Our Stories
Chosen
By Mark Lanum | posted 05/24/2007
"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong." (1 Corinthians 1:27)
Rheumatoid Arthritis is the kind of arthritis that we usually associate with “old” people. It’s the kind that enables old geezers sitting in their porch’s rocking chair to forecast the weather – “storm’s a-comin’, boy. I kin feel it in my knees.” I, however, developed Rheumatoid Arthritis at the age of seven.
By the time I was in the third grade, the disease had progressed to the point where it was difficult to get out of bed some days. On the walk to school, it felt more like I was carrying my legs than my legs carrying me. On the days that my hips or knees didn’t pain me, my hands or arms would. I would wake up with my fingers curled up in a tight fist that would refuse to be opened. Yet what was more difficult than the physical pain, were the less obvious consequences of being physically limited.
RECESS
For elementary school children (and it seems, especially for boys), physical ability is the key to peer acceptance. Being fast, makes you cool; being the best soccer player makes you a desirable friend; and being physically strong and tough garners respect. Flip these around and you see the other side of the spectrum: being slow makes you uncool; nobody wants to choose the crummy soccer player for their team; and being physically weak can be tantamount to a schoolyard death sentence – “you’re a wimp.”
Nothing reminded me of my condition more than recess. Recess is where the playing field is leveled (no pun intended): no teachers to make sure everyone is nice or that everyone gets a chance to participate. At recess, words aren’t candy-coated and the accompanying actions aren’t either. Not that recess was/is a war zone. Kids, for all their brutal honesty and thoughtlessness, do have some compassion and kindness. But by and large, my take on “success” at recess was determined by 2 things: 1) physical ability and 2) having friends with physical ability. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have #1, and being low on #1 made #2 difficult.
CHOOSING TEAMS
If recess reminded me of my condition, the process of choosing teams threw a blinding spotlight on it. Is there any experience more brutal in a young boy’s life than picking teams? (Side note: It’s not my intent to only focus on boys, however, I confess I am not familiar with girls’ experience to know what the equivalent is, but I’m sure there is one.) All of the core questions that men struggle with in adulthood are present when boys line up to pick teams: Am I good enough? Do *they* think I’m good enough? Can I come through if they pick me? What do I do if they don’t want me? We don’t let children play with guns or matches, but in picking teams at recess, it would seem that we let them play with the psychological equivalent.
Still, it is a part of life. We are always in the process of choosing or being chosen; of rejecting or being rejected. Whether it’s determining which candidate to hire, deciding whether or not to talk to someone who annoys us, or choosing to spend time with a family member or not, we are all “picking” our “teams.” Learning to navigate such joys and pains at an early age is, I suppose, a good thing. It’s where we see the impact of our meanness - clearly written on another’s face. It’s where we begin to learn to choose based on something other than ourselves. It’s where the seeds of compassion and mercy are sown. Hopefully, through picking teams we learn perseverance, loyalty and love. If not these, then we learn bitterness, anger and self-loathing. The key to what we end up with is not in being the “chooser,” but rather in being the “choosee.”
I’LL TAKE…
I had a friend who was one of the fastest runners in the 3rd grade. He was one of the best soccer players. And while he was no Adonis, he could hold his own with just about anybody. I met Adam on the first day of Kindergarten and quickly became best friends. We spent a lot time together growing up, much of which I confess I have forgotten, but there is one story that I shall never forget.
One day we went out for recess and Adam wound up as one of the 2 team captains for a game of soccer. Since it’s the captain’s privilege/job to choose players for his team, it’s incumbent upon him to pick the best players to improve the team’s chance of winning. Over time, I came to expect that I would be one of, if not the, last players chosen. However on this particular day, with my best friend standing there as a captain, I had a small hope that I would be chosen, not last, but maybe somewhere in the middle.
We all lined up against the wall, like hopeful teens at a Junior High Dance. The other captain chose first. He chose a guy who now plays for the Minnesota Twins; clearly the right choice. Then it was Adam’s turn. I thought I knew who he’d take: I knew who I’d take were I in his position. But without any hesitation, and for reasons unbeknownst to my feeble 3rd grade mind, he turned, looked at me, and said, “I’ll take Lanum.”
The choice made no sense. I’m sure some of our other friends thought Adam must have lost his mind. I don’t know what my face looked like, but I suspect it was a frightening contortion of shock and elation. I don’t recall if I hopped, skipped, or jumped over to take my place next to him as his first teammate, but I’m sure I got there in a flash. And in that moment, I had no idea the extent to which such a simple choice would impact me.
GOD’S CHOICE
“Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: ‘Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.’” (1 Corinthians 1:26-31)
It is one of the distinctive mysteries of Christianity - one that sets it apart from all other world religions: you don’t become a Christian by you own choice. Just as Adam chose me, you and I became Christians by God choosing us for reasons we will never know. As Paul points out, long before we came to be on Jesus’ team He decided that we would be one of His. We had nothing to offer Him – we were not perfect or free from sin; we were not wise even “by human standards” as Paul points out. Yet for reasons beyond our comprehension, He chose us. He looked into us and saw something worth claiming for Himself.
For nearly 30 years, I have reflected on Adam picking me for his team. Countless times the memory of it has led me back to the truth that God has chosen me. When I feel cut off from God and others by my sinful actions, I am reminded that being on God’s team is not determined by me, but rather by God. When I feel worthless and alone, it reminds me that someone chose me in spite of how I feel. I was not rejected; I was accepted. When I fall to the temptation to reject others, this story gently reminds me to extend the same grace that was afforded to me. After all, if I could be chosen for Adam’s team, anyone can be chosen for God’s team. And when the world dupes me into thinking that life is about winning or “success,” this story reminds me of what true success is: being chosen by another.
