Hide It Under a Bushel.

Yesterday I had one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

You know the ones: you run behind for the first day of something, and you promised yourself you would be on time. You forget to put on deodorant. You drop your cell phone in the toilet. You blunder your way through a lesson for preschoolers in front of first-time parents. You notice the subtle signs that someone in your circle of friends probably doesn’t much care for you. You attempt small talk with a new friend and end up bringing up a painful topic that you really didn’t want to talk about, and all of sudden you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. You feel the sting of someone carelessly mentioning how they can’t believe anyone actually has the time to blog and, with all the other social media outlets, why anyone would want to.

Today, yesterday tormented me. Amanda who is terribly awkward and clumsy. Amanda who can’t do something simple like small-talk. Amanda who is still grieving. Amanda who is apparently hard to be around. Amanda who does weird things like make time to write on a blog. Amanda who actually thinks she could write a book.

So, here I am sitting outside of Starbucks, laptop out, tapping keys, unable to produce a decent thought because I worry about what people think of me and what I write. I am uncomfortable in my own skin. In my moment of self-deprecation, I glance over and my eyes catch the sight of fountaingrass dancing in the glow of the setting sun.  The foxtail ends look lit from within, fluttering about like fireflies through a sticky July dusk.

Immediately, I want to pull out my camera and capture it. And as soon as that thought enters, another one follows: busy street, busy Starbucks. People will see. People will think I am weird bent over with my average camera snapping pictures of a strip mall planter.

That moment presents me with a choice, the same one that presents itself everyday: to live worshiping my Creator with the passions He placed in my heart or to live stifled under the expectations of others.

Because really, if you are going to live lit up with your passions, people will notice. Worship calls out the greatness of the Creator. Worship reflects His greatness too.

The worshiper gets lit up like a foxtail in a setting summer sun.

Somedays, I feel awkward in this skin. The girl who desperately wants approval, who doesn’t want to color outside the lines of the housewife role, who doesn’t want to draw too much attention to herself because some of that attention might look like rejection... she picks on the girl who takes great delight in putting beauty within the four corners of a lens, who likes her big-frame glasses and her purple pants, and who somehow comes alive when she is organizing her words and thoughts on the screen of her laptop. She might even feel like sometimes her fingertip-to-key tapping is really a dance of passion between her heart and God’s.

And really, it's the fight of pride: to bring glory to oneself or to God. Self-glory looks to people for approval. God-glory seeks only God's approval. And isn't it strange how self-glory--how pride--wants to deny oneself of who they really are? And isn't is a grand thing that God delights in the very thing that brings us delight?

How will I live? How will you live?

Will you do your worship dance in the passion that lights you up… behind a camera, pen to paper, in front of a black board before little faces, hands to dirt raising plants from the ground, covering miles of nature trails in running shoes, touching paint to canvas, strumming guitar strings, singing, baking, cooking, creating, organizing…

Or will you worry what people will think?

And just like that, I push my chair back and walk toward dancing reeds and a glowing sun.

Here I am: awkward, silly, occasionally clumsy and learning to care less… learning to like God’s creation (me)… learning to worship.

I will not hide under a bushel of worry or expectations. Oh no, I am going to let it shine. 

Since I just gushed about some of my passions, I'd love it if you shared with me: what passions do you worship with? What makes you come alive? 

By Grace, 

Amanda Conquers

Psst... My beautiful inside-and-out friend Becky posted earlier this week on a similar topic. She addresses comparison and the reason why we as women sometimes hold back when it comes to our passions. It was well-written and pricked at my heart. You can find it---> HERE.

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