back to life.

 

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Recently I had one of those days where I just looked around and asked, “What am I doing here?” I was frustrated with every little thing I did, and I felt like I was just spinning my wheels. Nothing was working the way I wanted or planned for it to, and if banging my head against a wall would have helped, I would have been all over that.

I felt really unproductive and totally useless, and if there’s anything I can’t handle, it’s feeling like a waste of humanity.

Please tell me you have these days, too.

I know my calling in life, and I understand my greater purpose. I know why and for Whom I was created, but my problem is losing sight of the forest for the trees. I see the big picture, but the details trip me up, and I stall out sometimes when I get lost in the day-to-day that’s supposed to lead to the ultimate. I second-guess myself and feel hesitant, and when I do, I beat myself up. It becomes a ridiculous cycle of work, create, destroy. Know, do, question. Believe, waver, stop.

It’s maddening, and I begin to apologize for even taking up space in the world. I begin to feel like my life is a colossal waste of oxygen.

When these feelings attack me and I start to question what I’m doing, it’s time for a time-out. It’s time to step back from my all-consuming life and seek a perspective shift. But sometimes that means having a little pity-party first, if I’m telling the truth.

Let’s just be really honest for a minute, shall we? Let’s just be vulnerable and say it like it is. Sometimes we have no idea what we’re doing, if it even matters, and what we’re supposed to do next. Last night, my small group sat on our deck in the crisp fall evening and asked those very questions. Are we doing what we’re supposed to be doing? Is there more to life than this? How do we know what God wants us to do next? Are we ever supposed to be satisfied with our lives, or will we always have this nagging feeling that there’s more? Will our soul’s longing for heaven always leave us dissatisfied here?

I felt a little better last night after admitting these feelings out loud. I felt better when I heard that others feel exactly the same way, and I breathed a sigh of relief that my lack of contentment didn’t make me a weirdo or a heretic. I felt better when I was honest and when I heard others being honest, too. Which leads me to this question – why do we try to hide these feelings and pretend to the world that we’re just hunky-dory? Why do we suffer in silence and assume we’re the only ones suffering?

I think it’s all because of fear.

We’re afraid of being different, and when we’re not certain that others feel like we do, the last thing we want is to open up and have them look at us like we’ve lost it. The last thing we want is to pour out our hearts and hear that we’re alone in our feelings. We would much rather be alone in our uncertainty than positive we’re unlike others. So we remain silent, and we begin to question our lives even more.

Here’s the truth. You’re not a waste of oxygen. You’re not just taking up space. And you’re certainly not alone in your feelings and questions. You are very much like every other person alive, whether they admit it or not. You are asking difficult questions of yourself and your life because life itself is difficult. And you need to ask these questions. You need to evaluate your life. You need to evaluate your purpose. You need to wrestle with your decisions. Growth doesn’t happen by accident, and a discovery of yourself won’t just fall in your lap.

What are you struggling to believe today? What makes you feel like you’re wasting the world’s oxygen? I’d love to hear from you! Your honesty will help to defeat your fear.

 

 

 

 

I drove by her house and burst into tears.

I’m not sure why. I’ve been by there many times since our friendship fizzled out and have been just fine, but on this day, I felt particularly vulnerable. I felt alone and lonely, and seeing her house reminded me of what was lost.

I just wanted it back.

 

I wanted the phone calls for no reason where we chatted about nothing. I wanted the shared meals and shared times where we simply enjoyed each other’s company. I wanted the friendship. I just wanted it back.

But the reality is that it’s gone. That particular friendship didn’t make it to this particular season of life, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

Isn’t that the worst? Seeing what is gone and missing it like mad, but being helpless to bring it back?

It’s the worst.

But it’s not the end.

You see, our enemy wants us to see all endings as the end. He wants us to believe that the death of one thing is the death of all things, and he wants us to believe that when one thing is lost, all is lost. And I know it’s tempting to believe him. I’ve had my fair share of days when I’ve looked at my loss and looked at the death and felt like nothing would ever be good again. I’ve succumbed to the lies and believed that I’m unworthy of anything good ever again. I’ve believed this lost friendship is the loss of them all.

I’ve listened to the enemy. But the enemy lies.

If there’s anything my 36 years have taught me, it’s that nothing stays the same. That doesn’t stop me from wanting it to. I’m the girl who would be content with everything staying exactly the same, down to the meals I eat each day. I don’t want variety to be the spice of my life – I want continuity and predictability. But God doesn’t work that way. Change is how he changes us, and staying the same isn’t an option, nor is it good for us.

Loss opens us to new levels of love. Heartbreak reminds us that hurt is universal. Death helps us to appreciate life.

If nothing ever changed, neither would we.

Sometimes the changes are really tough, and sometimes they are life-changing. But often our lives need to be changed.

