The “Curse” of Being the Chosen One
Keep scripture:
“For many are called, but few are chosen.” — Matthew 22:14 (KJV)
There are days when I honestly wonder whether being chosen is supposed to feel this difficult.
People often talk about being called by God as though it is automatically a beautiful privilege. They talk about purpose, destiny, favour, anointing and open doors.
But what if being called sometimes feels like having fewer choices?
What if it feels like God is watching every decision you make more closely than everyone else's?
What if the things other people seem free to do leave you with a conviction you cannot escape?
What if you watch other Christians compromise, prosper, marry whoever they want, take shortcuts and move forward—and somehow you are the one constantly being told, “No. Not that way.”
Sometimes I have wondered:
Lord, if this is what being chosen feels like, why does it feel like everyone else gets to live more freely than I do?
When God Seems Stricter With You
I have wrestled with the feeling that God is unusually strict about my life.
Not just the obvious things.
Relationships.
Marriage.
Money.
Integrity.
Business.
Friendships.
Decisions.
Even the motives behind things.
There are times when I wish I could simply make a decision and deal with the consequences like everybody else.
Especially when it comes to relationships.
I have watched people marry because they were attracted to each other. Some married because the family approved. Some married because they were tired of being single. Some married because the person had money, connections or status.
And sometimes I look at them and think:
Why can't I just do that?
Why does marriage feel like something I have to pray about so deeply?
Why do I feel that choosing the wrong person could affect far more than just my happiness?
Why does it seem that God is asking me to look beyond chemistry, money, family approval and social status?
The African context can make this especially complicated.
Marriage is rarely viewed as only the decision of two individuals. Families become involved. Relatives have expectations. There can be pressure about age, children, tribe, education, finances, family reputation and social standing.
Sometimes you are made to feel that being single is a problem that needs to be solved quickly.
And yet I find myself thinking:
I would rather wait than enter a covenant I believe God is warning me about.
But waiting is lonely.
And sometimes obedience feels very lonely.
Watching Other People Take Shortcuts
Then there is integrity.
This is where I have had some of my most uncomfortable conversations with God.
I have watched people use connections to get ahead.
I have watched people manipulate systems.
I have watched people pay bribes and walk away with what they wanted.
And sometimes the painful observation comes out of my mouth:
“They pay a bribe and win every time. When I pay a bribe, I get scammed.”
There is frustration in even admitting that.
Because underneath that statement is a deeper question:
Why am I even struggling with this?
Why does doing things honestly sometimes seem to put me at a disadvantage?
Why does the person who refuses to compromise sometimes lose the opportunity?
Why does the person who takes the shortcut get the contract?
Why does the person with the right connection move ahead while the person trying to do things properly remains behind?
And perhaps the most uncomfortable question:
Why does God seem to let other people get away with things that I feel convicted not to do?
I don't have a neat answer.
And I don't want to pretend that I do.
When Compromise Appears to Work
There is something deeply unsettling about watching compromise produce visible results.
You see someone bend the rules, and suddenly they have the house.
Someone manipulates a situation, and suddenly they have the position.
Someone uses connections, and suddenly their business is thriving.
Someone exaggerates their achievements, and suddenly everyone respects them.
Meanwhile, you are sitting there thinking:
Was honesty worth this?
That question can become dangerous because it slowly changes what you believe about obedience.
You start wondering whether righteousness is simply for people who cannot get ahead any other way.
You begin asking whether integrity is costing you too much.
And then another thought appears:
Maybe I should just do what everyone else is doing.
That is where the battle becomes spiritual.
Not because God has promised that honest people will always win.
He hasn't.
But because the temptation is no longer merely about money or opportunity.
It becomes a question of who I am willing to become in order to get what I want.
Matthew 22:14 Is Not a Trophy
“For many are called, but few are chosen.”
I have heard this verse used in ways that make being chosen sound like proof that someone is spiritually superior.
I don't think we should do that.
Matthew 22:14 comes from Jesus' parable of the wedding feast. It is not a formula that allows me to look at every hardship in my life and declare:
“I am suffering because I am one of God's special chosen people.”
That would be dangerous.
Not every rejection means you are chosen.
Not every failed relationship means God intervened.
Not every financial loss is divine discipline.
Not every scam is a spiritual attack.
Not every closed door is God saying no.
Sometimes life happens.
Sometimes people make bad decisions.
Sometimes systems are unfair.
Sometimes we make mistakes.
Sometimes other people behave dishonestly.
And sometimes we simply don't know why something happened.
So I cannot use hardship as evidence of spiritual superiority.
But I can ask what God is teaching me through my response to hardship.
Chosen Does Not Mean Exempt From Suffering
Perhaps that is what I have misunderstood.
Being chosen does not mean being protected from difficulty.
Joseph was chosen for something significant, yet he ended up in a pit and later in prison.
David was anointed king, yet he spent years running for his life.
Paul was called to preach the Gospel, yet his ministry involved rejection, imprisonment, suffering and hardship.
