When does the search for significance begin, and how does it change over a lifetime?
Significance—being worthy of attention—seems effortless at birth. An infant is inherently important, not because of achievement, but because survival depends on being seen, held, fed, and protected. A baby commands total attention, admired and adored without effort. Simply existing is enough.
As we grow, that effortless significance fades. The toddler delights, the preschooler becomes self-aware, and soon behaviors once praised are corrected. Gradually, we learn that attention must be earned. From that point on, much of life becomes a search to reclaim what we once had freely—finding new ways to be noticed, valued, and approved of. Culture teaches us what “counts”: beauty, success, wealth, talent, ministry, knowledge, family roles. We imitate whatever seems to grant others importance.
At certain moments—weddings, career success, parenthood—we briefly return to center stage. But all such significance is temporary. Age slowly strips it away: beauty fades, children leave, careers end, bodies weaken, audiences disappear. As death approaches, many grasp desperately for permanence—legacy, philanthropy, recognition, memory. Ironically, the next moment when we receive attention without effort is our death.
This lifelong striving reveals something deeper: we want significance because we want love. To be valued means not being abandoned or discarded. We fear becoming overlooked, like trash rather than treasure. We believe we can transform ourselves through effort—from something ordinary into something precious. Yet the truth is we were already valuable from the beginning, made in the image of God. Our worth was never earned and never truly lost—only forgotten.
Aging parents often struggle here, returning to places where they once mattered most—family, ministry, memory, knowledge. Technology and service can become attempts to remain relevant. This struggle is deeply human. Many of us shift significance from motherhood or family to work, productivity, health, beauty, or achievement—asking quietly: Am I still seen? Am I still worthy?
Yet no amount of effort secures lasting significance. Only God’s gaze does. The longing to be noticed, held, fed, and loved for simply existing points back to infancy—and beyond that, to faith. Christianity claims our truest significance lies outside this world, in the One whose image we bear.
This is why Jesus matters. God entered the world as a baby—utterly dependent, doing nothing to earn worth. Jesus never sought significance. From manger to cross, He trusted God as His only audience. His value was not granted by applause or success, but by the Father. Even suffering did not diminish it.
Perhaps this is where our search must end. True significance is not achieved, preserved, or reclaimed—it is received. Not from the world, but from God alone.
My Faith Place 