31 Days of Story {Day 24} Waiting in the Wings

Sometimes you feel small.
Insignificant.
Unimportant.
Unnoticeable.

In the fall of '96, I knew just such a feeling.

"Waiting...waiting in the wings....
I know how it feels to be
just another face in the crowd....
In the crowd...
To feel like a whisper
In a world that's much too loud...."

The lyrics from Anointed played a running sound track behind the scenes of this new strange season of my life.

In my high school youth group, I had been popular, talented, musical, and a leader.
Now I was just one more freshman, trying to find her way to class.
And praying, "Dear God, please do not let me look stupid."

Plus being me.
A girl who cares more about individuality than belonging, I have recently learned, {thanks, Sis, for that insight} navigating through the minefield of the million unknown social faux pas felt daunting as well as like selling-out if I drank the Koolaid.

So I did what any self-proclaimed "individual" would do on the first day of class. While everyone else was choosing the best, the prettiest, the cutest outfit in their wardrobe, I chose the opposite -- a hand-me down skirt that was truly the ugliest thing in my closet. I had never worn it before, nor did I ever wear it again. It served its ridiculous statement purpose.

I will show you the photo but you may not fully appreciate the ugliness unless you think back to what was in style then. This skirt was NOT.

This is me with my sister. She looks cute, right? Yeah. She was 14 at the time!! She had some skills that I did not yet possess. Here's a better view of that crazy skirt.

Think 90's southwestern style restaurant tablecloth with pink hues instead of red.
My skirt was probably made from the same material.
Seriously.
Yet there I smile.
Determined not to care.
Pretty brave for a seventeen-almost-eighteen year old.
Or stupid, depending on how you look at it.

Yet off I went to class that day, caring, but determined not to.
Probably looking every bit the missionary kid that I felt inside with my ridiculous costume.

And you know what is funny.
In the end.
It didn't really matter.
On way or the other.
The person INSIDE was the one who made friends.
Who found out that belonging might just be okay.

She connected with people who embraced her crazy antics or at least learned to love them dearly.

As I prepare to head out to my second year at the blogging conference, Allume, I feel struck with many of these same feelings.

I am not good enough.

My writing is sub par next to these ladies.

No one will notice me.

I am just another face in the crowd.

I still plan my outfits, which are decidedly more style-centric now, yet still filled with individuality.
I haven't changed THAT much in seventeen years.

And somehow I remember what that seventeen year old girl learned.
It does not matter somehow.
Those outside looks.
The best writing.
The most skilled conversationalist.
The praise.
The accolades.

It's the inside that counts.
BIG TIME.
I think I will keep reminding myself of that.

"Don't ever forget whose child you are..... Though others may fail to see the diamond that lies beneath ......He know just how priceless you are....while you are waiting in the wings...Keeping waiting...."

P.S. I did wear that shirt again. Looked much better with jeans, right?

P.P.S. Sorry for the blurriness of some of the photos....SO not digital back then! ;-)

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