The Relief of Being Ordinary

When I was young, every time I became interested in a new hobby, I imagined that someday I would be "great" at it, that this might be the niche that would unlock "my special gift." After all, God gives special gifts to people, right? The world is full of brilliant prodigy, doing amazing things, defying the laws of nature though some mysterious combination of innate ability and single-minded pursuit.

Over the years, I've come to realize something, something that only this year I accepted fully--I am decidedly ordinary. And I cannot tell you what relief, joy, and freedom came flooding over me with this realization.

I've embraced the reality that I am only a little artistic, only a little musical, only a little athletic, only a little academic, and so on. Rather than despairing, crawling off to feel miserable (but only in a mediocre way), I was suddenly set free. No longer do I have to pretend to be more learned than I am, have more stamina than I really do, that I am some spiritual giant well versed in all matters of doctrine. I'm not. I don't. I'm making progress, but I'll never be impressive. No longer do I have to feel ashamed, even privately, that I have nothing to recommend me--no talent, no accomplishment to set me apart from the masses. I am one of the masses.

I had seen this realization coming for awhile, but put off facing it because I expected an avalanche of dashed hopes. How wrong I was. When I finally acknowledged the truth, I was instantly cut loose from the wearying cycle of self-improvement, competition, failure, jealousy, etc. I had been given an invaluable gift--the gift of being ordinary. Now, instead of feeling as though I can never partake in the perfect fruit reserved for the elite, I rejoice because God made me mild enough to taste and enjoy many of life's beauties, because I know I lack the ability (and the potential for greatness) to ever be sucked in to pursuing only one.

It's easier to feel on-par with ordinary people when a person admits to being one of them. Strung-out people smelling of dirty dogs, old beer and unwashed hair garner less disdain from me now than a few years ago. But for the grace of God, there go I. Envies have a way of dissipating when I take stock of my surroundings and marvel at the blessings I enjoy, through no merit of my own. How merciful is my Savior.

All of this makes me wonder: What other selfish dreams, other idols, am I clutching tightly to my chest, unwilling to surrender because I imagine they will bring me pain if I let them go . . . and how many of these are really just plugging heaven's dam of torrential blessings?