I Am Chosen

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.

—John 15:16

It started on Mother’s Day 2006, when my husband, Troy, handed me a wrapped gift.

“Open it,” he urged.

I could see anticipation in his eyes. This was not a Mother’s Day blender.

I ripped the paper from the package and almost fell out of my chair.

A laptop.

No more fighting over the family desktop. No more squeezing out a few sentences in between all the homework and bookkeeping.

No more waiting to dream.

“I want you to write,” he said, eyes shining. “Anywhere you want. Anytime you want.”

Tears. Rivers of them. For one of the few times in my life, I felt understood. He knew writing mattered to me, made me feel alive. He knew and wanted to help me fly.

Within months, I met with success, getting my first two submitted articles published in well-known print magazines. An unheard of scenario for a rookie, leading me to believe I’d skip over the excruciating publishing process I’d heard so much about.

I was mistaken. In the years that followed, I pushed out query after query, only to receive rejection after rejection. I agonized over proposals, only to get a “pass.” I read books, attended conferences, asked questions, made changes. All while trying to be a devoted wife, mother, and employee. Life swirled, making me dizzy with the spin of it. And I wondered whether I’d need to let the writing dream die. How would I—could I—navigate all my competing roles? The tension between the responsibility and the dream was too much.

Cheered by believing family and friends, I continued, hoping maybe the Father who ordained all things had also chosen me for them. That maybe the writing was, also, a piece of His plan. So I wrote. Agonized over another book proposal. Prayed, wrestled, stayed up late at night and woke up early. Squeezed out words from sparse minutes in the hope the effort would prove worth it. And then I submitted it.

This is it! This would be my moment, I was sure of it!

And I believed that right up until the afternoon I received yet another rejection.

This time it came in email form, including a blunt critique of what I believed was my best work. This rejection made the long line of others read like compliments. I knew it was part of the process, that I should welcome the feedback. But still. My heart hurt.

As I sank to the floor in a corner of my bedroom, I began to cry. I could see my husband’s bright eyes years before as I unwrapped that laptop. I could see the young woman who believed in her dream and thought she had what it takes.

That day on the bedroom floor, I felt like I failed them both.

Nothing stings quite like rejection. All the striving and believing and hoping to be chosen, only to be dashed in the trying.

Overlooked by a parent. Passed over for a dream job. Excluded from a group of friends. Abandoned by a spouse. You always remember your greatest rejection. It becomes a demarcation point, after which something changes within. Regardless of the source, our response to rejection is often the same: self-blame.

This is our knee-jerk response to rejection. We assume we somehow aren’t good enough, smart enough, worthy enough for the choosing. It’s much easier to believe the deficiency lies with us, because then we might be able to fix the problem. To be at the mercy of someone else’s prerogative leaves us vulnerable to further pain.

Thank heavens, God operates by a different standard. He doesn’t hold back approval as He waits to evaluate our work. Instead, He has already chosen. And we made the list.

Have more beautiful words ever been spoken? We’re the chosen ones! We, with our many physical limitations and emotional flaws. We, with our long string of human rejections that’s left us bristling and afraid. God looks at our bruised, less-than selves and sees someone worthy of love. And His choosing relieves the sting of our rejections.

Her. The second from the right. I want her. With Me.

No chance of rejection. Instead, chosen. Wanted. Celebrated. This day and every day yet to come.

Your faith is not the basis of God’s choosing you, but the result of it.

—JOHN PIPER, “TEN REASONS TO REVEL IN BEING CHOSEN”