I have never been good at celebrating anything.
When I turned two, I wanted my sister to blow out my candles. I enjoyed watching her, enjoy that. I love other people’s special moments – birthdays, promotions, weddings, and anything in between.
I love seeing others happy and enjoying life – it’s what makes me happy. A self-identified observer.
But what happens when Jesus wants you, an observer, to start engaging with life? What happens when He gives you permission to participate? When He commands you to?
You freak out.
You feel selfish.
You start saying no.
You start to have an opinion.
And that my friends, is a recipe for a nervous breakdown in a world where I believed myself not good enough to celebrate. A world where, saying no, meant any love would be restricted or rescinded. A world where actually allowing others to love ME and celebrate ME, meant I was selfish or worse; so insecure that I needed others to validate me.
When saying no caused me to stop breathing, I was invited to rethink what I called people-pleasing. In the context where Jesus is King, I was not having a hard time standing up for myself, I was in fact, dancing with the devil.
How insidious what we call people-pleasing?
How deceiving?
Oh, but how victorious is the One who cut in and took me across the dance floor into the light. The One who gave me permission to be loved. Cared for. Celebrated.
Not just by Him, but by every single person He gifted to me.
I am surrounded by celebrators. Gift givers, party planners and extravagant encouragers.
I am outnumbered.
He does have a sense of humour.
