Why Wasn't I Myself?

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Paraphrasing a rabbi, theologian Miroslav Volf said, "I don't fear that at the end God will ask why I wasn't Moses (great leader) or Thomas Aquinas (towering intellect), but why I wasn't myself."

From nearly the beginning of our lives, we live in a state of constant comparison with those around us. 

She walked so early. 
He didn't talk until late.
She was always short for her age.
He had many developmental delays.
I'll never be as smart as she is.
What did you get on that math quiz?
I wish I was as tall as he is.
I am not as pretty, talented, or gifted as they are.
You're so much better at nearly everything than I am.

Sound familiar? 

We all do it.  We compare ourselves with our neighbors, our fellow students, our colleagues, our family members, or what we have come to believe is "normal."

And this sickness invades all of our lives.  None are exempt from its fever and its lingering debilitating side effects.

This is not how it is supposed to be.
This isn't how we were designed.  

We were made in the image of the Divine One.  The breath, the ruah, of the Creator of all things fills our lungs and feeds our being.  We carry within us the legacy of our first ancestors who the Author of Life called "very good."  This is the gift of God.  There is nothing we can do to earn God's favor or the blessing that courses through our veins.

The challenge is to find a way to drown out the lies that are whispered in our ears telling us that we are not who we were created to be.  When these lies are allowed to take root, we begin to live as if they are the truths that define us.  We must take time to linger in stillness where the voice of God can be heard reminding us that we are indeed "beloved children of God." This is the truth that should shape us.  This is the truth into which we should live.  When we can hear this voice, all other false comparisons fall away, and we can be the person who we were created to be.

You are a child of God.  Nothing can ever take that identity away from you!

Blessings.

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