A Passport Stamped by Mercy
The older I get, the less I seem to care what other people think about me.
Not completely — let’s be honest — but the grip of needing approval has definitely loosened. The hunger for pats on the back isn’t nearly as “rumbly” as it once was.
Something has slowly replaced it.
The more I’ve learned to believe what God says about me — how He values me, and the beauty of an identity rooted in Christ (not self-identity, Christ-identity) — the freer I’ve become to simply do what I’m called to do.
No nods in my direction required.
But that truth took a long time to travel from my head to my heart. Years, actually.
Which is why I can now say this without flinching:
Being a holy oddball is perfectly OK.
Actually… it’s worth CELEBRATING!
Because the Christian life was never meant to look normal. Scripture never promises cultural comfort. Instead it uses words like pilgrim, exile, stranger, foreigner, set apart, peculiar.
Not broken. Not misplaced. Not forgotten.
Just different — on purpose.
I’m walking through a world that doesn’t quite fit me anymore, and honestly, I won’t ever fit — and don’t want to!
But that tension no longer unsettles me the way it used to, because I know where the road leads.
There is a place waiting — guarded, reserved, untouched by decay.
Imperishable (beyond the reach of change).
Undefiled (uncorruptible – imagine!).
Unfading (eternally vibrant and fresh, will not/can not disappear).
Peter explains why this isn’t wishful thinking:
“According to His great mercy, He has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:3).”
That sentence anchors everything.
My future isn’t based on personality, performance, usefulness, reputation, or how well I’m received. It rests entirely on the resurrection of Jesus and the mercy of God.
Just as Jesus encouraged Nicodemus, I’ve been born again — born into a new Kingdom. Not earned, not achieved, not maintained by good behavior, but given by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8-9).
A gift.
Which means my citizenship changed long before my location ever will. How about you?
So yes… I’m becoming more comfortable being a holy oddball.
Not for attention.
Not out of pride.
Not to prove how different I am.
AND BY ALL MEANS NOT TO BE UNUSUAL FOR THE SAKE OF UNUSUALNESS!
But because when Christ becomes everything, you inevitably become different.
His Spirit reshapes your love, your want-to, your responses, your ambitions, your definitions of success. And, eventually, you realize: you’re living from a different homeland while still residing here.
You still care about people — deeply.
You just stop needing them to validate you.
So today I’m praying you embrace your peculiarity with joy.
Not awkwardness.
Not defensiveness.
Joy.
Because the passport you carry here is temporary.
But the one stamped by Mercy?
That one never expires.
REFLECTION:
By the way…Yesterday was the first day of Lent. This is a great season to evaluate where your journey ends? Where is your “real” passport country?
One of the best ways to survive living as a holy oddball is to imagine not just what Christ has done for you through salvation, but what you’ve been saved to – HEAVEN’S JOYS.
