It's happened more than once during the course of a conversation. Somehow, we get to the topic of "formal education" and next we're talking about the Masters degree my husband earned. Discovering that he has one is always of great interest, and after the usual questions as to what subject it's in and from which graduate school it came from, etc., etc., everyone within earshot of the conversation looks very pleased to have learned about it. It's as though the listeners discovered yet another reason to like my husband just a little bit more than they did moments ago.

What most people won't learn during that same conversation is this little secret: I have a Masters degree too. If Steve doesn't proudly offer the information out (thanks, Steve!), it's rare that people will ask about it.

I'm not entirely sure why. I imagine that there's the great fear that Steve married the only female from his generation who flunked Kindergarten and wants nothing to do with "book-learnin'." How awkward would that discovery be? The smiles would melt off their faces, and they'd have to start pitying Steve for his degree instead of being happy for him. Maybe that's why no one asks.

Whatever the reasons, I confess that for the longest time it really bothered me. I wanted people to know that I was every bit the driven, educational over-achiever he was. So with my highly-developed intellectual powers, I decided upon a subtle plan to just casually interject the information. I'd say something like, "Yeah, isn't it great? He's got his Masters just like m?" Or, "You know it's the funniest thing ?cause while we're on the subject of Masters degrees, I just happen to h?"

Never worked.

After about the 50th conversation (or maybe the second or third, I forget now) in which the facts of my graduate work remained my very own, personal-little secret, I began asking "why?" Not the old, "Why don't people ask me?" But "Why do I want people to ask me?" Why does it matter at all?

When you struggle with your sense of significance, it matters. When you're struggle with that, almost anything can become a measuring stick for your sense of worth. I look for ways to feel significant - I look to my past accomplishments, degrees, service records, friends, work opportunities, talents, and skills.

You see, I'm mainly a stay-at-home mom. And though I spend my day engineering [Lego homes for Lego people] and sculpting [Wonder bread into wonder shapes] and exploring [every nook and cranny for that missing flip-flop], that means little to the rest of the world. Since I'm not "out there" wearing around my education or my career or my independence to do the things that society says makes me valuable, I've had to wonder, "Am I valuable? Do I matter? How do I know I matter?"

I finally discovered the true nature of what I was dealing with in my heart; why I needed to make my achievements known to others, and to myself. I felt like I wasn't good enough or valuable. I imagined that staying home with my kids was outdated and foolish and unimportant. I cried out to God and confessed that I felt very small, unnoticed, and unnecessary. That I felt like nothing.

My confession - that blessed moment of recognizing the truth - made a pathway to discovering a freedom in Christ I had yet to experience (John 8:32). It was after my crying out that he showed me what being nothing really looks like.

Making his familiar words in 1 Corinthians 13 somehow brand new, He reminded me that: "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."

Even if others can recognize dozens of praise-worthy qualities at work in me - abilities to speak and understand and believe and sacrifice - there's only one thing that makes any of it matter. And that same thing is the only thing gives me significance and makes me matter too: love. When I love, I am something; when I love, it's then that I'm most like God (1 John 4:16).

So a clean home, a well-written article, a well-planned ministry, a completed to-do list, an hour-long prayer time, a commitment to lead Bible study, a Masters Degree, and all the attention in the world - without love, they're all nothing. A mended dolly, a cradled boo-boo, a bedtime story, another hug, an extra kiss, and all of it completely unnoticed - with love, these are really something.