Why Being Invisible Sometimes Feels Comfortable

Even when I was really young, I was very thought-conscious for a child. My elementary school teachers often told my mom, "She's a great student and always makes Distinguished Honor Roll. But she's bored. She's a really deep thinker and likes to be creative. She gets bored with some of the worksheets and assignments we have to do."

In second grade I wrote what I remember as my first "poem." I wrote it in December, as I eagerly anticipated the upcoming holiday. Shyly one morning, I walked up to my teacher's desk with a copy of my poem behind my back and quietly handed it to her when she looked up at me. She was a tough teacher, large and intimidating, not the nurturing or welcoming type, and she quickly began reading my piece of paper without much expression. Then her eyes flickered at me, and she looked back up suddenly. "Did you write this?" she asked abruptly, inflection in her voice. Without making a sound, I just nodded, my hands behind my back and my feet shifting awkwardly, then watched as she walked past me up to the blackboard, my poem still in her hand.

Uh-oh. My heart began fluttering. She had misunderstood. I was just giving the poem to her as a gift. It wasn't something I wanted the whole class to see.

But it was too late. She began writing the poem across the chalkboard in fast movements and instructed the rest of the students to get out their paper and pencils and start writing out copies of "the poem Misty wrote." I wanted to melt. Embarrassed and uncomfortable being the center of attention, I walked back to my desk, with the eyes of the entire classroom on me. I wished desperately she hadn't publicized on the second grade chalkboard my first amateur attempt at writing:

"There was once a babe in a manger bed.
He softly rests his sleepy head.
A star in the sky gave some light,
a gift to us that holy night.
Remember that is Christmas Day,
for the baby asleep on manger hay." ~1985

I remember one classmate approaching my teacher's desk and telling her that I had spelled the word baby wrong," but my teacher explained that babe was also a word that meant baby. I remember thinking the word baby would throw the rhythm off.

Another year, as a 3rd or 4th grader, after returning to school after Christmas Break, our class was given the assignment to write out a list of New Year's Resolutions on a piece of paper which would be taped to the wall. Thinking of resolutions was not hard for me. I was very self-motivated, and my wheels were constantly spinning. Even while the rest of my household slept soundly in bed at night, I lay awake for hours, making up stories in mind---using characters from books or TV shows and creating new scenarios for them; my brain was always sitting on "Go." I had resolutions, that's for sure---but they were big ones, at least to my third grade mind. They were personal ones. Not having the personality type that could easily share my deep, meaningful dreams and goals, I sure couldn't just write them out and tape them on the wall for the whole class to read. I stole a glance around my classroom to get an idea of what other students were writing as resolutions:

"Quit biting my fingernails." 
"Turn my assignments in on time." 
"Study spelling an extra night a week." 
"Don't fight with my sister."

Wanting to fit in with my classmates and avoid the self-consciousness of everyone reading my deepest thoughts, I decided to copy some of their ideas and penciled out a few "fake" resolutions for myself:

"Read more this year."
"Get up on time."
"Don't bite my fingernails."

When everyone's completed assignments were hanging on the wall and we all stood around reading each other's resolutions, one girl called my bluff as she exclaimed, "Misty, you don't even bite your nails!" (I also read constantly and got myself up each morning when my alarm went off.)

At times I have contemplated how God might have assigned me roles that kept me quietly in the background---working alone in a room filing charts, sitting quietly behind a computer typing out memos from a supervisor, cleaning a house while the owners were away. Those were the roles I'd envisioned for myself when I was younger and were the type of jobs that would seem appropriate for a person who struggled with discomfort in the limelight.

Several of my friends have often posted a quote by Marianne Williamson. Though not having read her books, the quote always stops me and makes me think:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world..."

I love yet struggle with this quote, because I do often think, "Who am I to do anything special? Who am I to write or make meaningful music or attempt some worthwhile goal?" Yet the words are true: I am not only afraid of my inadequacy; I am scared of my capability. I fear my potential.

If I try and fail, people will talk, ridicule, and criticize.
If I try and succeed, sometimes even more people will gladly talk, ridicule, and criticize.

Being in situations with the focus on me, whether it is positive or negative attention,
has always been a struggle--

because even positive attention is reason enough for some people
to belittle and gleefully cast a bad review on a person's every effort.

And sometimes I laugh as I ask God,

"Why did you call me to do this? 
Why did you build my life like this? 
Why did you ask me to get up in front of crowds and play music, lead singing, 
write my deepest words for other people to read, 
take the risk of going into business for myself, lead students? 
Why didn't you let me live my life silently in the background, 
away from everyone's scrutiny?"

But I know the answer. God has plans for us that don't always include hiding in the corner, keeping ourselves safe from the opinions or judgment of others. With His help, He knows we are more capable than we imagine. And He isn't concerned with what the people around us might think about our efforts. Revolving our lives around other people's opinions is not part of His plans for us.

So, in the new year, I try to push myself out of hiding a little more often,
drag myself out of remaining quietly in a spot where I think I might go unnoticed,
speak my mind a bit more frequently, attempt my goals even when fear is present,
take a stand when I could just play along with the 'game,'
try to convince myself that God sees me as worth more than remaining quietly unseen---

Whether I have the approval of people around me or not,
I can't hide the light God has given me by attempting to remain invisible.