Alex Seeley - Tailor Made: Discover the Secret to Who God Created You to Be

CONTENTS

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never break me.

English childrens rhyme

S ei cretina!

Sei cretina is Italian for Youre so stupida label I wore for most of my life. This label shaped how I processed information and how I saw myself. My mum would use this phrase whenever I was clumsy, forgetful, gullible, or just plain naughty. Although the phrase was a cultural expression not meant to be cruel, it felt cruel. And I believed it.

I recall one time when my mum gave me a task: Alex, would you go to the store and buy a bag of frozen mint peas? Simple enough, right? But by the time I walked to the store and found the frozen vegetable aisle, I had second-guessed myself and gotten confused on the instructions. Was it mint peas or green peas? My internal dialogue was filled with fear that I would make a mistake and get in trouble. The conversation in my mind went something like this: Hold on a minute. Maybe she didnt say peas. Maybe I heard her wrong. Did she say beans? Oh no! I cant remember what she said! Im going to be in so much trouble when I get home. Just get both so you cover all the bases. Wait, I dont have enough money to buy both.... Panic and fear set in, as by this time I had been away long enough that I had to make a decision. I chose the green garden peas. All the way home I braced myself for a scolding because I was afraid I had chosen the wrong item. Over and over again I scolded myself: Alex, youre so stupid. Youre so stupid. You cant even do one simple task like buying a grocery item.

I lived like this until my early twenties. I couldnt decide what I wanted to eat or what clothing I should buy. I changed my mind so many times that I worked myself into a frenzyall because of the fear of making the wrong choice and being made to feel stupid.

Stupid was the label that I wore, but stupid I was not.

We all wear labels. Some labels we may choose, like Gap or Gucci. Others are given to uslabels that categorize and brand us with certain stereotypes, such as beautiful, handsome, smart, athletic, creative, fat, stupid, ugly, clumsy, and the list goes on.

Often the labels spoken over us by well-meaning people cause us to believe a lie about ourselves. We can allow one word or statement to box us in, and we end up living our lives restricted by a definition. No one enjoys being labeled or stereotyped.

Yet words can also be so good! There arent enough adjectives in the English language to describe the many facets that make us unique.

You are an original. Not a copy of anything or anyone else. You were created with a fingerprint that no one else has. No two people on earth are exactly alike. Even identical twins have different fingerprints. If God went into such detail to imprint your fingertips, then dont you think He has an original design for your life that only you can fulfill? Gods pattern for you is uniquely designed to perfectly match the abilities and talents He gave you.

God does not want us to wear any other label but His. In fact, He wants us to be such stunning masterpieces that people will either recognize our Designers label or want to know what label we are wearing and how to get it too.

When God sees you, He sees greatness. He doesnt see ordinary. He sees extraordinary. Each of us has been tailor-made to reveal Gods glory as individuals reflecting His nature. The term tailor-made means fashioned to a particular taste, purpose, demand, etc. God gives us grace to fulfill what He has designed us to do. Grace is more than a free pass to heaven. It is Gods enabling power that is sufficient, fit to size, and tailor-made just for you.

If you are wondering about your original designor if you have ever asked, Why am I here?, Why was I born?, or What is my purpose on this earth?lets take a closer look. The Master Tailor, our Designer, is extraordinary; therefore, we can be confident that we were also designed to be extraordinary. He tailor-made all of us to be one of a kind, created in His image, and destined for a master plan that He purposed before we were even born.

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.

C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

I m an accident.

At least, thats the story I was told when I was growing up. One evening, when I was about five years old, I was sitting at the table enjoying dinner with my family, and my mum was sharing the stories about our family and how each of us came to be on this earth. It was always exciting hearing my mum tell a story. She has an amazing ability to make a story come to life. So much so that when I didnt want to eat my dinner, rather than argue with me she would begin to tell a story as she picked up the spoon to feed me. Her storytelling was so captivating that by the time she finished talking, I had eaten all my dinner without realizing it.

Each story my mum shared about my siblings that night was wonderful and filled with details of love and expectancy. I sat with eager anticipation, waiting for my story to be shared. After all, I was the baby of the family, and the best is saved for last. I remember my mum laughing as these words came out of her mouth: Well, you were the accident that wasnt meant to happen! The boys laughed and jeered along with her. My brother David added his own silly comment about how maybe I was actually adopted, joking that I didnt appear to have any resemblance to my parents. He also told me on many occasions, to annoy me and get a reaction, that he was the favorite and that my parents didnt love me as much as they loved him.

I laughed along with them because I wanted to feel included in this seemingly funny joke, but in reality I felt as if a knife had stabbed my heart. I felt rejected and unwanted. That day, I slowly began to deteriorate on the inside.

AN ITALIAN DRAMA

I was born on a Friday night in Marcheight pounds, eight ounces of Italian goodness. Later, my mother told me that the doctor who delivered me made a point of saying, This one is special, as she handed me to my mum. This was Gods truth about me, but it took many years before I could see and believe it for myself.

There was no denying that I was the fourth child born into a family that had planned to have only two. My mum was quite vocal in reminding peopleespecially my fatherabout the original plan. But it was 1970, and they were raised Catholic. And Italian. So you can imagine how that went.

After the births of my sister and brother, my mum discovered she was pregnant again. After a near-death experience, she gave birth to my ten-pound brother Davidand two children became three. Having three children was not ideal for my mother, but she decided to make the best of it.

Fast-forward a few years after Davids birth. My sister had been praying and believing for a baby sister, and my mum went to the doctor to diagnose a mystery illness, which turned out to be... me. Surprise! The day she got the phone call with the results of her blood test, she passed out from shock. Like many 1970s housewives, she blamed my dadbecause obviously, it was solely his fault. She refused to speak to him for three months. Dont you love Italian drama? When she finally started talking to him again, Im sure it involved a lot of theatrical hand-waving and passionate arguing.