If I weren’t Peter, James, or John, I would likely ask myself and God, “How come Jesus didn’t choose me to be in his inner circle among the disciples? How come he didn’t take me up to a high mountain instead of leaving me down here with everyone else? What makes me less special than them?” If I was one of Jesus’ disciples, I would likely wonder, worry, and perhaps, argue, like them at one point, “Am I (not) the greatest among us?” These were all people that Jesus noticed, loved, and invited, personally, to intimately spend life and commit to ministry with him. The most perfect person on earth wanted them to share in his earthly story and far more. Still, this tremendous honor did not cancel out their distractions and humanity.
We all have wounds. They are like the pinches that remind us how life is real and not a dream. One of mine is that of rejection. “They probably wouldn’t want to hang out with me./I’m not surprised they didn’t text me back./Of course, I didn’t get invited./I feel invisible./I feel left out./What are they thinking about me?/Did they forget me?” I liken these thoughts to creepy crawlers. They first appeared on the walls of my childhood and annoyingly reappear along the highs and lows of life.
I don’t fully know why Jesus chose only Peter, James, and John to witness his mountaintop transfiguration and temporarily withhold what they saw from everyone else. I do understand that not everyone can handle intimate relationship with (witnessing of) us and vice versa. I also recognize that Jesus entrusted the remaining disciples to handle major responsibilities among people in urgent need of care and miracles. In this regard, he purposed all the disciples to be a part of powerful, albeit different, assignments.
I am learning to trust that God is unlimited. He will not and cannot run out of creativity. He will use anyone with a willing heart and actionable faith. One million people can each do life with God in a manner that is personal/individualized, special, secure, gracious, and worthy without comparison.
In my earthly relationships and encounters, I am learning how to count myself as whole and not a ranking. I am rehearsing how to regard my wounds within a story of healing. And, lastly, I am hoping to becoming bolder and bolder about saying, “Not today, fear. I rest in choosing God and being chosen in my own way.”
Roots & Hope 