In 7th grade, I rode the school bus with this older, towheaded kid who liked to give everyone — myself included — a hard time. I got on the bus before him each morning, so I could usually count on him throwing a remark or two my way as he passed my seat to find his own at the tail end of the bus.
His favorite thing to comment on to me? The size of my feet. Y’all, they were big, and they stuck out in front of me like twin 2 x 4’s.
So as he swaggered down the narrow bus aisle, I would press against the window as I squished my feet under my backpack on the floor. Curled over a book, I acted oblivious as he leaned over my seat.
“So,” he would say, gum smack, smack, smacking in his mouth. “I guess you still got those big ugly feet, huh?”
I sunk down further into the bus seat, willing myself to melt right into my Sweet Valley High book.
“I guess so.” I replied, eyes in my book.
“Well,” he said before a short pause. “I guess when they decided how long a foot was going to be, they used *your* foot as the measuring stick!”
I narrowed my eyes at him as he slapped the seat with his hand before laughing all the way to the back of the bus.
I went home and told my dad, the one responsible for my big feet, all about the exchange with more than a little dramatic flair. “Dad, you have NO idea how hard it is to be a girl with these feet. They literally stick so. far. out. that everybody notices them!”
He laughed in his gentle, kind-hearted way and replied, “Baby, your feet really aren’t as big as you think. And one day you will grow into them. They won’t always feel as awkward as they do now.”
Today, I still have ocean liner feet, but I did grow into them. I’m a tall woman, so it makes sense to have the size 11 ½ feet God gave me. Other than when I’m actually shopping for shoes, I devote 0% of my life pondering their size.
But I wish I could tell that to my 12-year-old self who was certain her feet — as well as a dozen other characteristics — made her a little too awkward to fit in.
I may not dwell on my feet these days, but there are other things about me I do devote too much time pondering, things that center around this season of life I’m in.
Perhaps you can relate?
You’re a new parent, and you’re waiting to “fit in” to this new role of motherhood.
You’re the new girl at the office, and you’re trying to find your place within your new environment.
Or maybe you just generally walk around afraid you’re either not enough or too much (or both) to truly fit in anywhere.
Yes, there are times we may find ourselves in places that aren’t a good fit for us, and we must prayerfully consider if we should walk away from those places. But sometimes, it’s not that this new place we’re in doesn’t fit. It’s that it doesn’t fit yet.
We have to grow into it.
God is building a home. He’s using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he’s using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. (Ephesians 2:19-22)
If where you are today feels a little awkward, take heart. God is fitting you into your place. So until what is supposed to be turns into what is, we remember that sometimes we simply must grow into what we’re going through.
As you wait for your own season to fit, know the freedom of talking to your Father about it, sharing all your vulnerabilities and uncertainties. And as you do, hear His own kind-hearted response meant just for you: I am putting the pieces of your life in place, maturing you brick by brick, stone by stone.
May we hold onto hope that what doesn’t fit today will likely fit in the future.
And may we know the Lord’s calming, faithful presence while we wait.