Even Jesus, the Son of God, experienced rejection, betrayal and suffering.
So perhaps being chosen does not mean:
“God will make your life easier.”
Perhaps it means:
“God is asking you to remain faithful even when life is hard.”
That is much harder to celebrate.
The Pain of Having Fewer Choices
Sometimes obedience feels like restriction.
I envy people who seem able to say:
“I want it, so I'll take it.”
I cannot always do that.
Something inside me asks:
Is this right?
Is this honest?
Is this the person I should marry?
Is this money worth what it will cost me?
Can I live with myself after making this decision?
Can I ask God to bless something I know I compromised to obtain?
Sometimes I wish those questions would disappear.
But perhaps they are part of discipleship.
Following Christ means I don't get to make every decision based solely on what benefits me.
There are things I may be capable of doing that I choose not to do.
There are doors I could force open that I choose not to force.
There are relationships I could pursue that I choose to walk away from.
There are shortcuts I could take that I choose not to take.
And sometimes I pay a price for those decisions.
Rejected, Misunderstood, and Still Wondering
There is another part of this journey that I find difficult to explain.
I have experienced rejection.
I have experienced people hating me when I did not understand what I had done to deserve it.
I have been falsely accused.
There have been times when people have judged me, misunderstood me and treated me as though I had done something wrong when I knew I had not.
And those experiences have left me with a question I still cannot fully answer.
Does rejection happen because God has chosen you?
Or does God choose you knowing that rejection will sometimes be part of the journey?
I honestly don't know.
I don't want to make the mistake of assuming that every person who rejects me is rejecting me because I am “chosen.”
That could become pride disguised as spirituality.
Sometimes people reject us because of misunderstandings.
Sometimes people reject us because of their own wounds, opinions or expectations.
Sometimes we may genuinely be at fault and need correction.
And sometimes people simply treat us unfairly.
So I have had to be careful not to turn every rejection into evidence that I have a special calling.
But I also cannot pretend that rejection does not affect me.
Being falsely accused hurts.
Being hated without understanding why hurts.
Being excluded hurts.
Being misunderstood hurts.
And when it happens repeatedly, you can eventually start questioning yourself.
“What is it about me that makes people treat me this way?”
There have been moments when I have wondered whether there is something about the path God is taking me on that makes me different from the people around me.
I have wondered whether being unwilling to compromise creates distance between me and people who are comfortable doing things differently.
I have wondered whether choosing integrity, refusing certain things and trying to follow God can sometimes make a person appear strange to others.
But I am learning something important:
Rejection is not automatically proof that you are chosen.
Jesus was rejected, but His rejection was not evidence of human superiority.
Joseph was rejected by his brothers.
David was rejected and pursued by Saul.
Paul experienced rejection.
The prophets experienced rejection.
But Scripture also shows people who were rejected because they were wrong.
So discernment matters.
I don't want to use rejection to make myself feel spiritually superior.
I want to use it as an opportunity to examine my heart.
Did I do something wrong?
Is there something I need to apologise for?
Is there something God is teaching me?
Or am I simply experiencing rejection that I cannot control?
Sometimes I may never know the answer.
And perhaps that is one of the hardest parts.
I cannot control what people believe about me.
I cannot force someone to understand my heart.
I cannot make someone stop falsely accusing me.
I cannot make everyone like me.
But I can decide how I respond.
I can refuse to become bitter.
I can refuse to retaliate.
I can refuse to allow someone else's opinion to become my identity.
And I can continue asking God to search my heart.
So I am left with that question:
Does being rejected mean you are chosen, or does being chosen sometimes mean you will experience rejection?
Perhaps the answer is not as simple as either one.
What I do know is that rejection does not have the final word over my life.
If I belong to Christ, my identity cannot ultimately be determined by whether people accept me or reject me.
People may misunderstand me.
People may falsely accuse me.
People may walk away.
People may dislike me without giving me a reason.
But I still have to decide who I will be in the middle of it.
And I want to remain faithful.
Not because rejection proves that I am chosen.
But because Christ is still worth following even when following Him is misunderstood by other people.
What About Other Christians?
This is perhaps the hardest part.
I don't only see unbelievers succeeding.
I see other Christians.
People who love Jesus.
People who go to church.
People who pray.
And sometimes they seem comfortable doing things I cannot bring myself to do.
That can be confusing.
Why does God convict me about this but apparently not them?
I have learned that I cannot make myself the judge of another person's relationship with God.
I don't know their conscience.
I don't know their circumstances.
I don't know what God is dealing with in their lives.
And I certainly cannot assume that their visible success means God approves of everything they are doing.
But neither can I assume that their success is fake.
That is another uncomfortable truth.
Someone else may genuinely be blessed while living differently from me.
God's dealings with one person are not a measuring stick for another.
My responsibility is not to decode everyone else's life.
It is to be faithful with mine.
Obedience Is Not a Guarantee of Visible Success
This may be the lesson I struggle with most.