I’m not saying I don’t miss this friendship – or shouldn’t. The necessary changes we experience still wound us deeply. But with every wound is a different kind of healing. With every loss is an opportunity for a gain. With each pain is potential for growth.

I still miss her. Dearly. But without losing her, I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am today. So even though I look back with longing and wonder what could have been, and even though I cry sometimes when my memories wreak havoc, I’m OK. I’ve come to see the blessings even in the bad. And that, I have to believe, is worth it.

 

 

 

 

When I was growing up, one of the worst insults that could be hurled at a child (or his parents) was that he was a spoiled brat. It was a phrase that wasn’t used very often, but when it was, it stung. No one wanted to hear the perception that a child was spoiled.

Now, we hardly hear the phrase, but maybe it’s because so many children are spoiled. Has the phrase decreased as the problem increased?

Out of curiosity, I looked up the meaning of “spoil.” Here, it means “to harm the character of a child by being too lenient or indulgent.”

That’s convicting.

It’s hard to parent, and it’s particularly hard to parent when we have long-term goals but face pressing, short-term issues. When a child is squalling because he wants a piece of candy, it’s so much easier to give him the candy to keep the peace. When he is complaining because all of his friends have the latest, expensive whatever-it-is, it’s so much easier to give in to make him happy with you. When the house is dirty, it’s just easier to clean it yourself than to teach him and then insist that he do his part.

It’s easier to spoil the child, and maybe that’s why we’re doing it. It’s easier, and it makes the child happy. After all, isn’t that what we’re after? Happy children?

I hope not.

The measuring stick of successful parenting is definitely not happy children. Well-adjusted, responsible, kind, and selfless? Absolutely. Happy and spoiled? No way.

Look back at the definition of spoiled. When we are too lenient or too indulgent, giving our kids too much of what they don’t need, we are simultaneously harming their character.

We try to justify our indulgence and leniency by telling ourselves we’re showing them love. We tell ourselves that we’re giving our children everything we never had. We convince ourselves that we don’t want them to feel different, left out, or lacking.

We tell ourselves a lot of things, but we forget to tell ourselves the truth.

The truth is that giving them everything they want and ask for is the opposite of showing them love. It’s showing them that they’re the center of the universe, and it’s teaching them that the purpose of their lives is fulfillment of their material desires.

Do we even realize what we’re doing? Maybe not. If we were aware that we were hurting their character, surely we would stop. The deceiver wants us to ruin them from the start, so he deceives us from the start. We’re blinded to the harm we’re doing.

You’ve seen what I’ve seen in the world. Two-year-olds ruling their households, with their parents afraid to set bedtimes and asking instead of telling. Five-year-olds demanding toys in Target – and receiving them “just because.” Ten-year-olds who “will only wear name-brand clothes.”  Sixteen-year-olds who drive nicer cars than their parents and carry handbags that cost hundreds of dollars.

Children are being spoiled, parents are giving in, and society is suffering.

It’s not about whether we can afford these things or not. (And in many cases, we can’t. We keep up with the Joneses by keeping our debt accumulating. We keep working ourselves to death so we can give our kids all they want. We’re not spending our extra cash – we’re spending our only cash. We work overtime and stress ourselves out, and then we just dole out the stuff to the kids who haven’t lifted a finger for it.) Even if we could afford to give our kids everything they want, we shouldn’t do it. Life is not about possessions, and spoiling children with possessions teaches them it is.

Denying your children will not ruin them. It will not destroy their lives, and it will not leave them friendless. Yes, it may make them upset momentarily. Yes, it may make them a little different from their friends. Yes, it may mean your family isn’t just like everyone else’s. But isn’t that a good thing?

When your child is older and understands why you stood your ground, he will see that you were teaching what matters in the long run. He will see that sacrifice leads to greater blessings. He will see that you loved him enough to say no.

Love is patient. Love is kind. And you know what else? Love doesn’t spoil.

 

 

 

 

She burrowed underneath the bright pink comforter, pulling the princess pillow over her face as she hid her pooling tears.

“Mommy, should I join the competition team?”

Ah. This again. She loves to flip and leap, cutting cartwheels across the den, contorting her body on the trampoline, and walking the beam on planks of the hardwood floor. She loves it, but last year she stayed a level below her ability because she didn’t want to compete – didn’t want to perform in front of people. My girl loves gymnastics, but others’ judgment and watching eyes strike terror in her heart.

I wonder where she gets it.

After being encouraged again to join the competition team, she had a decision to make. Should she join and compete this year or stay where she was?
“What if I get a low score?” she whispered. Her muffled voice made its way through the pillow to my ears, and the underlying message of her question went straight to my heart. Her little-girl voice asked what my big-girl heart feels: “What if I’m not good enough?”

