Many years ago, I read something online — simple yet profound — that still resurfaces from time to time. It went like this: “Comparison will either make you feel superior or inferior. Neither honors God.” Most of us understand the Bible’s warnings against pride and being puffed up. We’re called to humility, after all, and if boasting must enter the equation, it should only be in the Lord. But what about the flip side — the quiet ache of feeling lesser than? What light does God’s truth shed on that shadow?

For generations, our culture has crowned celebrities as untouchable icons, hoisting them onto pedestals polished with obsession. It’s always struck me as peculiar: strip away the spotlight, the screams of fans, the endless scroll of praise, and these singers, actors, and stars would fade into ordinary lives overnight. I’m not saying there aren’t talented people out there who have worked hard to be successful. Yet societies worldwide have a knack for deifying the merely mortal, turning fellow humans into false gods. Stranger still is how our social media-saturated era churns out pint-sized versions of fame by the dozen: the influencers, as they’re called, who somehow go from selfies into stardom.

One clever clip, and poof — a teenager’s bedroom dance or a barista’s quip commands thousands, even millions, of followers, all famished for the next TikTok or Instagram post. From the glow of a phone screen, empires sprout without hardly needing to rise from the sofa, fortunes boom on filters and fleeting trends. In this hyper-connected age, it’s effortless to witness others’ meteoric rises and whisper to ourselves, Why not me? I have something valuable to share, and no one sees it. The envy, doubt, disappointment… it creeps in like fog.

These days, people feel like a failure if they only get 100 likes on their post (imagine if a hundred people gave you a compliment right to your face — you’d be overwhelmed!). Kids feel less than when they work hard to get seen for their content online only to get a few views. Left and right, more and more people base their values on numbers and visible evidence. But it’s interesting, because, from the Christian understanding, our greatest success is actually measured by invisible metrics.

If you’re in Christ, your name is written in the Lamb’s Book of Life (Revelation 21:27) — a victory hidden from mortal eyes. The faith that anchors us, the quiet obedience that heaven will one day crown, thrives in the invisible (Hebrews 11:1). We share the gospel at God’s command, blind to its ripples across time and souls. As a writer, I dispatch words into the ether, clueless who lingers over them. And you know what? That’s okay. My worth is not determined by how many readers I have or how many articles I put out. Regardless of where I am, what I’m doing, I’m fixed with eternal, immeasurable purpose and value: I am a daughter of the one true King Almighty, robed in eternal, boundless dignity.

If you’re a Christian reading this, that means this truth applies to you too. So, why are so many of us so comfortable degrading ourselves day in and day out? Why are we okay acting as though “we aren’t enough,” or that we don’t matter? We wallow in the dark abyss of anxiety, depression, or insecurity, when Christ has called us to the light! Too many of us are so quick to compare ourselves to others, seeing their success as a sign that we really are less than and might as well give up. In this world, we easily feel small and insignificant. Overwhelmed with life, many of us don’t even know what to do with it, much less where to begin. Well, if that’s you, or if that’s someone you know, I want to offer encouragement.

The well-known evangelist Billy Graham captured it perfectly: “What is the use of being famous on earth, when heaven doesn’t know your name?” You see, the seductive call of social metrics and societal ladders whispers that visibility equals validity, but Christ counters with a call to invisibility in the world’s eyes — humility before the throne of grace. We don’t live to be validated by the world when we’ve already been called as Christ’s own.

It was a Good Friday service a few years ago where my pastor at the time said something that deeply resonated with me. I cannot recall what he said exactly, but here’s how I remembered it: Jesus didn’t limp to Calvary on a wing and a prayer, fingers crossed for some vague ripple. No — eyes locked on the Father’s flawless blueprint for rescue, He suffered greatly, shouldering the world’s sin and severing His own communion with God. All for you. Precious reader, if you’re united with Him, that wooden cross was splintered for your sake. He tallied your worth against the scales of suffering and found it infinite — bridging abyssal gaps at the price of His pulse. He scanned our fumbles, our chronic shortfall of His glory (Romans 3:23), and charged ahead undeterred. He died so we could live.

But here’s the scandal He didn’t die for: a life of cowering in corners, scrambling for scraps of applause. His blood doesn’t plead for our retreat or self-flagellation. It roars for revival — for us to rise as kin of the King, chins lifted in the liberty of our adoption. The world’s yardstick — glitz, gigs, and going viral — holds no sway here. We go forth as living sacrifices for the One who gave Himself for us. That means we live so He can increase, so He can get the glory, and so He can be known through all the earth. We live for Him, not for man, which means as long as we’re serving God and His Kingdom, we aren’t failing. Better yet, Christ has secured victory for all His people — so failure isn’t even on the menu.

When the world demands flashy, in-your-face fame and fortune, Jesus flips the script. He invites us to a countercultural glory: the quiet splendor, outwardly displayed through contentment, of being known in heaven, where earthly echoes fall silent. There, in the courts of the King, comparison dissolves — not in superiority or inferiority, but in the overwhelming reality of being fully, fiercely seen by and completed in Christ.

There, in the throne room’s thunderous hush, we’re not just enough. We’re exalted by and for His glory. Because, at the axis of it all, it’s utterly, undeniably, and eternally about Him. And that is beautiful; that is good. So, don’t allow yourself to fall in the traps of how the world defines value or success. Live for the King, and you’ll see that you’re already infinitely valuable, rich beyond measure, and blessed beyond compare.

If heaven knows your name, then here’s my challenge for you: Live like it.