Rejection came when I was very small. Too small to even know what it was.
The first time I remember rejection I was less than 8 years old. My parents had a huge fight. My dad threw my mom’s purse at her as he was kicking her out of the apartment. Then she was gone. Was she ever coming back?
And it began, the slow merging of reality with ideality.
It always began with a fight and ended with my mom running out the door, disappearing for hours, me searching high and low for her.
When I drive by that apartment complex now it is so small, just one city block. But then? It might as well have been the size of the entire planet.
I would search until I couldn’t search anymore, sobbing as I called for her, feeling completely defeated as I finally gave up. Then walking through the front door, finding her standing in the kitchen as if nothing ever happened, no concern for me, no hug, no comfort.
All my interactions with the world today have their foundation in this pattern of childhood rejection. This is the root. It has grown very very deep.
I’ve pulled the weeds of my life for 51 years. But now it’s time to get the root out. Once and for all.
I went to Atlanta this past weekend to visit a friend from the ship. We are friends because God threw us together as roommates at Gateway. We couldn’t be more different. She is a gift from God. She loves me for me, good, bad, ugly.
The theme of the weekend? Acceptance. Getting past rejection. Perseverance. Hope.
God followed me to Atlanta. He lavished me with gifts of friendship, fun touristy things, beautiful views, an aquarium filled with the largest creatures of His ocean, a giant stone mountain that survived the fiercest Civil War battles. He spoke to me in church. In Atlanta. Directly. I love you. I accept you. I created you to be exactly who you are. I knew you before the foundation of the world was laid. You matter. Your value is in me. You have a purpose. You are a miracle. I worshiped the Lord as tears of thankfulness streamed down my face.
Everything will be alright.