When you're terrified of insignificance


I write myself thousands of letters. Some I keep, folding them into tight, tiny pieces; some I toss down creeks and streams, attempting to let go of my misery. I walk along the creek line following the letter, until it’s floating so far I no longer see the damp words on the page.

In one letter I wrote to myself, I was begging God for significance. You see, I have longed — and am longing, and will continue to long — to do worthwhile work.

I have never been satisfied with what feels ordinary.

I scratched out a list of what I want to achieve. I don’t need to write a dozen novels, but a few really good ones would be nice. I want to create documentaries and be an advocate for girls who have been raped and trafficked. I want to write and illustrate children’s books for my sister’s baby.

In and between all these things, I want to take huge risks and meet remarkable people and do meaningful, worthwhile things.

I wrote this to myself and I wrote this to Jesus.

Last night I talked with one of my good friends. We’re working at a camp for the summer, and as I spoke with her, Jesus spoke to me. He’s been communicating with me that way recently, whispering words I need to hear through the lips of people He’s tenaciously placed in my fragile life.

My friend is seventeen and extraordinary, and as she looked out at the trees that cast shadows against the willowy grass, she said, “I’m afraid I won’t be significant.”

Come join me over at (in)courage? read the rest of this post, and we'll celebrate our significance together.