You Have Value And That Means Something
You don't need an appraiser to tell you how much you're worth.
What’s your value? Or, perhaps the better question: where does your value come from? I still struggle with this question at times, but let me take you back to one of the earliest moments when I realized I was measuring it—and sourcing it—in the wrong way.
It’s a beautiful spring day on the farm: birds singing, the sun shining, an uncharacteristically gentle breeze carrying with it the smell of freshly turned soil. I was a whole twelve years old, and my big brother Paul let me drive the field cultivator today. It’s not the very first time I’ve gotten to drive the tractor on my own, but it’s probably one of the first five times. I’m just experienced enough to be dangerous. You know that feeling, when you’ve done something just enough times to think you know everything about it? And then something happens to expose your overconfidence and the fact you actually DON’T know all there is to know about that thing, and then you just feel silly and like maybe you shouldn’t even keep doing that thing? Man, was I about to experience that feeling. But I didn’t know it yet, so I was happy as can be. “Paul is going to be so proud of me,” I tell myself, envisioning his pleased smile when he sees how well I finished the field edges, parked the field cultivator, and skillfully maneuvered the tractor into the shed. That’s almost how it went, except for the final step.
As I pull around the corner to the shed, I see my target spot: right in front of the manure spreader (a brand new one, by the way) and to the left of the combine. I had a straight shot in, so there’s no way I can mess this up. I take my right foot off the accelerator as I near the doorway, and judging how much space I have left before I need to stop, my left foot comes down on the pedal. Nothing happens, my tractor is still rolling at an uncomfortably speedy pace towards the corner of the manure spreader, and before I can process what happened, WHACK. The front of my tractor hits the chain guard of the spreader and I come to a sudden halt.
Why didn’t the tractor stop when I expected it to? Well, listen up: I’d only ever driven a tractor with a tillage implement before, so for all practical purposes, the clutch was the brake. When I didn’t have that field cultivator behind me, the clutch didn’t do much to stop me in time. Somehow, somewhere along the way, I missed the lesson on brakes, and I was crushed. “Paul is going to be so disappointed in me.” I immediately thought to myself. And gradually, I started to move from acknowledgement that I messed up, to the belief that maybe I was worth a little less because I messed up.
But, the idea that our value is tied to our abilities is a lie. Have you ever believed something like this before? Just because it’s easy to believe, though, doesn’t mean it’s the truth.
After I shut down the tractor and inspected the damage done to the manure spreader, my dread kept growing. I knew Paul was going to be upset with me. He finally trusted me to handle this on my own and I messed it up. As I finally got up the courage to go tell him what happened, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I spot my brother across the yard, and he can tell something is wrong. I can barely speak above a whisper, and I certainly can’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I don’t know what happened but I hit the manure spreader I’m so sorry I messed up.” A tear falls down my cheek as I waited for him to reprimand me for being so incompetent. But instead of harsh words, I hear a gentle laugh as he says “That’s okay! We can fix the manure spreader. It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re okay!”
Did you catch the truth summed up by his words? “You have value, no matter your performance.” Without even knowing it, Paul debunked the lie I was believing. The lie we all believe, time after time, that our worth is somehow tied to our performance. It’s so easy to get caught up in. Sometimes we forget that awards and accomplishments don’t measure our value: they measure a particular set of skills or abilities that have nothing to do with our worth as a human being. Being good at talking doesn’t give us value: being a human, does. Being good at math doesn’t give us value: being a human, does. Being good at basketball doesn’t give us value: being a human, does. Being good at our jobs doesn’t give us value: being a human, does. As a person of faith, I believe we were created with inherent value, simply because we’re human. No matter our beliefs, we have value because of who we are, not what we can or cannot do.
Now, you may say, “Okay cool Miriam, I have value. But what the heck am I supposed to DO with that information?” And that would be a fair question. Frankly, I think there are a lot of well-meaning people in the world who share the message that we have value, but they just leave us there. For some reason, it seems like simply knowing we have value isn’t enough to help us find fulfillment and purpose in life. There’s got to be more to life than just walking around feeling good about ourselves because someone told us we have value.
The good news is: there is more to life than that. But it’s paradoxical, and in the coming weeks, we’ll explore why that is.
Journal Prompt of the Week
When was a time in your life when you wrongly placed your value in your abilities? What happened?