I Am Formed

Everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.

—Isaiah 43:7

I cringe every time I see it.

My first-grade school photo.

Dorothy Hamill haircut. Awkward 1970s fashion. Slouchy shoulders, goofy grin. And a gap between my two front teeth as wide as Moses’ parted Red Sea.

Somebody save me.

I always hated that gap. Lauren Hutton made it look sexy. I made it look like an unfortunate genetic accident. For two entire school years that photo bothered my six-year-old self. So much so that it affected my third- and fourth-grade photos.

Again, Dorothy hair. Still no clue about posture. But my lips are tightly pressed together, hiding my Red Sea pearly whites. Effective, yes. But it left me looking like I suffered digestive issues.

I inherited my toothy space. Call it a genetic gift, passed down from my mother’s side of the family, along with a wide and sturdy Nebraska-farmer physique.

Yay me.

But unlike the Nebraska hips, which I didn’t resent until much later, I hated my teeth from the start. They made me different. Other six-year-olds sported teeth that touched. Mine had to send postcards to each other. I tried to squish them together with my fingers to no avail. Mom tried to convince me the gap made me unique. I didn’t want to be unique. I wanted to be normal.

That was merely the beginning of an ongoing personal critique that continues to this day. Imagine me, clipboard in hand, constantly scrutinizing my reflection.

Turned-up nose? Check.

Wrinkles and flabby granny arms? Check, check.

Gray hair, spider veins, and stretch marks? Lord, have mercy. Somebody give me a fresh pen. Check, check, and check.

When it comes to my appearance, there is far too little I celebrate and far too much I denigrate. But if my little girl came up to me and started the same type of clipboard-carrying critique, I’d grab her by the shoulders and launch into a world-class lecture detailing all the reasons why she is beautiful and wonderful and valuable exactly as she is.

Why can’t I do the same for myself?

Because I’ve lost sight of how I was formed. In my effort to be like everyone else, I’ve lost sight of what makes me one of a kind. Just as there’s a painter behind every painting and a poet behind every poem, an artistic expertise forged every one of us. And the best artists know that variation lends creativity its value. It isn’t the common that attracts us but the uncommon.

Years ago, long before his explosive success, my parents became fans of artist Terry Redlin. They loved his outdoor wildlife scenes, the way he brought nature alive with color and illumination. So one day they picked up a Terry Redlin print. But not just any print. A numbered print—one of a limited edition of original paintings. Replicas of that painting exist, but none exactly like theirs. Theirs includes variations not found in the replicas, unique brush strokes that lend originality to their particular piece of art.

What if you and I started to see our variations the same way? What if, rather than conforming to a standard, working so hard to become a mass-produced replica, we trusted the value in the unique form we already have?

What if your curly hair is actually like a numbered print?

What if that birthmark or those freckles you try to hide are like a signature?

What if my cavernous front teeth are like an artist’s hidden representation?

To the believers in Ephesus, Paul wrote these words: “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Eph. 2:10).

In the original text, Paul’s word for handiwork is poiema, the Greek word from which we get poem. But the best part comes in the word right after handiwork.

Created. From ktizo, “to design with a certain ability, capability, or capacity.”*

Did you see that? To design. Design takes creation to the next level, conveying the intention, purpose, and skill of the Designer, expertise commissioned to do an expert task.

We are not mass produced, like millions of candies poured into molds and coming out exactly the same as all the others.

We’ve been designed by an expert, shaped and formed by hands with far more skill than our own. Given life, then crafted into the best possible representation of the Artist. We were formed, uniquely and individually, with qualities both external and internal that make us unlike any other.

Numbered prints. Each one different from all the others. Each one bearing the name of the Artist. Gap teeth and all.

The church is an orchestra. We are instruments crafted by the Artist. We play a score written for us by the Composer, which allows our individual notes to create harmonies. Having tuned ourselves to the Perfect Pitch living within, we play as one, interpreting the Composer’s masterpiece with passion and precision. And the result is stunning: we display the glory of God.

—CHARLES R. SWINDOLL, INSIGHTS ON ROMANS