Chosen

 

"Gramma Kath, guess what!"  

"What Littlebear?  What?" 

"I made the team!  I did it.  The coach picked me." 

And then the invisible multi-colored balloons fill our hearts' sky, and the invisible sparkly confetti falls from our hearts' sky.  The planes fly over.  The whole world knows...  She was chosen.  My littlebear was chosen.

It's all the sweeter because, last year, she was not chosen.  Unchosen.  There were no balloons in our hearts' sky.  There was no heart sky.

I know both feelings.   I like the chosen feeling more.  Everyone likes the chosen feeling. 

Chosen feels especially good when it comes from... nowhere.  I didn't ask.  I didn't interview or audition or try-out or even hope.  I was simply accepted.  Like when I'm asked to save a seat, to sit next to, to be beside.  Like when I'm asked to pray for a need, to care for, to understand.  Like when I'm invited to join a group, to know and to share.  These chosens have chosen me over the last couple years.  For trust, for more responsibility, for value, oh and the biggie... for friendship.  Small chosens, but chosesns.  And I'm assured that, even without a husband, without a whole lot to offer, without a history of community, I'm chosenable.   I'm still picked.

I mean, Jesus chose me.  He chose me.  He is the reason for balloons in my heart's sky.