by Phoebe Lu

School is drawing to a close, rather slowly. It’s that time of the semester when assignments get harder to crank out, exam scores average shamefully low and students complain amongst ourselves, “I have no motivation.”

Somehow though, I find myself very motivated at the end of this semester—more than I’ve ever been. But I am not naturally this driven, and my grades need no last-minute saving. No, I am motivated because of Sue. 

She was undoubtedly ‘friend’ first. We met during chapel in the fall, and spring saw us making pancakes together, frequently sleeping over at each others’ dorms, laughing, crying, and sharing life.

Spring also saw us taking Intro to Old Testament together. Sue raises her hand to answer every question; I am intimidated. Sue is a music scholar; I am not. Sue scores the highest on the midterm; I am jealous. Sue is double-majoring. Sue is an honors student. Sue is a genius. Sue is my competitor. I have no worth until I win.

When the email arrives, my heart is racing, fingers fumbling, self-esteem on the line as I scroll to the bottom of my Old Testament final paper score report and behold: a shining A+ and three sentences of hard-earned praise. My heart is aglow. Surely my “strongly crafted” and “powerfully written” (yet “not overdone”!) paper is among the best of the class.

Ping.

But it is not. Sue’s text message reveals an embarrassing typo Dr. Hunter left on her feedback—her two-paragraphs-long positive feedback, quadruple the length of my now meager-looking three sentences.

How do I ease the aching? Will I always be defined by people’s opinions of me? Tossed by each compliment and criticism into high or low self-esteem? 

Insecurity threatens to drown me when I hear it—quiet and piercing and true:

Child, My death secures your worth.

Despite eighteen years of church school lessons and retreats about identity, despite turning down the volume on all such messages long deemed cliché, the Holy Spirit has me hear simple truth anew. And I believe. I believe that Jesus’ death is enough, and it alone secures my worth.

Like vapor, my insecurity vanishes, replaced by joy, sweeping peace and freedom at last.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.

School is drawing to a close, and so is my struggle to be better than Sue, it seems. For His death alone secures my worth.