I was told when I was young not to color outside the lines—“be careful, be neat, do it right”—and I did, pretty much my whole life, I did. I thought that if I was a good girl careful to follow the rules, the expectations and limitations set before me then I would be safe. People would like me because I, like them, were careful to stay within the proverbial lines. I would be accepted, I would be happy, and surely I would find success. Hooey!
Along the way I discovered that staying in the lines was fine a lot of the time, but there were moments when my heart longed to burst through to the other side—the negative space just beyond. Couldn’t it be true that the space around the subject, and not the subject itself, might actually be more interesting, more relevant? Even as a young child I began to think of myself as different. Not because I actually ventured outside the lines, but because I thought of it. And because of those thoughts, I concluded that I was different. So in order to go along and be a good girl, I kept my thoughts to myself. That is except for a short period during my teenage years where I chanced to spout my musings aloud. Not surprisingly, they were summed up as rebellion. So I accepted being different and rebellious as part of my identity, neither of which was edifying to my delicate psyche.
When one thinks of themselves as different, there is a sense of never really belonging; a feeling of always being on the outside looking in. From that vantage point, it is easy to feel alienated and alone. And once those feelings take root, a host of other dispirit thoughts can easily ensue. And so it was with me. Dark forces whispered a twisted reality that locked me behind bars of my own making. This cell of false identity shaped every decision, blurred my vision, and years later, nearly put me out of commission.
Yesterday, January 28, 2012, I was sitting in my car parked atop a small cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean in sunny southern California. It was a blissfully warm day and people were out enjoying the sand and the surf, stopping here and there to take pictures of its magnificence. As I sat looking at them, I had an overwhelming revelation of our sameness. Beyond exterior and experience, we are all just people looking for acceptance, longing for love, hoping for importance, and captivated by beauty. And just as blatant as the revelation of our sameness, came the overwhelming understanding of our difference. God created each one of us to be unique—intentionally designed us to be different.
It was upon this revelation that the whole picture of my life became clear. God did not color inside the lines when He created me (or any of us for that matter). In Him there is complete freedom. It is not bad to be different, or to think differently. It is by design.
God knows that my questions, my perceptions are often outside the norm, but He allows me the freedom to color outside the lines. It makes no difference if it’s messy or it’s art, because as long as my hand is in His, His glory will shine through. And it makes no difference if I’m right or if I’m wrong because His grace and mercy lead me into all Truth.
No fear of being different. No fear of being bad. No fear of being alienated. I joyfully break open a new box of crayons and let ‘er rip tater chip!
Along the way I discovered that staying in the lines was fine a lot of the time, but there were moments when my heart longed to burst through to the other side—the negative space just beyond. Couldn’t it be true that the space around the subject, and not the subject itself, might actually be more interesting, more relevant? Even as a young child I began to think of myself as different. Not because I actually ventured outside the lines, but because I thought of it. And because of those thoughts, I concluded that I was different. So in order to go along and be a good girl, I kept my thoughts to myself. That is except for a short period during my teenage years where I chanced to spout my musings aloud. Not surprisingly, they were summed up as rebellion. So I accepted being different and rebellious as part of my identity, neither of which was edifying to my delicate psyche.
When one thinks of themselves as different, there is a sense of never really belonging; a feeling of always being on the outside looking in. From that vantage point, it is easy to feel alienated and alone. And once those feelings take root, a host of other dispirit thoughts can easily ensue. And so it was with me. Dark forces whispered a twisted reality that locked me behind bars of my own making. This cell of false identity shaped every decision, blurred my vision, and years later, nearly put me out of commission.
Yesterday, January 28, 2012, I was sitting in my car parked atop a small cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean in sunny southern California. It was a blissfully warm day and people were out enjoying the sand and the surf, stopping here and there to take pictures of its magnificence. As I sat looking at them, I had an overwhelming revelation of our sameness. Beyond exterior and experience, we are all just people looking for acceptance, longing for love, hoping for importance, and captivated by beauty. And just as blatant as the revelation of our sameness, came the overwhelming understanding of our difference. God created each one of us to be unique—intentionally designed us to be different.
It was upon this revelation that the whole picture of my life became clear. God did not color inside the lines when He created me (or any of us for that matter). In Him there is complete freedom. It is not bad to be different, or to think differently. It is by design.
God knows that my questions, my perceptions are often outside the norm, but He allows me the freedom to color outside the lines. It makes no difference if it’s messy or it’s art, because as long as my hand is in His, His glory will shine through. And it makes no difference if I’m right or if I’m wrong because His grace and mercy lead me into all Truth.
No fear of being different. No fear of being bad. No fear of being alienated. I joyfully break open a new box of crayons and let ‘er rip tater chip!
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