It’s an age-old question that has conjured up anxiety for many a man for 1000′s of years.
Do I matter?
Whose world is a little brighter because it intersected with mine? Whose lips curve upward at the mention of my name? Whose heart is lifted with the thought of me? Who thinks I “hung the moon”?
We are all haunted by these thoughts from time to time. We tend to think these self-indulgent insecurities only exist in teens, but we all know that is not entirely accurate. We all want to matter. We all struggle with significance, with wanting to fit in with…….mattering.
Let’s face reality…..we all want to matter; however tough-skinned, independent, self-assured we are….we all want to matter.
For instance…….. rubber meets road…………. I’m writing this blog………Sure, part of it is that I suffer from too many thoughts. I must get them out of my head in order to function, so I write them. Somehow that gives me a bit of relief; move them from head to paper, then have some peace. But, truth is, why not just put them in a notebook? Why “publish” them? Because I want to matter. I want someone to read my “work” and validate me.
We all need it. Adults, teens, children. We all need to matter, to fit in, to be accepted.
Before you jump on a “spiritual” high horse and pass judgment saying, “I thought this girl was a Christian. Doesn’t she know our importance lies with God? He gave His only Son for us. That is all the ‘matter’ we need.” I AM God’s child and assuredly realize that in Him DOES lie my utter importance. Shouldn’t that be enough? Of course, it should. Is it always enough? Of course it isn’t.
I am currently reading Max Lucado’s “Fearless”. In it, he writes this little story/poem:
Perhaps you don’t know, then, maybe you do,about Stiltsville, the village, (so strange but so true).
Where people like we, some tiny, some tall, with jobs and kids and clocks on the wall
Keep an eye on the time, for each evening at six, they meet in the square for the purpose of sticks.
Tall stilts upon which Stiltsvillians can strut and be lifted above those down in the rut.
The less and the least, the Tribe of Too Smalls, the not cools and have-nots who want to be tall
But can’t, because in the giving of sticks, their name was not called, they didn’t get picked.
Yet still they come when villagers gather; they press to the front to see if they matter.
To the clique of the cool, the court of the hight clout, that decides who is special and declares with a shout.
You’re class, you’re pretty, you’re clever or funny, and bequeath a prize not of medals or money.
Not a freshly baked pie or a house someone built, but the oddest of gifts, a gift of some stilts.
Moving up is their mission, going higher their aim. Elevate your position is the name of their game.
The higher-ups of Stiltsville (you know if you’ve been there), make the biggest to-do of the sweetness of thin air.
They relish the chance on their high apparatus, to strut on their stilts the ultimate status.
For isn’t life best when viewed from the top? Unless you stumble and suddenly are not.
So sure of your footing you tilt and then sway. “Look out below” and you fall straightaway.
Into the Too Smalls hoi polloi of the earth, you land on your pride, oh boy how it hurts.
When the chic police in the jilt of all jilts, don’t offer to help but instead take your stilts.
“Who made you king?” you start to complain, but then notice the hour and forget your refrain.
It’s almost six, no time for chatter. It’s back to the crowd to see if you matter.
Today, tell someone “they matter”……that they matter TO YOU!
Thanks for stopping by 
You matter!