I Still Want to be Popular

I just got my first copies of my book, and the title is glaring at me from my bookshelf where I am storing them. Popular. It’s a scary word. Because of what I do, I get to talk to a lot of teenage girls about this deep-seeded need they have to fit in. We talk about insecurities, fears, and the need to trust God. I text them when they are struggling and send them verses I think might encourage them.

Then, I have a mini-panic attack because my 100th baby picture only got 12 likes on Instagram. Twelve likes. Barbara’s baby got 23, and my baby is way cuter (There is no Barbara. She’s fictional. Made her up for emphasis). I realize in moments like these, really shallow ones that make me try to remember the Scripture I sent my high school friend for my own encouragement, that I’m dealing with the same beast, just a different version.

When I look at my life - my fears and insecurities and compare them to my high school friends, I see the truth I think most of us are avoiding; I still want to be popular. Not in an, "OMG, my boyfriend is so much hotter than yours," kind of way. But in a real gut wrenching, "I am way too old to be feeling this way," (26 is really old in high school years, just FYI) kind of way.  I mean, I traded in the convertible long ago for the mommy-friendly CR-V. And I no longer care what brand my jeans are (since my parents stopped funding them), but that’s just because most women my age don’t really care what brand of jeans they are wearing.

I do, however, care… that my house looks nice, that I am involved in enough Bible studies to confirm that I am indeed a Christian, and that outings with friends are well-documented so people don’t think all I ever do on Saturday is go to Home Depot, which, don’t worry, we do … every weekend. It’s the same beast as it was ten years ago, but I’ve dressed it up and made it look different. And if I call it different things, then it’s not nearly the same. If I use words like, “community” and “accepted,” then I don’t have to face the fact that I am still trying to leverage who I am and what I can do to get the glory.

I’m not saying it’s bad to want friends or even to want to be accepted in some way, shape, or form, but my problem is that I start to believe similar lies that I did when I was sixteen. I start letting Satan tell me that God won’t provide me with community, and that I need to be someone different than who He called me to be if I am going to make it in this cutthroat world of minivan moms. I start believing that my talents are not nearly as good as the next person's, and I put on a world-famous pity party where only a text from Beth Moore encouraging me in my writing journey would lift me out of the pit (never happened).

Then, what happens next is something I think we can all relate to. I get in this rut of being completely fake and not really caring about others, and I miss the opportunity for real community. I miss the chance to really connect because I won’t be vulnerable. I miss the clear calling of God to love on someone else, because if I admitted that I was struggling too, it would knock me off of my very false pedestal.  I miss so much because I won’t forget about what others think about me and just be obedient.