BOLD

It felt good to be clean. Even though washing off three days of salty, dried sweat and caked on dust had disappointingly revealed that no, I was not nearly as tan as I had anticipated. I breathed deep trying to focus on the scent of my freshly shampooed hair to calm my frazzled nerves. After days of living in loose fitting workout clothes my clean jeans felt stiff and foreign; a contrast to the breezy softness of my favorite Banana Republic tank.

I hoped my put-together-but-not-overdone-for-camp look would play into the laid back vibe I was trying to emit. Inside, however, my traitorous digestive tract was confirming my wisdom in skipping dinner altogether. I had endured my nervous stomach enough through past experience to assume it would strike at the most inopportune moment.

Of the six plastic chairs on the small platform I chose the second to last on the right, hoping to blend in and not overly assert my presence. I look out on the sea of camping chairs filled with nearly one hundred high school students and various staff with blankly attentive expressions. I smile, relax my posture, and appear to be engaged in our moderator’s opening spiel outlining the framework of the Q&A panel. Internally I am a frenzied, mental mess shouting at myself.

Why did I get myself into this?! Who am I to be up here at all?!

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It had started a few months ago. My husband had returned from a planning meeting for our annual youth camp, consisting of students from six different churches coming together to spend a week camping on the American River. Over lunch he and I chatted about some of the new ideas for this year’s program. He mentioned the possibility one of the nights, instead of hearing from the main speaker, there may be a panel discussion answering questions students would have anonymously dropped into a box sometime during camp. I thought it was a great idea and asked who was going to sit on the panel. It would be a handful of youth pastors and leaders that I had come to know and respect over our years of doing camp together, all guys.

Something deep inside stirred. No women? Even before asking I knew, given the character of the group, it wasn’t done intentionally, it just probably hadn’t been considered.

I stepped up on my tiny soapbox (I am not typically confrontational nor controversial so my soapbox is appropriately travel-sized), and we discussed all the reasons I find it important to have a feminine voice represented; not the least of which being the encouragement to teenage girls to dig into scripture for themselves. The conversation winds down and I feel vindicated by his positive response. I heartily pat myself on the back for taking a stand for expanding the feminine voice and go about my day.

A few days later my husband casually mentions he talked to the rest of the group and that they were all fine with having me on the panel.

Awesome! Wait… WHAT?!

I hadn’t meant that I thought I should be on the panel, just that in theory there really should have been a woman considered, ya know?  Surely there were other female staffers at camp more qualified to field questions than myself. My husband, in his typical encouragement through pushing me outside my comfort zone way, told me he thought I would be perfect for it and he was excited for me to have the opportunity.

It has been one of my prayers for God to open up doors for some speaking opportunities. I think it could be one of my gifts, but I haven’t had the chance to test it out much as of late. It feels awkward to seek out opportunity on my own when I don’t have any real experience to lean on. Which makes for a vicious circle of needing experience but not feeling comfortable to self promote without experience. I imagine it in my head as being horribly awkward, which I typically try to avoid at all cost.

I would love to speak at your next event! I spoke at my high school graduation and my sister’s wedding and I have a hunch I might be good at this. No real experience, education, or references, but I think I might just maybe possibly be pretty okay at this. Um and I’m eloquent and stuff, too. So, what do you think?! 

Obviously, that is not happening. And yet, here was an opportunity, though certainly not what I had thought I was praying for, and I was speeding down the slippery slide of insecurity again. I didn’t even finish community college, let alone any sort of formal Biblical training. I’m supposed to sit on stage with a bunch of guys that are pretty much professional Christians as far as I’m concerned and attempt to answer questions as if I have any right to being up there.

Ironically, the theme for camp was “BOLD” from Acts 4, teaching on boldly acting on and proclaiming our faith. The evening before the panel, the camp speaker read a section of Acts 4, and verse 13 took my breath away.

In the passage Peter and John were preaching the gospel and had healed a man in Jesus’ name that had been lame since birth. The higher-ups in the Jewish council were annoyed by their pot-stirring presence and had them arrested, then sent them before the council composed of the most highly educated, wealthy, and powerful. Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, boldly testified to them of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Then, in Acts 4:13, the reaction of the council is recorded, “Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus.” I almost couldn’t focus on the rest of the message, this verse was so distracting and consuming my thoughts.

The implications of this verse on my heart for the situation I would face the next night cannot be overstated. If God saw fit to use average, blue collar fishermen to boldly proclaim His word before the aristocratic elite, He would be able to use uneducated, average me to answer some questions for a group of teenagers. I felt the burden of my anxiety over the last few months begin to lighten.

Not only were Peter and John enabled, but it was obvious “that they had been with Jesus.” There was no other explanation. My passion for the Word is all I have to offer, and it is enough. I spend my time trying to better know Jesus and He qualifies me for the tasks He sets before me, so it will be obvious to all He is at work in me. I bring nothing to the table but a willingness to be used.

************

The moderator begins pulling slips of roughly torn paper from the podium and addressing the panel with questions individually. My mind turns over the questions asked of the other pastors, impressed with their answers and considering how I would have responded to their questions. My name is called and the microphone is passed hand by hand down the line to me. I listen intently to the question as the moderator reads, feeling a bit of an oddity with all eyes on me, and raise the mic to speak.

My heart stops racing, my shoulders really do relax, and the butterflies evaporate from my stomach. By the time I get to my second and third and fourth question I’m laughing and joking (and shivering a little wishing I would have grabbed a sweater). The answers came almost effortlessly; it seems I actually do have some idea what I’m talking about!

Laying in my bed that night in our 1970’s pop-up trailer my mind was too full to sleep. I had gotten a lot of positive feedback and more than a few surprised looks. I felt the glances of some sizing me up afterward, which could also probably be attributed to my paranoid insecurity. Someone had even asked my husband if I taught Bible, which was so ludicrous it gave me a good laugh.

More than anything I was overwhelmingly, tearfully thankful. My God had shown up and done something through me that was beyond me. My heart was full to bursting with affection for the Lord who qualifies the called. I don’t remember, but I may have been smiling when I finally drifted to sleep. I do remember the feeling of dozing off wrapped in a warm embrace, and the childlike prayer of my heart that poured forth without me considering the implications.

Daddy, that was fun! Can we do it again?!