(more…)

 

I’ve been to some pretty crazy Clemson football games in my day. For 36 years, more if you count the time I spent in utero, I’ve been going to Death Valley and watching the Tigers compete against all number of opponents. I’ve seen wins and losses, and I’ve seen coaches come and go. I’ve tailgated early and tailgated late, and I’ve eaten way more than my fair share of junk food. Clemson football is a way of life in my family, and yes, I love and understand the sport.

I’ve seen some pretty crazy games and taken part in some pretty crazy days.

Like, for example, this one.

Clemson versus Notre Dame, October 2015. Pouring rain, thanks to the remnants of Hurrican Joaquin. Notre Dame scored with seconds left in the 4th quarter to come within two points. They went for the 2 point conversion and were denied. A goal-line stand meant another Clemson win! Instant classic and a game I’ll always remember because this is how we looked.

Then there’s this one. Clemson versus Alabama for the National Championship, January 2016.

4th quarter, tied at 24. Alabama turned a gutsy on-side kick into a touchdown and went up 31-24. Clemson answered with a field goal, 31-27. Alabama scored again, 38-27. Clemson scored again, went for 2, missed. 38-33. Another Alabama touchdown, 45-33. Clemson scored again, 45-40. End of game. Clemson just missed the National Championship title after a game of back and forth.

(Just for fun, let me tell you a little about this trip. My family decided going to the National Championship was the trip of a lifetime, so we made a vacation out of it. We flew into Las Vegas and did all the tourist things while I had a raging case of strep throat and was the sickest I’ve ever been. Here’s some photographic evidence of the strep rash I wore as an accessory. “No, I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t need to go to the doctor. Yeah, I’m good to walk around town.” Fun times.)

But I’m not sure anything compares to this Saturday’s home game versus Louisville and their Heisman standout quarterback Lamar Jackson. It was by far the loudest game I’ve been to in my 36 years of going to Death Valley. From before the kickoff, the atmosphere was wild, and it was very clear Tiger fans were determined to be the 12th man. I screamed so loudly and so much that my voice still isn’t right. Permanent vocal damage? Just a small price to pay for causing the Cardinals to jump off sides.

The Tigers were dominant in the first half, taking a 28-10 lead into halftime. But Louisville would not be counted out. They came out and scored 26 points in a tale of interceptions and turnovers. They had the lead, 36-34, with just minutes left in the game. Honestly, I thought we were done at this point. I thought our 18-game winning streak at home was done. I thought I spent 15 hours in Clemson that day for a loss.

But then Jordan Leggett redeemed his earlier turnover with a touchdown run to put us back on top, 42-36. I felt better.

But my fourteenth heart attack of the game came just after that when Louisville made it into the red zone with 40 seconds to go. They were right there, a touchdown away from beating us by a point. Fourth down and 12. Our defense was exhausted, and we didn’t know if they could stop Louisville one more time.

Jackson threw a pass to a receiver who stepped out of bounds one yard short of converting the first down, and we got the ball back for the victory! The time it took for the officials to review that play was a lifetime, or so it felt. But in the end, the Tigers won. The Tigers won, and I got in bed at 4:27 am.

Yes, 4:27 am.

Permanent vocal damage and sheer exhaustion? Totally worth it.

Go Tigers!

 

 

When the world seems to be falling apart, what are we supposed to do? When the news is filled with murders and protests, what do we tell our children? When our nine-year-old asks, “Mommy, what happened in Charlotte?”, what are we supposed to say?

I don’t know. I have way more questions than I have answers, and my silence on it all has been a sign of my hesitance. I haven’t known what to say or how to say it, so I’ve stayed silent. But silence does nothing to make anything better. And I don’t want my silence to be complicity.

Regardless of your thoughts on police shootings and the guilt or innocence of those gunned down, you cannot deny that our country is facing enormous race issues. You can have a million opinions on why this is so, and you can pronounce a side that is right and a side that is wrong, but first you must be willing to admit that a huge problem exists. It is real, and it matters, and pretending it away or just hoping it will get better is never going to work. People are killing and people are dying, and race is part of the problem. People are hurting and people are scared, and race is part of the problem. People are judging and people are condemning, and race is part of the problem.

Race is part of the problem, and so are we.

I told someone recently that I have stayed silent partly because I feel my whiteness disqualifies me from taking part in the discussion. I don’t know what African-Americans feel or how they’ve been treated, and I don’t know what it’s like to worry whenever a cop pulls you over. I don’t know, and I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how you’ve been treated, and I’m sorry for what you’ve been called. I’m sorry I rarely stop to consider what it’s like for you, and I’m sorry this is the reality of your life. I’m so very sorry. And I want to know more. I want to hear what your experience is. I want to know what life has been like. I want to know how I can help, and I want to help us as a country do better. I want you to know I care.”

