To be loved means to be chosen.
Have you ever felt like an unwanted rag doll? Like there was no one who accepted you for who you were? Like you didn’t match up to anyone’s expectations of who you should be? Totally unloved? Rejected?
This is how I felt when I was a child in school. Although both of my parents were born in the Flemish-side of Belgium, my mom’s family was French of heart, and we only spoke French at home. As a result, my first exposure to Flemish coincided perfectly with my first day of school! I not only found myself lost in a “foreign” world of the classroom, but also lost in the “foreign” world of the Flemish language! I had no choice but to learn to speak Flemish quickly! Naturally, my accent was horrible, and my Flemish schoolmates were relentless.
To make matters worse, I was overweight. So now I was the FAT francophone, speaking slaughtered Flemish with a heavy French accent! Is it any wonder they made fun of me? Is it any wonder they never welcomed me into their little cliques?
To top it all off, my eyesight was very poor. It wasn’t until I entered school that this was discovered, however, and suddenly I found myself being forced to wear glasses that highly resembled the bottoms of coke bottles! Now I was the fat, BLIND francophone with a heavy accent AND heavy glasses! Pretty freaky!
I was always the last one to be chosen in sports. I don’t blame them. I had to play without my glasses on, and everything looked like a blur. It made me dizzy to run after a ball, and often I would grab someone’s head instead. I was always chosen first in soccer, however, it wasn’t because I was particularly good at the sport. It was because my classmates valued their lives, and their shins. You see, because I often mistook an ankle for a soccer ball, I was a menace to the opposing team who usually left he field limping!
On, I made a few friends over the years, but these were also in the “unwanted rag doll” category. Most of them were significantly younger than I was, but I knew what it was like to be left out, and I could identify with their plights. At least they could have me, another unwanted rag doll, for a friend! But these friendships could never be fostered either, for our household rule, established to keep school and home separate, was that I couldn’t bring friends home from school.
As the school “odd ball”, I wasn’t often faced with the temptation to join a clique. I remember only one time when I was pressured to join one. Initially, this made me feel good; however, I soon learned that this particular gang was into drinking and smoking. Fortunately for me, they had always made fun of me prior to this, and I was skeptical enough to realize the potential dangers of joining them. My decision didn’t make me any more popular at school, however! Now I was a fat, blind francophone who didn’t want to have any fun!
Pretty bad, eh? Things couldn’t get any worse. Or could they?
Upon returning to school after summer holidays one year, I learned that I had just been assigned to the most “despicable” Dutch teacher at my high school. He was well known for his hatred of those who spoke French. It was told that he would stop in front of the desk of francophone students and stare his victims straight in the eyes. Then he would put both fists on the desktop and make faces. If the student laughed in any way, he could be assured that he would fail that class. Boy did I have something to look forward to!
I tried to assume a state of semi-composure on that first day in his class, and everything seemed to be going along okay. Until the teacher stopped at my desk, that is, and started making faces! Oh no! I prayed that I wouldn’t laugh, then I started thinking about other things, things that had happened over the course of the past summer. But the longer I sat there with a straight face, the more the teacher grimaced at me, until suddenly HE started to laugh!
From that day on, that teacher treated me like royalty. I ended up with a noticeable passing grade, something completely unheard of for a francophone! All of my classmates were astonished. They began to circulate cartoon drawings of my Dutch teacher holding a balloon that had my face drawn on it. I was considered the teacher’s pet, but at least I had earned the respect of my classmates, and as a result, this incident made a huge difference in the remaining years of my schooling. There is something special that happens when the unwanted rag doll is finally the chosen one. When you finally feel accepted and appreciate for who you are, hope invades your soul and you know that you look forward to a brighter future!
It doesn’t bother me any more whether people like me or not, and I could care less if I’m the last one chosen for a team. Why? Because I have been singled out as special by Someone else. I have been chosen by none other than Jesus Christ Himself! He now lives in my heart, and this makes me feel so loved and special that no human opinion, no matter how bad, can shake me. How could it? The Creator of the universe is MY special FRIEND!
The Bible says: “We were already chosen to be God’s own children by Christ.” (Eph 1:11 New Life Bible) But what does this mean to be “chosen to be God’s own children”? It means He will come and dwell in you. “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s spirit lives in you?” (1 Cor. 3:16 NIV); “If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in him and he in God.” (1 John 4:15 NIV).
Once He lives in you, you will experience an intimate relationship with Him. You are loved by the Creator Himself! He sees you as unique. He recognizes you as someone who has something special to contribute. He wants to be with you. He desires to be your friend. You are special, and no one can steal that from you!
Friends, you have ALL been chosen already. The price has been paid to change you from being an “unwanted rag doll” to being “Chosen by the King”. But YOU have to do something too, in order for this to all come about. You have to ACCEPT what Jesus has to offer you. You have to ACCEPT Him into your heart! Jesus is the One who makes this possible. He died your death, so that you could experience His resurrection life. Will you let Him?
The choice is yours, friend! Accept God’s offer and feel special, or refuse it and remain an unwanted rag doll forever!
To be chosen means to be loved!
In His love,
Director, Answers2Prayer Ministries