Time For The Outcast.

I’ve always felt like the odd one out in my extended family. I don’t think it was on purpose—it’s just the way things worked out. Growing up, we moved around so much, from state to state, that the opportunity to make solid connections with cousins or bond over coffee at the local mall just didn’t happen. As a child, it left a hole.

Every new school or church we attended in whatever town we were in felt temporary. I learned quickly not to throw myself into the whole bonding thing because, before long, we’d be packing boxes again. It was easier to stay at a distance, to stay outside the circle, than to risk connection only to have to let it go.

Add to that the fact that I didn’t wear the latest branded clothes or the coolest sneakers. My mother was a seamstress, and she made most of my clothes. At the time, I didn’t appreciate her skill the way I do now. I just knew it made me stand out in ways I didn’t want to.

Being “on the outside” became a familiar feeling, a sort of rhythm to my life. But I found ways to cope. I wrote songs for Jesus, dreamed a million dreams, and set even more goals to achieve. I danced under the trees or climbed as high as I could into their branches, imagining I could touch the sky and feel closer to Him.

It was my escape. My way of quieting the ache of loneliness, of being different.

But there was always something else pulling at me in those moments of solitude—a story I knew even as a child. Every time I opened my Bible, I couldn’t help but notice that Jesus always stopped for the outcasts. He noticed them when no one else did. And amazing things happened.

The lepers. Banished from society, their disease made them untouchable—yet Jesus reached out His hand. The lame. Overlooked, dismissed, and forced to beg, yet Jesus told them to get up and walk. The barren women like Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth. Mocked, misunderstood, and weighed down with shame until God brought life to their emptiness. The persecuted ones, hunted and hated for their faith, yet given strength to endure and transform the world.

Time and time again, Jesus and His Father showed us that the ones society avoids are the very ones heaven invites close.

And I often think about the gaps we’re called to fill. The people at church who sit off to the side, the ones no one seems to want to go near. The individuals battling mental health struggles who are all around us—often too fragile to reach out and too many are afraid to sit with them. The bitter ones, sharp and defensive, who probably just need someone patient enough to wear down their walls. The broken ones who simply need to know they’ve been heard, that their pain isn’t invisible.

Isn’t that what Jesus does for us? He meets us in the very places we feel unseen, unworthy, or unlovable. He doesn’t hesitate to step into the mess or sit with us in our ache. And as His followers, we’re invited to do the same. To step into the gaps, to carry His light to the edges where it’s darkest.

This reminds me of Jesus’ words in Luke 14:12-14, when He told His followers not to only invite friends and family to their tables but to reach for the ones no one notices:

“When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

It’s not easy. Loving the outcasts—truly loving them—isn’t comfortable. It’s not always convenient. But it’s holy. And it mirrors the kindness God shows us, a kindness we’re called to extend to others, as Ephesians 4:32 reminds us:

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

So if you’ve ever felt like the odd one out—like you just don’t belong—you’re not alone. Jesus hasn’t forgotten you. In fact, He seems to have a special way of meeting us in those places of longing and loneliness. He turns our ache into purpose, our rejection into redemption.

And if you’ve been healed, don’t forget to stop and look around. Chances are, there’s someone waiting in the gap you’ve already walked through. Maybe they’re sitting off to the side, or maybe they’re holding onto bitterness so tight they can’t breathe. But if you listen carefully, you’ll hear the Spirit whispering: “Go to them. I did it for you. Now let Me do it through you.”

The time for the outcasts is always now. And amazing things are still waiting to happen.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” —Psalm 34:18

Love Sarah x.

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