To respond to this message, email Mark at marklanum@gmail.com.
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"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong." (1 Corinthians 1:27) Rheumatoid Arthritis is the kind of arthritis that we usually associate with “old” people. It’s the kind that enables old geezers sitting in their porch’s rocking chair to forecast the weather – “storm’s a-comin’, boy. I kin feel it in my knees.” I, however, developed Rheumatoid Arthritis at the age of seven. By the time I was in the third grade, the disease had progressed to the point where it was difficult to get out of bed some days. On the walk to school, it felt more like I was carrying my legs than my legs carrying me. On the days that my hips or knees didn’t pain me, my hands or arms would. I would wake up with my fingers curled up in a tight fist that would refuse to be opened. Yet what was more difficult than the physical pain, were the less obvious consequences of being physically limited. RECESS For elementary school children (and it seems, especially for boys), physical ability is the key to peer acceptance. Being fast, makes you cool; being the best soccer player makes you a desirable friend; and being physically strong and tough garners respect. Flip these around and you see the other side of the spectrum: being slow makes you uncool; nobody wants to choose the crummy soccer player for their team; and being physically weak can be tantamount to a schoolyard death sentence – “you’re a wimp.” Nothing reminded me of my condition more than recess. Recess is where the playing field is leveled (no pun intended): no teachers to make sure everyone is nice or that everyone gets a chance to participate. At recess, words aren’t candy-coated and the accompanying actions aren’t either. Not that recess was/is a war zone. Kids, for all their brutal honesty and thoughtlessness, do have some compassion and kindness. But by and large, my take on “success” at recess was determined by 2 things: 1) physical ability and 2) having friends with physical ability. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have #1, and being low on #1 made #2 difficult. CHOOSING TEAMS If recess reminded me of my condition, the process of choosing teams threw a blinding spotlight on it. Is there any experience more brutal in a young boy’s life than picking teams? (Side note: It’s not my intent to only focus on boys, however, I confess I am not familiar with girls’ experience to know what the equivalent is, but I’m sure there is one.) All of the core questions that men struggle with in adulthood are present when boys line up to pick teams: Am I good enough? Do *they* think I’m good enough? Can I come through if they pick me? What do I do if they don’t want me? We don’t let children play with guns or matches, but in picking teams at recess, it would seem that we let them play with the psychological equivalent. Still, it is a part of life. We are always in the process of choosing or being chosen; of rejecting or being rejected. Whether it’s determining which candidate to hire, deciding whether or not to talk to someone who annoys us, or choosing to spend time with a family member or not, we are all “picking” our “teams.” Learning to navigate such joys and pains at an early age is, I suppose, a good thing. It’s where we see the impact of our meanness - clearly written on another’s face. It’s where we begin to learn to choose based on something other than ourselves. It’s where the seeds of compassion and mercy are sown. Hopefully, through picking teams we learn perseverance, loyalty and love. If not these, then we learn bitterness, anger and self-loathing. The key to what we end up with is not in being the “chooser,” but rather in being the “choosee.” I’LL TAKE… I had a friend who was one of the fastest runners in the 3rd grade. He was one of the best soccer players. And while he was no Adonis, he could hold his own with just about anybody. I met Adam on the first day of Kindergarten and quickly became best friends. We spent a lot time together growing up, much of which I confess I have forgotten, but there is one story that I shall never forget. One day we went out for recess and Adam wound up as one of the 2 team captains for a game of soccer. Since it’s the captain’s privilege/job to choose players for his team, it’s incumbent upon him to pick the best players to improve the team’s chance of winning. Over time, I came to expect that I would be one of, if not the, last players chosen. However on this particular day, with my best friend standing there as a captain, I had a small hope that I would be chosen, not last, but maybe somewhere in the middle. We all lined up against the wall, like hopeful teens at a Junior High Dance. The other captain chose first. He chose a guy who now plays for the Minnesota Twins; clearly the right choice. Then it was Adam’s turn. I thought I knew who he’d take: I knew who I’d take were I in his position. But without any hesitation, and for reasons unbeknownst to my feeble 3rd grade mind, he turned, looked at me, and said, “I’ll take Lanum.” The choice made no sense. I’m sure some of our other friends thought Adam must have lost his mind. I don’t know what my face looked like, but I suspect it was a frightening contortion of shock and elation. I don’t recall if I hopped, skipped, or jumped over to take my place next to him as his first teammate, but I’m sure I got there in a flash. And in that moment, I had no idea the extent to which such a simple choice would impact me. GOD’S CHOICE “Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: ‘Let him who boasts boast in the Lord.’” (1 Corinthians 1:26-31) It is one of the distinctive mysteries of Christianity - one that sets it apart from all other world religions: you don’t become a Christian by you own choice. Just as Adam chose me, you and I became Christians by God choosing us for reasons we will never know. As Paul points out, long before we came to be on Jesus’ team He decided that we would be one of His. We had nothing to offer Him – we were not perfect or free from sin; we were not wise even “by human standards” as Paul points out. Yet for reasons beyond our comprehension, He chose us. He looked into us and saw something worth claiming for Himself. For nearly 30 years, I have reflected on Adam picking me for his team. Countless times the memory of it has led me back to the truth that God has chosen me. When I feel cut off from God and others by my sinful actions, I am reminded that being on God’s team is not determined by me, but rather by God. When I feel worthless and alone, it reminds me that someone chose me in spite of how I feel. I was not rejected; I was accepted. When I fall to the temptation to reject others, this story gently reminds me to extend the same grace that was afforded to me. After all, if I could be chosen for Adam’s team, anyone can be chosen for God’s team. And when the world dupes me into thinking that life is about winning or “success,” this story reminds me of what true success is: being chosen by another. To respond to this message, email Mark at marklanum@gmail.com. |
