They didn’t fit on the family tree—or did they? Certainly, not one of them would have ever qualified to be Miss Israel.
Tamar, the woman who seduced her father-in-law,
Rahab, the harlot,
Ruth, the outsider,
Bathsheba, the adulteress,
and, Mary, the unmarried and pregnant.
Yet, there they are—one and all—family members of Jesus.
Let’s be honest. We all have skeletons in our family tree, but we give them closets. We don’t give them starring roles in a bestseller. Not God. God hangs them right up there for all to see.
Me? Well, I have been known, at times, to be a little more selective about the family tree. Consider the time I met my youngest daughter at the door—presentation and speech prepared. (Okay, so maybe this is about another type of family tree, but stick with me here.)
She loves surprises, and she definitely loves gifts. In her usual carefree way, she was thrilled.
“For me? For my room?” The girl who loved Christmas beamed, her eyes glowing more brightly than the lights on the three-foot fiber optic tree I held in my arms.
I nodded, then picked up the over-sized Christmas tin close by, “And these.”
Now “these” were the ornaments that she had received annually from birth. Each one commemorated a particular love or event from her past year. Most of them were dogs, and most of the dogs were dalmatians. I don’t know how many dalmatian ornaments she actually had, but I was pretty sure we were closing in on 101. Neither can I say exactly how long the dalmatian obsession went on, but at the time of this particular presentation, she was at least 15.
You get the idea.
After twenty-plus years of having a budget-wise, kid-friendly tree, I was ready for the family Christmas tree to finally be color coordinated, themed, and picture worthy. This did not include dogs.
“Ah,” she nodded knowingly, as the message registered, “I get it.” To her credit, she took the news with only the slightest hint of “seriously?” and the next thing we knew, the little tree in the other room was completely bedecked.
Funny how time has changed my opinion of those ornaments. What I didn’t see as worthy or fitting, I now see as precious.
Along the way, I have also developed an unexpected empathy for those unwanted ornaments.
It started the day not long after my husband’s death when I allowed myself to be vulnerable and opened my heart to someone. It was one of those times—we’ve all had them. Where you say something vulnerable to a friend, hoping they wouldn’t agree with you.
Or am I the only one?
Such as, “This makes me look fat!”
To which, the appropriate response would be, “Absolutely not! You look wonderful!” (Or, at least, “healthy” as someone recently said to me.)
But instead, you hear, “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t wear that again,” or “I did notice that those cookies are catching up with you.”
Umm, no.
This is what happened on the aforementioned day. Hoping to be reassured that I was NOT a misfit, I let down my guard just for a moment and said, “I just feel like when people see me, I am a reminder of what happened.”
What happened had been a terrible disappointment to many, and the list of accusations the enemy hurled at me was lengthy and damning. I felt that I was a reminder of it all.
At that moment, I didn’t want that person to agree with me. But he did.
“Yes, you are,” he said bluntly.
And my heart whispered, “You don’t belong on the big tree, Melissa.”
Still, a few days later, I tentatively ventured out and made the statement to another friend, “I feel like when people see me, I am a reminder of what happened.”
The response this time?
“Maybe, Melissa, but you could be a picture of God’s grace.”
A picture of God’s grace. It seemed like such an impossible thing.
Without realizing it, I had relegated myself to the little tree in the other room. It seemed the best place to hide while I tried to figure out where I belonged. One thing was sure, no matter how hard I tried, I just didn’t fit in with others around me.
Cracks covered my ornament, and sadness dulled any sparkle that was once there. I certainly couldn’t hang with the beautiful people on the big family tree—the Ken and Barbie Christians that seemed to glow with perfection.
I wanted to be an ornament of grace—but I couldn’t figure out what to do. And therein was the problem.
I didn’t need to do anything. Jesus had already done it all.
What connected the women in Matthew chapter one, connects me. The unbreakable, unstoppable, scarlet ribbon that started at Calvary not only wraps in and around each one of us, holding us in His family, but also continues to flow out and pull others in.
My daughter’s childhood ornaments have not become precious to me because they have changed in appearance or increased in value on their own. They are dear to me because they are a reflection of her.
And so, my value is not found in my beauty or worth, it is in His reflection—in the light of His grace pouring through my cracks.
As this season of celebration heads into its final throes of festivity, maybe you feel you should be relegated to the little tree in the other room. Not so. Not God’s kids.
Not Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, or Mary. Not you and not me!
See that little ornament over there tucked right in with the other misfits ornaments of grace? That’s me twinkling away, singing as loudly as I can, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”
You are welcome to join me us!
Not because WE are worthy, but because HE is worthy.
LOVE! Picture of God’s grace – its a journey we are all on eh? I am so thankful that you accepted that Grace and are letting your Light shine! People are seeing it and choosing grace as well because of it. Love you❣️
Yes, such a journey! I am praising the Lord and walking it with you, Dawn.
” His grace pouring through my cracks.”~~Perfect.
And that is surely what I pray!
Here’s a sermon outline for you – I have preached this at the jail many times:
1. Tamar – Saved from all sin
2. Rahab – Saved by faith
3. Ruth – Saved from the Law
4. Bathsheba – Saved from her past
5. Mary – Saved by grace alone (!) This is my favorite one since 5 in the Bible is the number of Grace.
Your dad used to sing a song that has stuck with me for over 50 years:
“Saved by grace alone
This is all my plea
Jesus died for all mankind
(Hallelujah – emphasis mine) And Jesus died for me (!)
Somebody ought to help me get happy!
Great outline, Mike!
Thank you ❤
Thank you for the reminder. It’s been two years and I’m still trying to find my place
And you will, Carol. He promises – 1 Thessalonians 5:23-24