Several years ago, we took the family to see comedian Tim Hawkins perform. The auditorium was packed. We were high in the balcony, surrounded by people who—like us—were all laughing so hard they were crying.
It was a fun, memorable night.
I was pushing my shopping cart back to the cart corral at Aldi when I noticed another customer approaching the store. A larger man with a bushy white beard, he was wearing a mask, overalls, a long-sleeved knit shirt and no coat (a detail that caught my eye because it was a blustery March morning).
I put my cart away and turned back around just as he was shuffling up to the door. He didn’t look familiar to me, but I thought I saw recognition in his eyes when he glanced my way.
This isn’t an uncommon occurrence. After spending the first 12 years of married life in a different state, I now live near where I grew up and occasionally run into people I knew long ago who recognize me (or the family I came from) before I realize who they are.
“Fancy meeting you here,” the man said. (I think that’s what he said, anyway. The wind, the mask and my less-than-stellar hearing made it a little difficult to tell exactly.)
After getting a closer look at me, he immediately followed up with, “Oh sorry—you’re the wrong person.”
I just laughed and called “It’s hard to tell with these masks” over my shoulder as I headed back to my car. It was a slightly odd exchange, but I knew what the man meant. He thought I was someone else, and he was mistaken.
Still, it got me to thinking.
Even when it’s a case of mistaken identity, it’s a bit jarring to be told you’re the wrong person. I wonder, though—have you ever thought this to yourself, about yourself?
Perhaps that you might be the wrong person to do something you have no choice but to do? That while you desperately long to do your job well, you suspect someone else could do it much better?
I remember feeling this way when my daughter Lilly was much younger. She was a constant blur of words and motion. I was in my mid-30s—perimenopausal with zero energy. I knew in my heart that God had given me my specific children, but if I had been a P.E. teacher, I may have been able to handle this phase of my life a bit better.
Years later, when my parents’ health declined and I had to fulfill all the executor and power-of-attorney responsibilities in their wills that I happily agreed to but never expected to actually perform, I thought the same thing. Out of all my high-achieving, take-charge siblings, I felt like I was the least likely to be in charge.
Yet in both cases—no matter how I felt at any given time—I wasn’t the wrong person. And neither are you.
We might be the wrong person for certain tasks or jobs. I don’t know about you, but I certainly would be the wrong person to sing on the praise team at church, to unload a truckload of heavy furniture, or to solve a complex calculus problem.
When it comes to who we are as individual children of God, however, we’re not the wrong people. We don’t have the wrong personality, the wrong wiring or the wrong emotional makeup to do what our all-wise heavenly Father has given us to do.
I’m not saying we are perfectly equipped for every role, right when we start. We might need to take the initiative and make some changes when it comes to our attitudes, our habits or how we respond to various situations.
There are plenty of times when we receive exactly what we need, just in time, and other times when we simply have to muddle through the best we can.
In any event, the Bible tells us that “we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10)
If you’re feeling like the wrong person today, I want you to remember this. You are not the wrong person.
And you never go wrong when you bring your insecurities, frailties and failures to Jesus and ask Him to strengthen you for your current task or season—whatever it may hold.
“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me. Lord, your love is eternal; do not abandon the work of Your hands.” (Psalm 138:8)
♥ Lois
We don’t have the wrong personality, the wrong wiring or the wrong emotional makeup to do what our all-wise heavenly Father has given us to do. Share on X You never go wrong when you bring your insecurities, frailties and failures to Jesus and ask Him to strengthen you for your current task or season—whatever it may hold. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, Let’s Have Coffee, Inspire Me Monday, #HeartEncouragement and Grace & Truth.
Life is hard. That’s not news to anyone who has been on this planet for more than a week.
But—and this is critical to remember—God is good. His goodness is not rated by what happens to you or me, or any group of people. It’s an intrinsic part of who He is, just like His faithfulness or omnipotence.
I was listening to the radio a few weeks ago when the deejay said her son had asked her to teach him to drive. My ears perked up, since I had been doing that very thing with my daughter Molly for the last year.
