Tip of My Iceberg

If someone would ask me what my favorite fiction book is, I’d be hard-pressed to come up with a single answer. I’ve read Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” and “Lord of the Rings” trilogy many times. Right now I have a fascination with World War II stories based on facts–“The Book Thief” by Markus Zusak, or “All the Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr. History fascinates me. There’s so much we can learn from it; we rarely seem to do so.

When you ask a child what their favorite book is, the chances are excellent that the one they’ve memorized because it’s been read to them so many times will be their choice. Books with rhymes that capture a child’s imagination, pictures that grab their attention, and storylines that make them laugh.

Beck, at three, has a variety of stories that are his favorites. A preferred book depends on the day and his mood. “Pout-Pout Fish” is right up there, with a cranky fish that brings his dreary wearies to everyone around him. “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” shows a wooly wiggler who eats his fill and metamorphoses into a butterfly.

The one he finally chose for his book report was “Diggersaurs Explore”, about big vehicles that show up as dinosaurs.

What better combination than monster machines and dinosaurs?

Sharing his story was a chance for him to share a little bit more about himself. What he likes; what he’s like. Each child enjoyed what their classmates offered as their favorites.

We all get what a favorite is. Something preferred above other things of the same kind, often popular and well-liked by others.

In some context, we all want to be the favorite of someone else.

Being chosen, selected as the best. Desired.

Choosing teams during PE for softball comes to mind. Two captains were announced, and they’d go through the class roster, deciding who would be on their teams.

The worst of the worst was to be chosen last. The one nobody wanted but whoever had the last pick was stuck with them.

I was athletic enough as a kid that I never got chosen last, but I knew the kids who were. Some were friends, but watching their humiliation often made me want to pull back a little, not wanting to be associated with them.

There are so many layers to not being wanted or accepted, not being special enough for anyone. It causes us to question our value, our worth. Worse, it pushes us to be someone we’re not, trying to fit in. This then brings the question of who we really are.

We all long to be chosen.

God does that for us.

The apostle Paul wrote to the church in Thessalonica, reminding them as they persevered in their faith in tough times, that they were important to God.

“We know, dear brothers and sisters, that God loves you and has chosen you to be His own people.” 1 Thessalonians 1:4

Chosen to be loved. What an incredible truth.

God knows each one of us completely. He chooses to love us–but we need to choose to receive that love. His gift of compassion only becomes ours when we receive it.

What would it mean if you knew without a doubt that you were God’s favored one?

it might make you feel special.