Do I really want to be admired?

The answer is: yes.

(Gulp.)

Yes, deep down, I want to be revered. Admired. I want people to ask me for advice on areas of their lives and to look to me for input.

I want people to want my life.

I’d be mortified to put this in print unless I knew, firstly, that I share this thinking with many of you, and, secondly, if I hadn’t identified that this thinking — played out over decades — can erode the very thing for which I want most in life (a growing connectedness to God).

Friends, we want to be remarkable. Set apart. Sought after for counsel and admired for our wisdom. We want to be seen as someone to follow and someone who is making a difference in the world.

(Yikes, did I just type that out there?)

And that desire, here in 2024, is often unchecked. Our culture, full of likes, follows, shares — big visions and big movements — has added fuel to the little voice inside of us that says, “Notice me, please.”

As with the smartphone that took serious flight a mere ten years ago, we don’t yet know the impact that the pursuit of being a remarkable Christian (a pursuit that is not new but certainly has grown in accessibility) can have on one made of dust, in the image of God.

And some of you reading might think, “well I don’t ascribe to big mission, big vision Christianity … I love my little life influencing a small few within the ten mile radius of my home.” And, to you, I’d ask what I am asking myself: but what if you didn’t have those few? How might your heart feel if no one — truly … no one — admired you.

Eight years ago, I started a small group of women who met in my family room once or twice a month to grow in Him together. These women were in a season of life a step or two behind me (though my surprise babies plopped me right back there on the soccer sidelines with them years later), and those Thursday nights were rich. Some of the best I remember from the last decade. These women became my dear friends. They invited my big girls to movie nights when I was pregnant and post-forty and too tired both to grow a baby and do late nights with teenagers, night after night. They spoke encouragement into some of my darkest hours. They did research for my books and circled around my kitchen island over hot chai and laughter, for years.

This time stands still, like in a snow globe for me — frozen, beautiful, and snow-kissed.

However, when, surprisingly, I felt the need to end this time, this beautiful gift of a season with these women, I didn’t realize until after it was over that my heart needed to be hidden again.