Haven’t we all been there?
Misunderstood.
Rejected.
Feeling like the parts of us that make us “us” are the parts that others turn away from.
We are faced with that uncomfortable junction . . . discerning whether we lean in strongly to who we are or changing to fit the norms that others desire and demand.
Back in the dark ages, we actually went to “library” in school.
You went, sat for some type of quick instruction, then had time to peruse the books.
(Disclaimer – I have no clue if that’s still a thing . . . but looking back, it was a gift).
I do not remember the librarian’s name, nor what grade I was in other than it was middle school, but I remember the name she called me.
Feisty.
When she said it, everyone laughed. No one in middle school wants to be centered out, called a name, and then laughed at. She achieved her mission. During my remaining time at Granite Falls Middle School, I was quiet in library.
It’s hard not to feel for Rudolph. That bright red nose—his unique, undeniable gift—was the very thing that caused the other reindeer to mock him. Their laughter cut deep, and the rejection pushed Rudolph away, leaving him to wander through a cold, snow-filled wilderness.
That part of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer story always feels so achingly familiar, right?
Rejection and being misunderstood pushing us into a wilderness within.
Wondering what’s “wrong with us?”
Wondering what we need to do different so we will “fit in.”
Rejection stings because it hits us where we’re most vulnerable. We live in a world that often values sameness over uniqueness, dimming the lights of those who shine differently.
But here’s the thing about light—it’s impossible to ignore. Rudolph’s glowing nose couldn’t be hidden, and neither can the gifts that have been so Divinely placed within.
In fact, it was his light—the very thing that others mocked—that eventually became the hope of the story. His nose didn’t change. His circumstances didn’t magically improve. What changed was the way the light was seen, and the way Rudolph chose to live into his purpose.
There’s a verse in Psalms that describes the one we follow this Advent season . . .
“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” —Psalm 118:22
I learned what feisty meant. And decided I’m ok with that, as long as I use that part of myself respectfully. In fact, it’s a quality that has helped me be at this space and time with you.
Sometimes, the very things others mock become the hope of our story—the gifts that set us apart are the ones God uses to make a difference
As you journey through Advent, reflect on your own story. What parts of yourself have been mocked or misunderstood? How might God use those very things as the light and hope of your story?