“You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.”

Cookie cutters. I used them all the time growing up. Baking sugar cookies with my mom, flour and dough on every surface and row after row of cooling men, stars, bells, angels, pumpkins, trees, even the occasional dinosaur. It is a staple in my house that whenever you were baking cookies, any broken or maimed ones would be eaten immediately, so as to spare them the suffering and humiliation, and the last batch would invariably be burned. Cookie cutters, such wonderful tools, but perhaps they represent something a little more sinister. I am referring to the cookie cutters of life, those model-based, mold pressed individuals fighting for space on an assembly line in a life that was made to order. Anyone who does fit the mold must be eaten immediately, so as to spare them the suffering and humiliation.

Life, however, was not made to order. And neither was I. My essence was not some forlorn ball of clay pressed into existence by a standard mold; I didn't come in a box. Though I do come with instructions, and there is much assembly required. Of that I have no doubt. However I would press the notion that the so called standard of society, those barbie dolls I played with growing up, are imperfect ideals of a reality that I pray will never truly exist. Sure we see a vague imitation of a perfect life, a perfected being, possessing all beauty and virtue. Its easy to see that, just look around. It can be discouraging. But remember there are two standards by which you can live. On one hand is man's standard. They will judge you on what you drive, where you work, how you talk, how you dress. But then they will go further. They will tell you your nose is to big, your eyes are too far apart, this one is to short, another to tall, one is too thin, the other too heavy. Trying to meet those standards you will find yourself poked and prodded, pushed and shoved inch by inch into the mold, the glint of cold steel flashes as the cookie cutter slams to the counters. The process is excruciating, but its alright, when you come out, you will be like everybody else.

Then there is the higher standard, that of God and Eternity. The one in which each ball of clay is carefully crafted by the loving and gentle hands of the Master into a perfect, unique being. No, I was not pressed into shape by a staple, mass-produced, cookie cutter press. No, I am genuine, one of a kind and if that's not acceptable to some, well they had better just readjust their vision. Because this is me, and I am perfect just the way I am. We have been blessed. We each have so much to give to the world, we each have a voice and a purpose. You don't need to fit in, you just need to be you. After all, "you are only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it!"