I have a confession that I’ve had a hard time admitting: I don’t prefer being around people. In fact, I love being alone. Give me a vacation of solitude in the mountains and I would have a field day reading and writing. That same vacation would be my husbands personal definition of hell.

When I’m alone, my battery is recharged. I talk to God. I give every worry to him. I stay in my pajamas and have no need for my curling iron or make-up. I write about what I’m learning, I read about what excites me. It’s glorious and refreshing.

There is (self-imposed) pressure to be at every baby shower, every birthday party, every wedding, every potluck. I go, but the truth is, most of the time, these functions drain my battery. I want to attend. I want to support and celebrate, but I wrestle with the tension of knowing how much energy it will require. I’ll go, I’ll have fun, I’ll smile and laugh and even pick out the person who needs encouragement the most and spend most of my time with them. I’m social, but an introvert at heart.

I beat myself up for being this way. Why can’t I be the type that feeds off the energy of others? Why can’t I keep up with the pace? Why does a couple hours in a room full of people require so much energy for me?

This week we spent time in Big Bear, during a snow storm that made it difficult to travel anywhere. It was a homebody’s delight. I got to do nothing and be around no-one. O Holy Divine. My cup is full.

For a long time, I thought my need to be alone meant that I was a bad minister. After all, it’s the “people business,” right? My husband encourages me to practice the art of saying no without giving an excuse but it’s hard habit to break. Laundry? Work to catch up on? Kids are sick? All those excuses may be true, but an extrovert would make the time for that function anyway. If I gave my most honest reason why I can’t hang out all the time, it’s because I need to be alone and recharge. It’s because if I find myself in people-land too much, I give my family “low-battery mommy.” Low-battery mommy is catatonic, she doesn’t add much value. She’s like a robot that glitches. My husband can see the look on my face and he’ll gently shove me towards the bedroom and say, “I’ll take the kids. You go have some alone time.”

This week of winter wonderland, I read about John the Baptist. In Luke 7:28, Jesus declared John the Baptist to be the greatest man to have ever lived: “I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John …”

Wait, what? The guy who spend most of his life in the wilderness alone?

I’ve read that passage many times before but never considered the weight of it. Jesus publicly validated him as the greatest man to have ever lived.

My finite wisdom would have ascribed that sort of accolade to someone like the apostle Paul. After all, Paul was like a rocket ship. Here one chapter, gone the next. Always around people, always traveling to his next mission, always spreading the good news. Ministry was his life. He was non-stop. I get tired just reading about Paul’s excursions.

Instead, Jesus held in the highest honor a man whom most people wouldn’t have put in the running. We tend to look at the “rocket ships” in the kingdom, like Paul, and think that those people must be God’s favorite. But Jesus said the greatest was the guy who had no power or influence in the Jewish political system. He chose the guy who dressed like a hermit (in camel’s hair) and ate a hermit’s diet (locust and honey). John’s voice was a “lone voice in the wilderness” (John 1:23) and he led a simple life. John was not interested in the limelight or building a platform, he was interested in God’s glory. We see this clearly when he says: “He must become greater; I must become less (John 3:30).

What if life isn’t about becoming more, but about becoming less? What if what the world acclaims is not what impresses Christ?

Maybe John beat himself up too. Maybe Jesus knew that John (at this point he was in prison and perhaps feeling unaccomplished) needed this validation. It was as if Jesus was saying, “I made you unique, I set you apart. You aren’t like everyone else vying for the spotlight. It doesn’t disappoint me, it pleases me. You’re the greatest, John.”

Be at peace with the way God created you. So, you aren’t like everyone else…maybe that’s the point. You be you. Don’t compare your personality with someone else’s or your God-given assignment with one that seems flashier. God made the extrovert, the introvert and everyone in between. Jesus wasn’t validating John because he was one or the other, he was validating him because John wasn’t trying to be someone he wasn’t or fulfill an assignment that wasn’t his to fulfill. He wasn’t a people-pleaser, trying to do more and be more. John was John and he was loved by God. <— Insert your name into that sentence and it’s as simple as that.