I have sometimes unconsciously expected obedience to produce immediate results.
If I do the right thing, surely the door will open.
If I remain honest, surely I will eventually win.
If I wait for the right spouse, surely marriage will happen quickly.
If I refuse the shortcut, surely God will give me a better opportunity.
But faith does not work like a vending machine.
Obedience is not a transaction where I give God righteousness and He gives me success in return.
Sometimes obedience costs me something.
Sometimes it costs an opportunity.
Sometimes it costs money.
Sometimes it costs popularity.
Sometimes it costs a relationship.
Sometimes it costs years.
And sometimes I may never see the earthly reward I expected.
That is painful.
But it is also where faith becomes more than a strategy for getting what I want.
Maybe God Is Not Promising Me Comfort
Perhaps I have been asking the wrong question.
Instead of:
“Why is God making my life harder?”
perhaps I need to ask:
“Who am I becoming while I walk through this?”
Because if I become dishonest just because dishonesty appears profitable, what have I gained?
If I marry someone simply because I am afraid of being alone, what have I gained?
If I compromise my convictions because everyone else is doing it, what have I gained?
If I achieve success but lose my integrity, my peace and my relationship with Christ, can I really call that success?
I don't want to win at something God never asked me to pursue.
The “Curse” May Be That I Cannot Unsee What I Once Ignored
Sometimes I jokingly call it the curse of being the chosen one.
But perhaps the real issue is simpler.
Once God has convicted your conscience about something, you cannot comfortably pretend you don't know.
You may wish you could.
You may watch other people do what you cannot do and wonder why you have to carry this burden.
But conviction has a way of making compromise uncomfortable.
And maybe that discomfort is not a curse.
Maybe it is grace.
Not because every difficult feeling is God's voice.
Not because every restriction is divine instruction.
But because a conscience that refuses to become comfortable with wrongdoing is something worth protecting.
I Still Have Questions
I wish I could end this testimony by saying that I now understand everything.
I don't.
I still have questions.
I still look at people who seem to prosper through questionable decisions.
I still wonder why some doors close.
I still struggle with waiting.
I still wonder about marriage.
I still experience the loneliness that can come from refusing relationships that don't feel right.
I still wonder why doing the right thing sometimes feels like doing the losing thing.
And sometimes I still ask:
“Lord, if this is what being chosen feels like, why does it feel like everyone else gets to live more freely than I do?”
I don't always hear an answer.
But perhaps I am learning something more important than an answer.
I am learning that God's standards are not supposed to be measured by my immediate results.
Maybe This Is What Faithfulness Looks Like
Maybe faithfulness is doing the right thing when doing the wrong thing appears more profitable.
Maybe faithfulness is waiting when everyone tells you to settle.
Maybe faithfulness is refusing a dishonest shortcut when you desperately need the opportunity.
Maybe faithfulness is walking away from a relationship you desperately wanted because you know something is fundamentally wrong.
Maybe faithfulness is accepting that another person's timeline is not yours.
Maybe faithfulness is trusting God when obedience leaves you without the visible reward you expected.
And maybe being chosen does not mean I get a life with fewer problems.
Maybe it means I have been given a responsibility to remain faithful in the middle of them.
The Question I Am Left With
I no longer want to romanticize suffering.
I don't want to call myself chosen simply because life has been difficult.
I don't want to believe every closed door is a supernatural sign.
I don't want to look down on people who have prospered differently.
And I don't want to pretend obedience always feels good.
Sometimes it hurts.
Sometimes it is frustrating.
Sometimes it is lonely.
Sometimes I look at the person who compromised and think they got the better deal.
Sometimes I wonder whether I am being foolish.
But then I remember that Christianity was never a promise that obedience would make life easier.
It is a call to follow Christ.
And following Christ means there will be moments when I have to choose between what is expedient and what is right.
So perhaps I need to stop asking whether being chosen makes life easier.
Perhaps I need to ask whether I am willing to remain faithful when it doesn't.
Because maybe the real blessing isn't having every door open.
Maybe it is having the courage to walk away from the doors I should never enter.
Maybe it isn't getting everything I want.
Maybe it is becoming someone who can stand before God with a clear conscience.
And perhaps one day, when I look back, I will understand why some relationships ended, why some opportunities disappeared, why some shortcuts failed, and why some doors remained closed.
But until then, I have to live with the uncertainty.
I have to resist comparison.
I have to resist bitterness.
I have to resist the temptation to measure God's goodness by someone else's success.
And I have to keep walking.
Because if being chosen means anything at all, perhaps it is not a guarantee of comfort.
Perhaps it is a call to faithfulness.
So, Lord, I may not understand why obedience sometimes costs me more.
I may not understand why compromise sometimes appears to win.
I may not understand why choosing the right person seems so difficult.
I may not understand why some doors close while others walk straight through theirs.
But I am asking for the grace to remain faithful anyway.
Because maybe the question is not whether being chosen makes life easier.
Maybe the question is whether I can remain faithful when obedience makes life harder.
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