Into the Fire

It comes early for most of us . . . those inklings that either we’re in with a “special” group of people or that we’re not. I did a post on “cliques” awhile ago. I remember in 6th grade, before “middle school” came into existence, there were four of us girls who sat up in the first four desks of the room, first and second seats on the right side of the room. I remember the three other girls’ names and what they looked like. We were friends, and we were teacher’s pets. We knew it. The rest of the class knew it, too, I assume.

Zoom ahead to 7th grade, the worst year of my life. Seriously. EVERYbody changed but me. New school—junior high school. New people from different schools. A loonngg walk to school. An accelerated math class where I didn’t belong. I started gritting my teeth and chewing my fingernails in and because of that class. My straight A reputation was lost in that class. I was no longer in an elite group.

In 8th grade we moved quite a ways to the north end of my city. Even a new school in junior high wasn’t going to be any more traumatic than 7th grade had been. Fortunately, in the new homes going up in a neighborhood with older established homes, there were a couple of friends to replace my longtime closest friends I had to leave in that familiar neighborhood, in the home of my youth. (I still have recurring dreams that take place in that house.) I imagine the new school was typical. I had all kinds of friends. I was somewhere in the middle tier of the social strata. Being horse crazy gave me my own persona, and I found one unique friend who shared the frenzy.

High school was yet another “awakening”. Somewhere between sophomore and senior years I met enough people to know many, be very close to some, gain a boyfriend from the high school I would’ve attended had we not moved, and in my senior year got elected to Senior Class Secretary. One might have thought I was definitely “in” because of it, but there was yet a higher level of the social caste system, and I figure I was somewhere just below the top rung.

College was a turning point in my life. I had become engaged to my boyfriend but realized I wasn’t ready for a commitment. I was leaning toward the hippie crowd, and I hated school while doing well in it.

Quit, went to work in retail, saved money to go to Europe with a friend, came back, went back to school for a quarter, found the racetrack and stayed there for over 30 years.

When I went to the racetrack as a “city girl”, I stood out—as an outsider. Back then, most of the females on the track were daughters or family members of horsemen. It’s different now, but back when I first came to the track females weren’t allowed to spend the night or live on the track. Anyway, I was “different”. I had to prove myself. That I could belong. In spite of “not fitting in”. I was a bit flamboyant—hey, I’ve always been a drama queen. But I worked hard, took it all in, learned, learned, learned because I loved those horses. I wanted this.

Many years later, there are still people who don’t want others to fit in. And there are still people who want to fit in so badly they will compromise what they thought they believed in just to do so.

Granted, there are those places and occupations that don’t accommodate just anyone. Not everyone belongs at NASA, not everyone can act, write, or be an engineer or a doctor. There are places we have to realize are not for us—we don’t have the talent or skills, and, quite frankly, the Lord hasn’t programmed us to do certain things we might think we’d like to do.

However, once we decide where God wants us and learn where we “belong”, that doesn’t insure we’ll completely “fit in”. We might have different concepts of what it takes to do what we were called to do.

Before you apply this to your present job, please understand I’m not discussing employment in various occupations which can only be done in certain ways. Let’s face it: there are always rules for conduct, sometimes dress codes, and general ways to do business. Innovation is fine in its place, and a wise individual will know when and if the Lord is behind it and therefore when to suggest or introduce a “new thing”.

In the “business” of writing what is labeled (to the dismay of many) Christian fiction, there are also rules. They bend a bit depending on an author’s success, but they seldom break. There are always those who are on the lookout for what they describe as “fresh voices”, but they want those voices speaking from within a fairly dogmatic format. As I’ve written before, this is not wrong. It’s a risk to do something really different, and it’s a risk that involves a lot of money. It can’t be taken lightly—it must be calculated.

Those who don’t play by the rules do have other options in the self-publishing arena.

The stark realizations come not from the facts previously mentioned but by the conclusion that because someone prefers to venture away from the acceptable format, or the norm, or prefers to “break the rules” without malice, that they are somehow inferior in the craft of writing, possibly un-teachable, and/or that their work is truly inferior because it is not in the same form as the current trend dictates it must be.

Once again you get the feeling you just don’t “fit in”.

Father, anyone can fit into your family. They just have to come through your Son Jesus Christ. To be a part of your family breaks down all the barriers, and it will be such a welcome change in heaven. A willing heart submitted completely to you . . . that’s all I want, Lord. As I always request: help me, Lord. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.