When I was 25, I graduated from seminary as one of two women in my degree program. I was a big fish in a small pond and carried in my toolbox a few items that made me especially unique. I had training in biblical languages and theology. I was reasonably creative. I had a background in basic marketing. Plus? I had great handwriting.

I made the move from Massachusetts to Texas for a year-long internship at a women’s ministry that was growing — fast.

The job was a dream. I’d be using all my skills in a vast array of tasks. I’d get to research and write and plan and film and edit and ideate around big ideas that pulled women close to one another and Jesus.

If you were to ask me if I thought what I brought to the table was the most important thing about me, I would’ve told you absolutely not. My years of studying Scripture taught me my worth wasn’t in my performance… But that doesn’t mean that truth had sunk into my heart yet. In fact, my knowledge of the Word may have at times caused me to believe that my greatest asset was my knowledge.

One scroll through Instagram or Facebook would have us believe that we need to show up with our talents and display them for the benefit of others. Which in and of itself is not a bad thing. But when we believe that the only reason we bring value is because of what we do, things start to get a little messy.

My first week or two at my internship went about as well as it could. I was welcomed by the staff, given introductions to the culture of teamwork, and ate more than my fair share of Tex-Mex. So far, so good. But when we rolled up our sleeves and actually started doing the work we were there to do, I found that I was surrounded by immensely talented women. I was no longer the only person who knew about Scripture or the Christian faith. I was no longer the only person who understood how to create good social media content. And I certainly was no longer the only person with good handwriting.

In 2015, hand lettering was at an all-time premium, and several other women on staff had much better skills.

I certainly contributed to the work, but I found myself also comparing myself to my colleagues. This subtle current of insecurity was flowing underneath all the tasks I was undertaking — and slowly eroding the bedrock of how I viewed myself. No one was telling me that I did a bad job or that I wasn’t valuable, but I was certainly telling myself that every time someone else was applauded for their talent in an area that I felt skilled in.

One night, I called my friend and told her how I was struggling with the fact that I was no longer a big fish in a small pond. I was no longer known for what I brought to the table because everybody brought the same thing. I was surrounded by so much talent and expertise. I felt more ill-equipped than ever.

And isn’t that the way it goes? When we are the only ones to do something, we tell ourselves that we’re special. And as soon as someone comes along with the same skills, we feel that we no longer matter. We go from flying high to dragged through the dirt. And it cultivates a sense of competition more than camaraderie.

I have struggled with this feeling for much of my life. Since that internship, I’ve had the opportunity to work alongside immensely talented writers and creatives who have similar interests and more developed skills than I do.

One day, as I was cycling through my usual frustration at my own shortcomings, a phrase popped into my head that has changed everything:

There will always be someone better than you, but there will never be anyone greater than God.

Think about it: there will always be a more patient mother or a more compassionate spouse or a more loyal friend or a better cook or a funnier storyteller. There will always be a more clever researcher or a more brilliant professor or a more gracious host.

If we want to live our lives being the best, we are going to fall short every single time. And perhaps this is what I love about the work of Jesus: He just doesn’t care about that.

Over and over, His disciples try to prove their worthiness, only to be met with a Savior who is asking for exactly none of it.

Jesus can perform miracles and He knows what’s coming next and He can calm storms and is literally God in the flesh. To be frank? He doesn’t need us for anything!

But you know what? He wants us and values us and loves us. Not because we are amazing, but because we are His.

When I started to look for my belonging in the person of Jesus Christ, I started to see myself as He sees me: fully known and fully loved. My sins and shortcomings are no longer counted against me because of the redeeming work of Jesus. 1 Peter 2:24 (ESV) says, “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.”

When God looks at us, He sees all of our mess covered by the sacrifice of Jesus so that we no longer have to prove anything. This walk of faith is not about what we bring to the table, but the fact that we are invited to the table. And more than feeling intimidated or exposed, it actually brings great freedom.  It means that we are loved exactly the way we are and we can joyfully use our gifts, knowing that they do not define us. Our fellow sisters are not our competition, and our worth is not founded on our talents.

So go. Make art or parent your kids or run that meeting with joy, knowing that there will always be someone better than you, but there will never be anyone greater than God — and He gave you what you have for a reason.

 

Listen to Melissa’s devotion below or on the (in)courage podcast!

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