Every year on Thanksgiving Day, my family gathers for Turkey Bowl. We started this flag-football tradition my freshman year of college, complete with a huge trophy and Filipino flag-themed jerseys. Mind you, I am the least athletic person on the face of the planet, but this game isn’t about football talent or game strategy. It’s about family.

On my mom’s side of the family, I have 18 cousins and growing up, most of them lived within a two-minute radius of my house.  As we’ve gotten older and started moving away from home, Turkey Bowl became an added incentive to bring everyone together.  It was something extra to look forward to.

Last year, I waited for the summons from our team captain for practice, which we would always have the night before Thanksgiving.  The message never came and I thought that perhaps there would be no practice after all.

That is, until my cousin on the other team came home from her own practice with a shy look on her face. “I saw your team practicing,” she said. “Did they not tell you?”

I cried myself to sleep that night heartbroken that I had been forgotten.

My Biggest Fear

You see, I have a deep fear that I am insignificant. There is a constant whisper in the depths of my heart that if I don’t do enough – if I’m not good enough – I’ll be forgotten.  This fear has pervaded my whole life and made me truly believe that I have to earn my worth and prove it.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve clung to school as the means for achieving that value. It wasn’t enough to do well, I had to be perfect. When I got my first B sophomore year of high school, I cried myself to sleep because I was so sure that I had diminished in the eyes of everyone around me, especially my parents. I was so afraid to lose the love of the ones I loved the most.

This fear grew to the point of paralyzing me. In Architecture school, I would often sit in front of an empty desk too afraid to draw a single line or start a model. It had to be perfect. I had to show everyone that I was good enough and prove that I belonged somewhere. My worth hinged on each project, and every time I picked up my pencil, it felt like I was trying to draw my significance into the world.

Without my realizing it, this fear invaded every aspect of my life.  So, when I heard that my family had forgotten to tell me about Turkey Bowl practice, I felt it in my bones. I knew it was an honest accident, but it felt like an affirmation of my biggest fear.

“You’re not good enough and it doesn’t make any difference if you play or not. You are insignificant,” a voice lied to my heart.  “That’s why they forgot about you.”

Mary and Martha

Every time I hear the Gospel about Mary and Martha, I get uncomfortable. Because the truth is while I’d like to think I’m a Mary, I am definitely a Martha. (Fun fact: my family’s nickname for me is ‘Mantha’ (as opposed to Sam), so I really feel like Martha and I have a thing going on here.)

Filled with fear of my insignificance, I’ve felt like I was never free to be myself. Like I had to constantly work to be who other people expected me to be… constantly working and striving and being anxious that what I did today decided who loved me tomorrow.

I imagine that that’s what Martha felt.  “I need to feed all of these people. I need to keep the house tidy. I need to make sure that everyone is comfortable. If he doesn’t think I’m a good hostess, Jesus will never want to come back.”

But the truth is that He just wanted to be with her.  He wanted to be her friend, her comforter, her savior not because she was a good hostess, but because he was her creator.

This is the truth: our worth is not in our works.  It’s not in what we do. It’s not in our successes or failures.  It does not lie in whether or not the world thinks we’re good enough.  Because let’s be real: who even gets to decide what’s “good enough” anyway?!

My worth comes from the fact that the very breath in my lungs is God’s Spirit. My dignity comes from the fact that I am made in the image and likeness of God.  God Himself assured me of my significance when he deemed me worth his own death.  It wasn’t the nails that held the omnipotent Christ to the cross.  It was His love for me.

[ctt template=”3″ link=”Y3e0F” via=”yes” ]”God Himself assured me of my significance when he deemed me worth his own death. It wasn’t the nails that held the omnipotent Christ to the cross. It was His love for me.” // Samantha Janolo #beautifuldepths[/ctt]

In the Face of Fear

I wish I could say that this fear has been eradicated from my heart, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I would be lying if I said that it didn’t still sway me.

If I don’t graduate with highest honors, my parents will be disappointed.  If I don’t learn how to play better flag football, none of my family members will want me on their team.  If I don’t figure out what I want to do with my life by tomorrow, my boyfriend will realize that I’m not worth his time.  If I don’t get enough likes on social media, then it’s the world telling me that I really am just a nobody.

I hear Jesus whisper to my heart, “Mantha, Mantha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing” (Luke 10:41). When the thoughts become too much and I feel like I’m drowning in fear, I look to that ‘one thing:’ the cross.  I look to Jesus Christ who laid down his life to show me just how much he knew I was worth. The fear might never disappear completely, but each day I am learning to face it with courage, living in the truth that I am already loved.

My friends, when the world tells you that you are not enough, find the truth in Christ Crucified.

You are seen.  You are known. You are significant.

From my heart to yours,

Samantha

ABOUT SAMANTHA

Samantha Janolo is our awesome creative director here at Beautiful Depths. She typically works behind-the-scenes to bring ya’ll the weekly wallpapers and graphics. I was so grateful she was willing to share her heart this week in this touching blog post. To read more about her, check out our Meet the Team page or click here.