Yup, I could’ve freaking hooked someone right in the face to knock out the stupid inferiority swimming in my mind, and it was wise to bet a million on it happening.
…
I think everyone has one thing holding them back. One thing chaining freedom to the ground. One thing strangling potential. Biblically, it’s sin. However, in practical terms, sin expresses itself as different challenges to all of us. I’m sure I will find many problems with myself going forward, but my one challenge right now is my worth.
Economically, people determine a good’s worth depending on their “demand schedule” for it. If, collectively, people value a good highly, it’s worth a lot. Worth is also a person’s value. It’s a darn tragedy we determine (and accept the determination of) a person’s worth the same way we determine a good’s worth.
This is the trap I’m stuck in. For awhile, I’ve determined my worth by how others value me. My goal: manipulate the market for Myron. This motive has probably corrupted almost every one of my accomplishments. I hated being below, not being the best of the best, top of the top, cream of the crop. No one could deny my worth if there was no one better than me. Therefore, I did everything and anything to surpass everyone.
…
So I jab-stepped into the conversation with my best silo aimed to tear down my friend’s ego. Not gonna lie, it was pretty dumb. Sometimes we got into random roast-out sessions, and I had to tear others down the best, right? Er, yeah.
“You don’t have to say that, you know.” My friend’s voice was deft, and he had that pose. He was kinda lying back on a couch, not clearly perturbed but also clearly not happy, and his face was, my oh my, very unhappily blank. He didn’t find my comment amusing.
Nah, he sure didn’t. Yet, I wasn’t gonna be shown up today. I was just as good as, rather, better than him at wordplay. Or so I felt, I’m sure. I don’t really recall too well what happened in the background, but I’m sure conversations chattered and people were having a jolly jovial ole good time. We hung out at our campus ministry’s student center and our on-campus student center a lot. There were always others around for me to climb the social ladder with.
“Nah, I do, actually. There is no way I could subject myself to uh…” I sized him up and down, then wretched a bit. “…You. It’d be like a diamond chiseled out of a piece of crap. The image just doesn’t fit.”
My friend shook his head. “Alright, dude.”
…
I felt untitled. I wanted to be more than a nondescript blog post in the corner of the internet. My brazenness hurt other people around me, but I didn’t care. It was gross. It wasn’t Christ-like. It was sinful. Man, I was like a movie villain who needed blood to power a world-saving machine, so he decides to go murder innocent people to get it. Again, my worth was at the center of this. Attempts to validate a person’s worth with anything other than our intrinsic worth will end terribly.
When you find other sources of worth, of course, you lead yourself down a path further and further away from a life of love. Christ-like vision dims, and opportunities to glorify God and show kindness to others vanish. That destroys you from the inside-out. Well, I can’t speak for you, truly, but it destroyed me from the inside-out.
Accepting your real worth isn’t easy. First of all, I trained myself—the world trained me to—value myself as others valued me. When I did something exceptionally, others praised me, and I lavished in it. I liked being the smart kid when I was younger because I got attention for it. Dang, that acceptance is like a drug. It sent my heart racing and put me on cloud nine. Once you rush into the limelight, it’s hard to leave it behind. In those moments when others don’t pay attention to you anymore, you feel abandoned even if you aren’t.
Second, accepting your real worth means you take a back seat. While intrinsic worth sounds nice, ironically, our humanity says we are better off without it. I impressed to draw attention. Intrinsic worth implies you are valuable because you are you, so you don’t need extra attention. Our real worth from God frees us to act from a base of assured validation, and, practically, that drives us to sacrifice ourselves because we know don’t have to fight for ourselves. Instead, we fight to remind everyone of their intrinsic worth—the value God grants to us all.
Finally, accepting your real worth transforms you into a hero. “Uh, what?” you might think. Becoming a hero sounds hecka epic. It’s not. Most of us don’t want to be heroes. Our ultimate example of a hero is Jesus Christ. He told us to pick up our crosses and follow him. Hardships, endless life-threatening situations, and thankless favors line the path of a hero. It’s said, “When there’s nothing to be gained, rising to the challenge at those times… is surely the mark… of a true hero.”
…
I know these facts, yet there remain moments when I refuse my own value. I see what others have, and I want it because I think their things give them more value. As I said, I throw around bloodshed, punches, and tantrums whenever someone might be better than me. Nothing more than the regular stuff, y’know? Satisfaction is a rare gem. Where do I find it?
…
If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re probably stupid and worthless.
I’m joking, just kidding.
Real worth is in Jesus Christ and God’s promises. He made us with a purpose in mind. When we understand who we are in light of who He is, we find our real worth.
Consider the original example: people determine a good’s worth through collective valuation. This works because a good’s utility to you determines how much you’ll pay for it. If you don’t like apples, you won’t pay much for them. However, if there’s a drought and you really need water, you will pay very dearly for it. Call this the Human Value. Our worth hinges on God’s valuation. Since God always wants us, our value is proportional to his infinite desires—our value is infinitely high. This never changes. Call this the Divine Value.
Divine Value inspires me to stop my foolish clout chasing. I don’t need to spite others because they seem more valuable, rather, I need to love them because of our Divine Value. How others value me when I perform well or show off a likable, charismatic personality is in itself worthless.
Some people know the number 777 as the number of God. I am not untitled. I am untitled #777, that is, I am one of many ordinary men with Divine Value. That is enough.
It’s funny. In this site’s web code, the home page does not have a proper title. Therefore, the system automatically named it “Untitled #777” according to the page’s ID. Divine Value defines MyronHighsmith.com. What I want to do here is sacrifice myself no matter what anyone may say because that is the reason why God made me. Through this, I accomplish what I am really here for.
Please, I beg you and myself. Accept your Divine Value. Human Value is false and destructive. You and I are more.
…
Yup, I could’ve freaking hooked someone right in the face to knock out the stupid inferiority swimming in my mind, and it was wise to bet a million on it happening.
Blip. A moth flickered over the ceiling fan light when one of my friends spoke. My head flicked to them, they were still talking, but it just sounded like babbling and blurbs. My head flicked back to the moth, back and forth my head ping-ponged. I didn’t care about the current conversation for real. I waited for them to stop speaking, and I would add in what I thought was a funny, charming quip.
Heh. Yeah, that would be entertaining. Or I could roast someone to the toaster and back. Hmm, so many options.
I opened my mouth. Someone else interjected.
Seriously? I always got interrupted. Some people, man, but I guess it was oh-so-hard to listen up for a second. Dang. You’d think they were squirrels.
I reeled back in the halfway uncomfortable, red chair. I worked out my schedule, wrote some blog posts, and chilled as the nice night went on.
I considered it. Why was I mad? Who had really done anything wrong? What fault could I point out? They were simply conversing. I wanted attention, to be valued, but that didn’t happen, so I was mad like a spoiled child. Geez. I should’ve thought about being less of a baby. Then, an idea for a new blog post hit me. I realized my problem, and I saw a lesson:
Untitled #777.
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