The Worth of a Person

Do you ever feel insignificant?

I revisited a recurring dream last night: Time was running out and I was desperately scrambling to find a way to lend meaning to my life; to make a difference in the world; to compensate for bypassed opportunities.

Part of the problem is being childless. Those of you who have put your best efforts into raising children to be decent human beings have made a huge contribution to society.

Sure, people sometimes speak of their lack of assurance that they parented well. Or of concern for a distant or misguided son or daughter. But any loving endeavor to support—and address the needs of—the next generation has merit in itself. A conscientious mom or dad is an indisputable asset to humankind.

Another contributor to my nightmare is an extensive list of regrets. I once said to a dear friend that I'd like to re-write the script for a full 20 years of my adult life. She responded, "Oh, we'd all like a do-over, from time to time."

Despite my TMI tendencies, this friend can never know how utterly lost I was between the ages of 17 and 37, as I wandered, disorientated and anchorless, through a fog of confused thinking. Some of us did not merely rack up a few regrets or make a smattering of silly mistakes. And many among us bear emotional scars from bad experiences, bruised consciences from untapped potential.

In my youth, I had this sensation that I was kind of faceless; that my appearance was so bland, so lacking in distinctive features, as to cause me to blend into my surroundings. I was almost surprised when someone recognized me walking down the street or in a store, away from the context of school or work. To this day I have occasional twinges of this sense of invisibility.

The prescription for exorcising nagging self-doubt? Seek meaning and worth in your status as a created being.

I started dating my late husband, Jack, at the pivotal age of 37. And I fell hard, so hard that my feelings for him overwhelmed me. His reciprocated affection and devotion astounded me, brought me to tears. "If Jack loves me, and God forgives me," I cried out in a private moment of self-discovery, "I must have worth, and my life, value."

With Jack no longer at my side, I often hunger for reassurance. Society, with its skewed values and low expectations, its denunciation of foundational moral principles, is not a welcoming place. But I have learned to look daily to a benevolent Creator who recognizes me! Recognizes each of us.

It took a while, but I am now persuaded: My past does not define me. God's compassionate forgiveness does. My insecurities do not define me. Christ's sacrificial atonement does.

May that be a blessed comfort to anxious souls everywhere.