In idle, pondering moments, I've composed an idea of myself.
I am the outsider. Walking lesser known paths but fearing obscurity.
'In the margins', I say. Not quite mainstream faith - born again and discipled in a Uniting church, nurtured by a Sydney Anglican university ministry, married into being a Baptist. Working as a doctor, that's not a 'real' doctor.
Is my deepest fear that I will be thought boring or not thought of at all?
I romanticise myself.
"Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?"
Deliciously soul-piercing words, because they utter the fear, in all of us, of being misunderstood and forgotten. Why do I feel kinship with Jane, and not Mrs Fairfax or Adele? Would I imagine myself as Blanche Ingram? I call myself obscure while casting myself as the heroine.
Part of me longs for my 'honourable' or different choices to be noticed. And yet I am called to live a quiet life. Another layer peeled away reveals my pride. Why do I need you to see and acknowledge me?
I have been exorted to live my life for an audience of one. To care what God sees of me, and measure myself in his eyes. I forget this, and I become the 'one'. That's when I wonder what you think of me. I long for them to notice me. Because my opinion needs confirmation.
Jesus said it 3 times, and still I flounder.
Then your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.
He sees everything. I don't need to wave my arms around, or be different, or blog profoundly, or be the most generous. Just live it, and stop worrying about who's noticing. Discard self-consciousness. Worry about the one who never doubted my soul and heart, because he carefully formed them.