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Yes or no. Heads or tails. Up or down.

Only two options. The choice of one implies the rejection of another. The not-yet making-a-choice invites anxiety at the impending having-to-make-a-choice.

How many times do we desire unity when we really mean "we know we're right and it'd be easier if people just got on my side"? I've done it. Maybe you have too. I was so sure I'd made the right decision, came to the right conclusion, or whatever. I was so sure. It was very black and white.

Then God started to let a lot of the black and white blend together and suddenly I wasn't so sure. The knowing became an unknowing and the certainty became a questioning. Instead of clear separation between black and white, the broad brush stroke made everything a muddled shade of gray. At first it felt scary because it was new. I was learning what my shade of gray really was, how in some places it was darker or lighter. What's more, another person's gray wasn't mine. I couldn't look to my neighbor to see where I fell short or places in which I "surpassed" them. It was only between me and God. Over time, I began to see the beauty in what shade God had for me and the beauty in the fact that it wasn't exactly the same as my friends. (Not in terms of sin, but preference.)

If you were to put all the shades of gray together like a picture, something beautiful would result. The lighter shades would connect with one another as the darker shades find each other too. Like clouds in the sky our minds might see the hidden picture, the beauty of the gray.

All that to say, let's not be afraid of the gray, the different shades that make us all unique. Seeing things in black and white isn't unity, but accepting each other's gray is.

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