Earlier this week, on my blog, I revisited a topic I'd written about before, and it's still weighing on my heart today, so I guess that means it's kind of a theme for me right now.
Formulas.
There aren't any.
I'm not sure where and when along the way, we as a human race mapped out exactly how things should look for every life, planet wide.
Why kids start going to school at five and end when they're eighteen and then figure out what they want to do for the rest of their lives and go back to school for that. Why getting married before 20 makes you married too young and after 22 makes you an old maid/confirmed bachelor. Why you have to have all your kids before 30, why only one child is not enough and any more than three is too many. Why church takes place on Sunday mornings at 10:00 and why the work day is a firm 8 to 5. Why owning a mini-van makes you a soccer mom and owning a sports car past 40 gives you mid-life-crisis status. Why kids who aren't able to care for aging parents are unloving and why kids who move home after college lack ambition.
Oh how very many rules we've placed on ourselves...or perhaps more accurately on others. {Because a rule works well for someone else, but when we're in need of its leniency, we're quick to grant ourselves grace.}
Earlier this week, I was in a group where women were sharing stories about their lives...about their own stories. It was an open, welcoming environment where we all just wanted to know each other a bit better. But I noticed, after the first few went, with their traditional, expected, following-the-formula stories, a couple of women hesitantly shared their own stories. They offered what they had, but within the offering was the hint of apology. Like perhaps they feared that they weren't quite as qualified because their stories had a perceived flaw.
And again, this weight washed over my soul...a grieving of sorts...because all our stories are unique. God hasn't written any two of us the same way...and what a celebration that should be! Just because these dear women had a season that looked different didn't mean they're flawed and I'm not. We're ALL flawed. ALL in need of a Savior. ALL in need of grace.
The rest...it's all a formula...and I have to wonder what Jesus thinks of our formulas and our strong bent to hold on to them with more tenacity than we hold onto Him.
Your story isn't mine. My story isn't yours.
My life hasn't followed a formula from the moment I was born into a family that thought it was complete. When I was born to parents in their forties and sisters in their teens. And nothing about my life has been traditional since then. But what a story God has written!
And YOU, my dear friend....your story is uniquely yours. Whatever about it doesn't fit the formulas we seem to live in doesn't make you wrong. If you started kindergarten at 6 and graduated from college at 18...and got married at 50 and adopted a baby at 60...and drove a motorcycle with a side car the whole time, that's okay. What matters when all is said and done isn't following formulas. It's following Jesus!
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