On Being Somebody
I sat down at my computer with a new business idea in mind. Ignaria, my theology research product, has failed. Despite thousands of hours of coding, strategizing, marketing and sales conversations, it has still not reached break-even one year into its existence. And this failure is a sucker punch because it was an expression of my sense of calling.
I’ve pointed others to our shared Christian tradition, but few have cared to listen, and fewer still to engage deeply with the research tools I’ve created. There have been small successes, but I need to accept the loss and move on.
As I open my laptop and get to work on a new project, I’m troubled. It’s only a few days since I decided that Ignaria needs to shut down, and already I’m chasing something new.
Why?
I can justify it. The service is valuable and costly for smaller companies to build themselves. It would deepen skills I already use at work. It would bring in money. But what gives me pause is what might really be driving me: I want to prove my competence.
I look up from my business plan and let my eyes wander around the Starbucks. To my right, baristas chat with customers; I hear coffee grinding and the hiss of high-pressure steam.
Am I doing this because it is the next logical step in my calling, or am I avoiding the slower, harder work of writing and witnessing because it feels too vulnerable right now?
The new venture is a legitimate expression of my responsibility to provide for my family, to pursue excellence, and to create relationships that are mutually beneficial. But it is also a distraction. And if I’m honest, right now, the last thing I want is to write, to share my struggle with others.
It’s a paradox: I want to be somebody, and the fact that I am somebody is never enough. Money, acclaim, and recognition can never shut out the idea that I’m not to be taken seriously, by myself or by others.
Work, when powered by this deep instability, becomes frantic. I try to earn the grace God offers for free. He made me, loves me, provides for me. Why is that not enough?
It should be. He promises me peace independent of circumstances. Neither success nor failure can change my status with Him.
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? — Matthew 6:26 (ESV)
Jesus was the master of a rhetorical question. He does not tell me I’m worth more than a sparrow. He asks a question. I tell myself, I’m smarter and stronger, and I live longer. That isn’t what He asked. He made me in His image. He gives me worth. But the doubt still hangs on.
My mind wanders to a recent conversation. “You are enough.” That’s what my well-meaning friend told me.
But it’s just not true.
I’m not enough. You are not enough.
We face overwhelming obstacles in our work, families, and communities. I can’t see the future to navigate around what might derail me tomorrow. And even if I am above average in other ways, I’m still mortal. Sooner or later, I simply won’t be here any longer. My body will lie still and decay, awaiting a resurrection and eternal life.
Even though I am not enough, God is.
This is bedrock I can stand on, though I’m not sure I’ve ever been told this by well-meaning friends. It’s counter-cultural.
We all want to live our best life now. We want to exert our personal agency, create our own identity, and be recognized as someone special. But God says my life and my choices are a trust I steward, and for which I will one day give an accounting. I’m here for God’s glory, not my own pleasure.
Yes, I am somebody.
I look up from my computer again. I’ve returned to my home office on the second floor of my Tennessee home. It’s a beautiful sun-filled early afternoon. Outside, cicadas are buzzing, and there is the occasional caw of a crow as the wind sighs through the pine trees in my neighbor’s yard.
It is good to be alive. And everything I have, I have been given, including my self-worth. God, who created me in His image, says I’m worth more than a sparrow, that He will take care of me. I will return to that truth when I leave it to seek validation from people, projects, and possessions. This returning after wandering away from God’s gift is a recurring theme in my life.
See also