My whiteness might limit my perspective and inhibit my understanding, but it does not prevent me from showing compassion and seeking relationship.

So much of the conversation lately has started with the words, “Well, if they just…” People have used this both for those shot and those shooting. I’m not discounting that on both sides if people had done something differently, there could have been different outcomes, BUT THIS DOES NOTHING TO HELP PEOPLE WHO ARE LIVING IN THE REALITY OF WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, NOT IN THE ‘JUSTS’ OF WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN.

What happened did happen, and speculating does not change the reality of deadly decisions. Our aim ought to be to learn from what went wrong, to educate everyone on how to change the coming future, and to be people of compassion in the process of change.

Instead of compassion, I see condemnation. Instead of conversation-starters, I see racism-spewers. Instead of understanding, I see dismissal. I see division and ignorance and people who assume they know it all – on both “sides.” But no one knows all the answers, and no one has the cure. There is no easy fix, and there is no solution in the venom I see people spouting – on both “sides.”

When it’s easier to ignore the problem, let’s bring it to the forefront. When it’s easier to remain “us” and “them,” let’s unite as human beings. When it’s easier to see through our own experience, let’s try to see the other “side.” When it’s easier to dismiss what we don’t understand, let’s seek even harder to make sense of it.

Let’s be the generation that says, “Yes, this is hard. There is right and there is wrong, and there are moments when it’s hard to tell which is which. There are good guys and bad guys, and sometimes we really get them mixed up. This is a years-old problem, and though we might not solve it overnight, we’re at least going to try. We’re going to talk to people different from ourselves. We’re going to have tough conversations – but we’re actually going to talk instead of just yell. We’re going to seek understanding instead of seeking to be right, and we’re going to do whatever we can to figure this thing out. This means we’ll have to consider education, poverty, profiling, and unemployment, but we’ll do this because the alternative is self-destruction. We’re going to re-examine our policies and reconsider our training, but it’s worth it if things get better. We’re not going to shy away from this, even though it’s hard. We’re not going to avoid conversations just because we’re uncomfortable. We’re not going to continue with the status-quo just because it’s there. We are going to tackle this issue now.”

Do I know exactly what this will look like? No. But I know it’s necessary. Do I know how long it will take? No. But I know it’s worth it. Do I know just where to start? No. But I know I must.

 

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Sometimes, we forget what we wish we could remember. And sometimes we remember what we wish we could forget.

Have you ever tossed restlessly at night, replaying events and words that just won’t go away? How often I’ve prayed, “Lord, remove this from my thoughts. Take this out of my mind.” Over and over on an endless loop, I see mistakes I’ve made and hear words I can’t take back, and my memory becomes a weapon destroying my peace.

Sometimes, it’s not the memories themselves that are the problem. It’s the lies we tell ourselves about the memories. We tell ourselves we’re defined by what happened, and we believe the untruth that the words we said will never be forgiven. We live held hostage by the things that once were, and we refuse the grace that offers to redeem them.

We remember what we need to forget, and we forget what we need to remember.

We need to remember there’s nothing too wrong to be made right again. There’s nothing unforgivable and nothing unredeemable. There’s nowhere too far gone, and there’s no one too out of reach.

We need to remember what Satan wants us to forget, and we need to forget what Satan wants us to remember.

Satan wants us to remember every unkind word we’ve heard and every unkind word we’ve uttered. He wants us to remember the heartaches that tried to destroy us. The people who rejected us. The decisions that haunt us. The sins that weigh us down. The unfulfilled promises. The mocking. The abuse. The lies. The past.

Satan wants us to forget we are more than conquerors in Christ. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. We are forgiven. We are new creations. We are made in God’s image. We are alive in Christ. We are filled with the Holy Spirit.

Some days I need to make a “Things to Remember” list instead of a “Things to Do” one. More would get done (and get done well) if I remembered what I should and operated from a place of truth.

What would happen in our lives if we took stock of our thoughts and purposely realigned them with truth? What difference would there be if we refused to remember only the bad and chose to remember the truth? How would our lives be impacted if forgetting and remembering were actions we chose deliberately?

2 Corinthians 10:5 says, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” Here’s the thing about thoughts. They will come to you uninvited and unwelcome. They will come to you without warning and when you’re vulnerable. BUT. You are not at their mercy. You do not have to think a thought just because it comes to you – you can take it captive. That thought plaguing you can become your prisoner as you hold it against the truth of God’s word. When you find it lying, reject it. When you find it lacking, release it. You and I have the power to bring our thoughts under obedience to Christ.

If we will remember to do it.

What is it today you need to remember? And just as importantly, what do you need to forget?

Write it down. Speak it out loud. Confess it. And watch Christ redeem it.