The Scenic Route
Where life’s mysteries are revealed
For many years — far too many years — I tried to fit into a group.
In high school, it was the smart-kids group. In college, it was the nonconformist-artists group. As a young mother, it was mothers-of-talented-kids group.
When my older daughter was determined at the age of seven to learn to ice skate, I had an urge to pretend I didn’t know her when other mothers watching the class asked me, “Which one is your child?” It was an easy, but slightly painful answer. “She’s the one who falls down all the time.” “Ohhhh….” they responded sympathetically and moved a little further down the bleacher.
I watched my provisional membership card to the mothers-of-talented-kids group fall to the concrete floor.
It’s only natural, psychologists tell us, to want to fit in — to want to be surrounded by at least a few people who like us and are like us. Not having that sense of belonging — feeling like an oddball — has been a source of much anguish for many people, sometime even leading to suicide.
A plethora of articles have been written about how to fit in. Where to fit in. What to change about yourself so you will fit in. But is the actual problem “not fitting in”? Or is the problem the anguish that is felt?
is there a way to overcome the anguish of not belonging?
I searched for years to find the answer to this question. First, I asked God to help me stop caring about what other people thought. Then I asked Him to help me stop comparing myself to others. I knew these issues were at least partly the source of my anguish, and I hoped for a quick and easy fix, like an oil change at one of the chain store lube shops.
God answered both prayers. But it wasn’t a 10-minute oil change. No, the old me had to die first. And the old me didn’t go down without a fuss. She kicked and screamed and raised a ruckus like a two-year-old.
God finally got me there, but it wasn’t easy and it wasn’t a direct route. No, I got the scenic route.
As the years went by, I felt a strong need to write a book about my life — all of it — the good, the bad, and the truly awful — the things I learned and the experiences that changed me.
About 20 years ago, I was surprised to get a 10-page handwritten letter from an elderly distant relative that I barely knew. Her spidery handwriting was difficult — if not impossible — to read.
All I was able to glean was her intent to make known to all her relatives before she passed away all the ways that God had worked for good in her life. The details were lost in a spidery scrawl that I tried to decipher to no avail.
I wish I had been able to learn exactly what she was trying to say because I felt like I missed out on an opportunity to be inspired.
As a baby boomer, I understand now why she so painstakingly wrote out what must have been dozens of pages by hand (our extended family was not small) to record her own journey guided by God and inspired by the Holy Spirit.
As a reader, you might ask yourself, “Why would someone want to read about a person who isn’t even famous? About just an ordinary person?”
Author Ingrid Bengis wrote:
“Even the most ordinary life is a mystery if you look close enough.”
In writing my memoir, I hoped to inspire others — to give them a glimpse of the mysteries in my life as God propelled me along the scenic route — and to introduce them to my hero — God.
Now I am confident that God was in charge of my route, my destination, and all the stops in-between the whole time.
I pray that you make the same discovery in your own life.
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