It’s a running joke between my brother and I who’s adopted. Whenever we introduce each other at church (North Coast) and they know Richard or myself, eventually we’re asked…uh…are you sure you’re…related? 

“He’s adopted.” I say.

“She’s adopted.” Richard says. 

No! Kidding. But, seriously…was I?

For all intensive purposes my brother is perfect. Athletic. Tall. Tan. Good looking. Never. Had. A. Health. Problem. 

Growing up, I missed out on everything, and he was involved in everything. It was tough not to hate him or envy him—or both.

[Insert many years here.] 

Last year I quit my job and it took me a year to get over it. Why? Because I think I got lost and tried to cover it up. I’m…perfe….wait.

Grace defined 

I am the prodigal daughter. More like the envious one of the brother who got all the attention. Not to say that my brother is a bad person…because he’s not, but why is it most people and pastors don’t define grace by the prodigal son’s brother? They use it all [GRACE] up on the prodigal son himself.

Well what about the wallflower that used to be me? 

I fought hard against that stereotype. To overcome bouts of health issues including eczema and anxiety. To read my story, Renee of the Fourth Chance read here.

Once I… finally…succeeded….and got the attention I thought I deserved, I fell away from His graceland and ended up in…well…legalismland. 

You-know-the-kind-that-judges-everything-based-on-performance-how-good-you-are-how-much-money-you-bring-home-your-status-friends-image-you-name-it!

Yuck! Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl back into comfort of lega… 

NO! I can’t. What's WRONG WITH ME?????