Pray for their conversion, not their approval.

I never thought twice about my answer to the question, “Would you rather be rich or famous?” 

The prospect of a wealthy lifestyle never really tempted me: embracing poverty sounded poetic and heroic. But making a name for myself? Circumventing anonymity? Rising above a quiet life in the shadows to heights of glory? Sign me up. 

If I had ever thought twice about that answer, I might have considered that fame is decently terrifying. 

With visibility comes the marrow-draining awareness that strangers have opinions of you; that your name is a brand; that your face, your clothes, your personality, your actions are all objects upon which judgment can be passed, often in silence. 

There's moments when the glimpses of "fame" (let's call it 'knownness') the Lord is entrusting to me seem like more of a threat than an opportunity. 

Getting feedback on a blog post makes me nauseous: even a positive review makes me stiffly aware that people are reading my work and forming opinions on both writing and writer.

Vocal support from parishioners for the youth ministry I’m building seldom reassures me any more than it reminds me that I am responsible for making this thing happen.

Praising and worshipping in a crowd full of teenagers who know and look up to me, I’m barely conscious of God because I’m so conscious of myself and how every movement might be impacting someone’s spiritual journey for better or worse.

And in standing for something more than myself - a ministry, the Church, God Himself - I tend to pour even more effort into "getting it right", so that nobody is turned away from an encounter with Jesus by my un-coolness, hypocrisy, or lack of presence.

Trouble is, sometimes I'm not cool. Sometimes I'm a hypocrite. Sometimes I'm absent-minded or lacking compassion or just having a bad day.

Sometimes I don't feel bold enough or resilient enough to be exposed to public scrutiny, and all I want is to curl up in a very tiny ball in a very dark closet. 

Ironically enough, though, the very God for whom I am trying to get it right is the One whose power is perfected in my weakness.

“For we do not preach ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for the sake of Jesus. For God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the Christ. But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power might be of God and not from us.”

2 Corinthians 4:5-7

I preach not myself but Him. I operate not under the banner of Kate Gilday but of Jesus Christ. I may just be a little clay jar, but that is okay: the power comes from Him, not me. 

On my bedroom mirror is written:

Pray for their conversion, not their approval.

Every moment I spend seeking another person's approval of me, I'm losing chances to lead them to the One I claim to be proclaiming. Every fretful glance in the existential mirror or self-condemning review of a situation is based on the assumption that I am the one who should be loved. 

The goal is not for you to love me, but for you to love Christ.

The goal is not for you to love me, but for you to love Christ.

Oh, how I wish repeating that phrase over and over in my mind would write its truth on my heart. 

Because I know that in those words lie my freedom. 

Trying to perceive the thoughts and judgments of the whole world, and formulate a master-plan for universal approval just twists my poor head into knots. Looking in that existential mirror only reminds me of my littleness and emptiness -

- but not of the God who fills the earthen jar to overflow.

St Paul proclaimed, "It is no longer I who lives, but Christ who lives in me."

He is the one I am fighting to make a name for.

His is the face I hope people will see and love.

And His are the arms that carry me through every moment where I lack the boldness or resilience to face 'knownness' alone.

To Him be the glory.

AMDG