For the longest time, I was always on the outside.
Growing up in the sixties and seventies, I couldn’t have been more strange if I’d tried.
Chubby. Studious. Serious about Jesus. (Like S.E.R.I.O.U.S.). Spending my weekends in a guitar worship ministry, collecting clothing for victims of the earthquake in Nicaragua or the famine in Ethiopia, or at a hymn sing. Volunteering my summers at the church vacation Bible school or working as a counselor at church camp.
I was definitely an outsider. I longed to be in. To have a group where I was always included. To enter the school cafeteria with complete confidence someone had saved me a seat.
It was not to be.
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