At the counter, he’s standing there, smiling nervously at the barista. “I’m sorry, but this is probably going to be a bit complicated,” he says with a wink. She’s not moving, just waiting for him to start explaining what he wants. Then he orders a plain black coffee, laughing like he’s gotten away with something. She rolls her eyes, like she’s heard this same thing from customers who’re trying to be funny. That’s when I start wondering: when exactly did we start apologizing for being exactly who we are?

Stop comparing. Stop measuring your original life against someone else’s original life, like one of you got it wrong. It’s what Paul says to us in Galatians. Since we’ve picked this way of life, live it. Live it down to the very last detail. But we end up comparing anyway.

Staring at someone’s highlights on social media we quietly audit it against our own, wondering if our good work is good enough. We apologize for ordering black coffee.

The thing is God made you. Specially made. Deliberately. With a laugh that’s too loud for some. How you think sideways through a problem? It’s uniquely you. The way you love highland cows, dogs acting ridiculous, and other things nobody else gets? That’s God’s final version. The complete novel. A finished, one-of-a-kind story.

Walking Pretzel she’s pulling me toward the good smells, rolls through a scent she’s thrilled to have cover her body, and trots home, tugging me up the steps to the front door, panting and smiling. For her it’s a good morning. She’s unabashedly herself. Adults unlearn that childlike quality somewhere along the path of growing up.

God calls us into a full, specific and unrepeatable life we were gifted. It’s real. All the terrible photographs. The plain black coffee. The black and white details and graininess you can’t get in full color. That’s you. Made in the image of the God who made you.

You are an original. Start living like it.

And if you’re original?

Start treating others like they are too.