finding an un-ruffled faith.

You probably don't like me. Seriously. Most likely, you think I am massively unfunny, ten different kinds of snobby, or (usually and) outrageously uninteresting.

Or so I will tell myself, as we're (if we're ever) talking. I have a mind-numbing sense of social inferiority. Particularly for a very social, very confident person. I love to talk. And yet, I spend most of most conversations pushing past a wall of negative self talk: "They're going to think you're crazy. You are so not funny. Wince! You sound so snobby! Man, just shut up already."

I was thinking about this today while on a quick trip for a pair of yoga pants, and hair ties. Scanning the store for the active wear, I saw it. The most ridiculous skirt on the face of the planet. Tier after tier of ruffled pink gauziness. Beckoning me.

Then, immediately, "You can't wear that. Are you kidding me? You could never pull that off. You're not a cool girl, Ash. Jeans, and sweaters. That's where you live."

I like to think that I'm some sort of trail-blazing iconoclast. And, if argumentativeness were any proof of individuality, I would be. But it's not, and I'm not. So, I'm forced to wonder...how much of a follower am I really? How much do I care what other people think?

An unexpected lesson from Christ is that I care quite a lot. I thought I was so avant-garde because I stood on the fringes of Christianity between the nay-sayers, and the devout. I could wag a finger at both, acting as though I was some sort of modern-day prophet. Then I realized that much of my resistance to the devout was emotional, was tied to that image of myself as the stand-alone. Bombshell! I wasn't quite as out there as I thought!

I'm not quite as out there as I think! As I stood in the fitting room, staring at myself in this hot mess of a skirt I love, it occurred to me that this skirt is like my social complex is like my faith. Across all three areas, I'm scared to be who I am, out of fear of the judgment of others. If I buy the skirt, someone will think I look silly, and then I'll feel silly. If I open my mouth, I'll say something that someone doesn't like, and regardless of whether I should have said it or not, I'm afraid I'll be judged on those words. If I share my faith with my friends in a real, raw, and heart-felt way, they may begin to feel uncomfortable around me, to hold me at arm's length.

So I hold back. I play it safe. I pretend not to like things I like. I have to be really tired to talk openly. I share tiny corners of my faith, justifying that stinginess in the name of strategic evangelism, or, more gently, street-smart love.

But I don't want to live that way.

I bought the skirt. I'm going to stop over-analyzing every word I say to people. And I pray for the courage to be open about my faith.

When I met Nancy Alcorn, I rambled my way through three or four unintelligible minutes about freedom, and faith, and Christ, and only He remembers what else, and she wrote something fabulous in the book I had her sign.

It says, "Ashley-- Christ paid for our freedom. Live in it!"

I wonder if that freedom extends not only to my eternal soul, but to these earthly moments. If, in my cross-bought freedom, I am enveloped by a love that washes out the self-consciousness that binds me to myself. If, in His love, I am free to love outside my lines of doubt and fear.

I am bound only to Him, and I can't be tied by ruffles.