The announcer shared how she was having trouble wrapping her head around the fact that her son was actually old enough to learn how to drive. Then, as all good deejays do, she asked her listeners for advice about teaching your kids to drive.
A lady called in and offered, as best as I can remember, the following thoughts:
“When they drive away for the first time by themselves, you realize they are really in God’s care,” she said. “You are involved with everything up to that point, now they are on their own.”
I didn’t disagree with a single word the caller said. But if I had gotten through on the radio station’s phone line, I would have given the announcer different advice.
I would have told her to start every driving session by warming up in a large parking lot.
That’s what I did with both of my girls, in the early days of our practice drives. It was like stretching before exercise, and it was as much for me as it was for them.
Begin with the end in mind—one of Steve Covey’s seven habits of highly effective people—is a good parenting philosophy. Our end goal, always, should be to raise functional, kind, God-fearing kids who can think for themselves, take care of themselves, and yes—cook a few meals and do their own laundry.
But in the day-to-day, parenting is much more, well, day-to-day. If you start any big milestone adventure by thinking about how you’re going to feel at the end, it can be overwhelming.
After warming up in the parking lot, my young driver and I would venture out on the residential streets nearby. We’d move on to four-lane city streets, eventually got up to going 75 miles per hour on the interstate and finally, driving at night—in the rain.
The radio announcer hadn’t even started driving with her son yet, so she was a long way from sending him off to drive by himself. First things first, I’d tell her. Here a little, there a little and pretty soon (or 50 hours later, in my family’s case), both you and your son will have the confidence he needs to back out of the driveway by himself.
Before older daughter Lilly started driving, I had no intention of being very involved in teaching her to drive. Randy taught her the basics of operating a vehicle, but after that, I assumed she’d take driver’s ed at the high school (like I did) and then get her license.
With this, like everything else in life, I had to learn to hold my expectations and plans loosely.
Lilly ended up logging many of the state-required practice hours shuttling us to the nursing home to visit my mom. She took a much-abbreviated driver’s ed course at the local community college, instead of the month-long session at the high school.
Younger sister Molly, who also learned the basics from Randy, started her mom-sponsored driving lessons during the pandemic shutdown last spring. It was eerie out on the sparsely populated roads, but it was also ideal for teaching a new, very cautious driver.
Driver’s ed at the high school filled up before we got in, so she took shorter course at the community college too. By that time, she was the most experienced driver in the class.
Plans change; we adapt. Not always well or without resistance, but we do.
The key, I’ve been learning this past year, is to take one day at a time. For me, that means not worrying about tomorrow. Not that I have perfected this or anything, but I’m trying.
As Samwise Gamgee told Frodo in The Return of the King, “Come on. Let’s just make it down the hill for starters.”
Molly got her driver’s license a few weeks ago. She’s not driving into the city on the interstate by herself, but she is taking herself to work and to our local library.
She’s in God’s care, as the radio caller said. When she makes it to the bottom of our driveway, for starters, and wherever she goes from there.
• • •
Whether you’re a parent or not, I’d love to hear your thoughts about the challenge of beginning with the end in mind while also taking life one day at a time.
♥ Lois
If you start any milestone parenting adventure by thinking about how you’re going to feel at the end, it can be overwhelming. Share on X Plans change; we adapt. Not always well or without resistance, but we do. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, Let’s Have Coffee, Inspire Me Monday and Grace & Truth.
Last Monday, after a weekend of rain and sickness, the blues washed over me. I pushed through the items on my to-do list just to remain productive. (It’s good, sometimes, to put yourself on auto-pilot and take care of the next thing.)
At one point, I found myself sitting at the basement computer, fighting the urge to check my favorite news and political commentary sites. It struck me, in that moment, how much like a drug the Internet can be. I was feeling bad, and the thing that would make me feel better was a mere click away.
Last fall, I wrote about how hard it is to let go—of the treadmill when I’m running on it, and of other things we might not even realize we have firmly in our grasp.
In this blog post, I also wondered if I would ever feel God’s pleasure when I run, or if that feeling was reserved for Olympians who refuse to race on Sunday. (I was referring, of course, to Eric Liddell and his famous quote in Chariots of Fire: “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.”)