I am not a Gala-type person

 

Source: From their website


There's a fundraiser event tomorrow evening Saturday for the ministry that my husband volunteers with. They're calling it a "Gala." I will be joining this ministry once BSF wraps up for the summer, so it feels like stepping into something new. So when my husband mentioned the event to me, I was instantly intimidated. 

Honestly, I am not a Gala-type person. 

 I could sense the weight of expectation pressing down on me -  a feeling that can be overwhelming when you feel put on the spot. 
I had to buy a dress. I had to buy shoes. I had to dress up. 

Senior Ball 1972

I no longer enjoy dressing up in formal attire. For one thing, it is just too expensive and Itchy, fancy clothes and uncomfortable shoes do nothing for me. Somewhere along the way, the teenager and young adult I used to be, who once loved fashion, shopping, and putting together the perfect outfit… quietly faded into someone who prefers simple, comfortable, and what I like to call "California Casual." 

What happened to me❓❓❓

I still want to look nice, but I no longer feel the need to be the best-dressed in the room. That desire has loosened its grip. There's a freedom in simply being who I am, without striving to impress. 

So when I stood in my closet, looking at a couple of dresses I never really liked and the "mother-of-the-groom" dress from 2020, I knew I wasn't about to go out and buy something expensive just for one evening. I couldn't justify it. 

But it's going to be hot this weekend, and my one dependable sundress has seen better days. So, like it or not, I went clothes shopping.

Which is a four-letter word for me these days

And yet, the Lord has a way of meeting us even in the small, reluctant errands. 

I walked into a little shop, explained what I liked, and the woman there kindly brought out several options. The very last dress I tried on was the one - a white cotton eyelet dress, and something I can wear again. I found a light sweater for the overly enthusiastic air conditioning, and a pair of sandals that felt just right. And I spent less than $100. 

For the first time in years, I actually like what I'll be wearing to one of these fancy events. 

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I felt a gentle nudge in my spirit.

This isn't about the dress.

Events like this can so easily turn our focus inward: 

• what we're wearing, 
• how we look, 
• how we're perceived. 

Before we know it, we've drifted into a quiet kind of self-absorption, all wrapped up in what is, at its core, a first-world concern.

And yet, that's not why we're going.

We're going because there are real people who will be impacted by this ministry. People who are hurting. People who need hope, support, and the love of Christ lived out in tangible ways.

When I think of that, 

Everything shifts.

The dress becomes secondary. My appearance fades into the background. And what remains is the opportunity to be there to support something meaningful, to step into service, and to keep my eyes on what truly matters.

Scripture reminds us:

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves." (Philippians 2:3)

That doesn't mean we neglect ourselves or refuse to look nice. It simply means we hold those things loosely. We don't let them take center stage.

There is a quiet beauty in simplicity. In choosing what is enough. Walking into a room not to be noticed, but to be available.

I think that's what's changed in me over the years. Not a loss of interest but a re-ordering of my heart.

And honestly, I wouldn't ever want to go back.

So this Saturday, I'll wear my simple white dress, bring my new sweater for the chill, and step into that room with a different kind of intention. 

Not to impress.

But to remember why I'm there.

"Lord, keep my eyes on You and on the people You love. Let me be present, not impressive."

Because in the end, that's what truly matters.

Thank you for joining me on my journey with Christ. I'm always growing and learning along the way.

Until Next time,

Debby