When I was little my father would tuck my sister and me into bed with an amazing bedtime story. He told us the tale of a young newspaper salesman who would sing about the Good News.
My father’s voice, as he serenaded us, was so sincere.
I used to think that the Good News was only for those with performance-based approval. And since I was no cookie-cutter boy, I was doomed.
I thought that being a feminine sensitive soul was something wrong. I hated the fact that I played the piano, loved fashion, and definitely distained my own preference to play house over football.
I would meet a stunning wife dressed in white at the end of the isle. I would father biological children, and lead some sort of ministry.
I so desperately wanted to become this beautiful specimen of a man, for surely he would make mom and dad happy. He would be the Good News for which I thought they hoped- salvation’s perfect product.
Sitting across a table from a dear friend the other night, I remembered that I deserve to celebrate my life, my authenticity, and all the uniqueness I produce. I rediscovered the Good News that I behold.