Church On The Rock Homer

I have a very distinct memory related to my life as a young blonde Alaskan of German-Norwegian descent amidst a literal sea of dark-skinned, black-haired Filipinos. Growing up overseas in the city of Manila forced a superficial but sharp contrast of appearances that triggered an existential question in my young brain: “Why am I like me and not like them?” Why was I born to Randy and Marla Weisser? Why was I born in America? Why was I born with my specific color and complexion? Why was I born with my specific set of traits? Why was I born into a Christian home? My still developing brain began to wrestle with this truth; I didn’t have much say in choosing the life that I was given. I began to wonder about the ways of a God who made decisions about me before I even was. I began to question the methods of a God who decided about my life without consulting me. Seems like a lot of power. And then somewhere along the road of my life, those feelings and thoughts began to shift. I went from wrestling with a