A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-Fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 a piece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded “not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even though we were all wearing stretchy workout pants and headbands to hide our greasy hair, the staff still refilled our sweet tea. With a smile. And extra ice. And nobody stared when our kids screamed and squealed and acted like tiny fools. And everyone said “My pleasure,” even when they had to sweep the mess of crumbs off the tile floor that our precious tyrants left behind.
I just love that place. The only way they could make it better, in my opinion, is to add babysitters, but I won’t push too hard for that. I’ll leave that one alone. Because, I dunno. Maybe that’s a lot to ask of an establishment that sells $6 spicy chicken sandwiches out of paper bags and plastic trays. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll write a letter, I don’t know. I need to mull that decision over.
So anyway, we are eating. And I look at the half-eaten dipping sauces spread out on the table before us. I have Chick-Fil-A sauce, because, let’s be honest, it’s the best. Someone else has Polynesian, and someone else has good ole, classic ketchup.
And I laughed because how could everyone not like the Chick-Fil-A sauce? I mean, seriously. It reminded me that everyone is different, and everyone chooses differently, and what everyone needs varies. So I probably shouldn’t take it so personally when someone doesn’t like me, when someone doesn’t want to be my best friend, when I feel left out or excluded. I mean, I can’t do it. I can’t be everyone’s Chick-Fil-A sauce. And neither can you.
For some people, you are going to be too salty, and for others, you are going to be too sweet. For some, you will be too bold, and for others, you won’t have enough flavor. You will be too much and not enough for some people’s taste buds to handle and that is OK.
That is so okay. God didn’t make you to be loved by everyone. He didn’t make you to be one-size-fits-all and generic and boring. He did not send you to this earth so that you could please all the people. He did not create you to be popular or to be invited to all the parties or to be included in every group text. He made you to love Him, and to follow Him, and to carry out His very specific purpose by being your very own distinct flavor.
Your flavor won’t be for everyone. Take a deep breath and learn to be okay with that.
And the next time the devil tries to attack you, or make you stumble over the vicious lie that you are less than, or insecure, or like something is wrong with who you are, because you are feeling rejected, or alone, or unliked, repeat these words. Scream them if you must: I CAN’T BE EVERYONE’S CHIC-FIL-A SAUCE. And then just keep on running the race God has set out before you. Run it hard. Run it good. Run it long. And run it in your very own style.