Why is it as humans we fear if we matter? We base our "matter" on our position in life. I want you to read this poem with that in mind. (It's long but please read it all ... you will love it!)
The Villagers of Stiltsville
Perhaps you don't know,
then maybe you do,
about Stiltsville, the village,
(so strange but so true)
where people like we,
some tiny, some tall,
with jobs and kids
and clocks on the wall
keep an eye on the time.
For each evening at six,
they meet in the square
for the purpose of sticks,
tall stilts upon which
Stiltvillians can strut
and be lifted above
those down in the rut;
the less and the least,
the Tribe of Too Smalls,
the not cools and have-nots
who want to be tall
but can't, because
in the giving of sticks,
their name wasn't called.
They didn't get picked.
Yet still they come
when villagers gather;
they press to the front
to see if they matter
to the clique of the cool,
the court of high clout,
that decides who is special
and declares with a shout,
"You're classy!" "You're pretty!"
"You're clever" or "Funny!"
And bequeath at a prize,
not of medals or money,
not a freshly baked pie,
or a house someone built,
but the oddest of gifts -
a gift of some stilts.
Moving up is their mission
going higher their aim,
"elevate your position"
is the name of their game.
The higher-ups of Stiltsville
(you know if you've been there)
make the biggest to-do
of the sweetest of thin air.
They relish the chance
on their high apparatus
to strut on their stilts,
the ultimate status.
For isn't life best
when viewed from the top?
Unless you stumble
and suddenly are not
so sure of your footing.
You tilt and you sway.
"Look out bel-0-0-0w!"
and you fall straightaway
into the Too Smalls,
hoi polloi of the earth.
You land on your pride -
oh boy, how it hurts.
When the chic police,
in the jilt of all jilts,
don't offer to help
but instead take your stilts.
"Who made you king?"
you start to complain
but then notice the hour
and forget your refrain.
It's almost six!
No time for chatter.
It's back to the crowd,
to see if you matter.
This is the not where it ends, don't worry! This is just the part I want to embrace first! Think about the story for a second. These people base who they are on the standards of their village; being higher up on stilts makes you more important. Same goes for us! We base who we are on the "stilts" of the world.
The worlds "stilts" are clothes, cars, house, jobs, body image .... and the list goes on. We go out and we make sure we have the best of the best and look the best of the best... and for what? Cause in a month or so, a new trend arises. We spend so much time, energy and even money trying to be what the WORLD wants us to be. For what? A moment of "matter."
Like trends change, matter too changes in the worlds eyes. Today, being a nurse matters. Tomorrow, having the best business matters. Today, having a cobalt is elite, but tomorrow make sure you get that mustang if you want to keep your title!
Here's where the story gets good!
Stiltvillians still cluster,
and crowds still clamor,
but more stay away.
They seem less enamored
since the Carpenter came
and refused to be stilted.
He chose low over high,
left the system tip-tilted.
"You matter already,"
he explained to the town,
"Trust me on this one.
Keep your feet on the ground."
The Carpenter is Jesus! He always saves the day! Just like He said to the town "You already matter," He is saying this to us! To Him we matter! Inside and out! We don't have to go out and fight to be the best or look the best, we are already at HIS best! He knows everything about us, and to Him we are "worth more than many sparrows." (Matthew 10:31)
Society only cares about the size of your body and the amount in your bank. They don't care about the amount of hairs on your head or your deepest dreams. God takes the time to really KNOW us. He MADE us. Don't be like the "Stiltvillians." Live the way God created you, with the image He gave you, with the dreams He gave you and with the blessings He's pouring on you!
Don't fear if you "matter" to the world, rest in knowing you matter to God!
I hope this poem did a better job at explaining my point because it is really hard to grasp the concept that God made me, therefore society can't shape me!
