That's Not Fair - What About Me?
Faith / People / Real Life
That’s Not Fair
What About Me?
I’m usually not the person in a staff meeting who needs encouragement to contribute.
I have ideas. Sometimes too many. And when I really believe in one, it tends to make repeat appearances. I’ll bring it up, let it sit for a while, and eventually bring it up again.
It feels a little like being in class with your hand raised while the teacher looks around and asks, “Does anybody else have an answer?” I know we need to hear from other people. I also know the feeling of sitting there thinking, I am literally right here.
Then somebody else says the thing I’ve been saying, and suddenly people are interested.
It was a good idea when I said it, too.
I can laugh about that because I recognize myself in it. But underneath the joke is a question that has followed me into more places than staff meetings: Did anybody hear me? Did what I contributed matter?
Or, a little less politely: What about me?
The expectation I hadn’t admitted
My junior year of high school was a good year for me. I became lieutenant section leader, and was appointed section leader heading into my senior year. At prom, I was named Prom Prince.
That turned out to be dangerous information to give my teenage brain.
Nobody promised me anything about the following year. But a little expectation started growing anyway. If I was Prom Prince this year, maybe next year I could be Prom King.
Senior year didn’t unfold quite that neatly. I was leading, making changes, and learning that changing a group’s culture can affect your relationships with the people in it. At some point, it became fairly obvious that Prom King probably wasn’t going to be me.
I thought I was okay with that. Then a friend got it.
I wasn’t angry with him. I didn’t think he was undeserving. I could be happy for him and still feel the disappointment of not being chosen myself. What surprised me was where my thoughts went next: What does he have that I don’t? What did he do differently? What is wrong with me?
Looking back, I had turned one year’s recognition into an expectation about the next. Nobody else had agreed to that arrangement, but I still felt the disappointment when it didn’t happen.
I’ve seen something similar in church. A longtime student pictures themselves leading something. They show up, help, and do what people ask. Then a newer student receives an opportunity they had imagined for themselves.
Sometimes that disappointment makes it harder for them to pursue the very thing they wanted. Discouragement gets louder than motivation.
And sometimes, when they tell me they’ve been overlooked, my answer has to be, “You’re right.” They have done what was asked. We haven’t recognized it. I don’t think every disappointed person needs to be told their perspective is wrong. Sometimes those of us leading need to admit we missed something. That's Not Fair.
When winning stops being the goal
That’s part of why I understand the older brother in Luke 15. His younger brother has left home, wasted his inheritance, and returned to a celebration. The older brother has stayed, worked, and done what was expected. When he hears what is happening, he gets angry and refuses to go inside.
His complaint is about the difference in how they’ve been treated. But the part I recognize most is his response: he withholds his presence. He can’t control the celebration, but he can refuse to participate in it. That much is still his decision. (Luke 15:25–30)
I’ve practiced a version of that strategy around a RISK board.
I love RISK. I can have a plan, a strategy, and a reasonable chance of doing well. Then somebody attacks me, and suddenly all of that becomes secondary.
Now I need to get them back.
I’ll sacrifice my own position. I’ll spend resources I should be using somewhere else. There are times I’ll accept losing the entire game if I can make sure the person who attacked me regrets it.
I stopped trying to win. I started trying to make somebody else lose.
That’s what being on tilt looks like for me. The frustration doesn’t just affect my mood. It changes my objective. Somebody else’s move becomes more important than the game I sat down to play.
I’ve seen quieter versions of that among students. Someone deliberately withholds a congratulations. They won’t like a post because they don’t want to support that person’s success. They stop participating, or their motivation to come to church changes because a relationship with their peers has changed.
Not every absence is a protest. But I recognize the impulse to make sure people feel my disappointment. Withholding encouragement, support, or participation can feel like the only power left.
The RISK table makes me question how useful that power actually is. I can make sure someone knows how I feel and still lose something I wanted more.
The person who comes outside
What I keep coming back to in Luke 15 is that the father goes outside. He doesn’t abandon the older brother to his anger. He comes out and pleads with him. The celebration for one son hasn’t made him forget the other. (Luke 15:28)
I’ve had difficult days in ministry when encouragement arrived through my students, often without them knowing I needed it. A text. A phone call. Something ordinary that mattered more to me than they probably realized.
Sometimes it has been a student calling to tell me they weren’t coming to church that night. On the surface, that doesn’t sound particularly encouraging. But a coworker has reminded me that plenty of students wouldn’t have called at all. This student wanted me to know. They cared enough about our relationship not to simply disappear. I had two choices:
I could hear only that they weren’t coming, or I could notice that they had thought to call.
That doesn’t make every hard day easy. It does remind me that being valued doesn’t always look like the recognition I was expecting.
I’ve learned something similar about expectations within families. Two siblings can do the same thing and receive very different reactions. Sometimes the difference is that people already expected one of them to do it.
I can experience that as being taken for granted. Sometimes it may be. But there are also times I can recognize that people see me as capable. They expect something from me because they believe I can do it.
That isn’t a reason to stop encouraging dependable people. I need encouragement too. It is one more reason not to assume that a quieter response means I matter less.
A relationship, not a ranking
The father’s response to the older brother is the part of the story that changes the way I hear the complaint:
“My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”
Luke 15:31
The younger brother’s return hasn’t made the older brother less of a son. His father is still there. Their relationship hasn’t become less valuable because someone else is being welcomed home.
I find it easy to forget that distinction when I’m looking for recognition. There really was only one Prom King. There are limited leadership positions, limited hours in a meeting, and only so much attention one person can give at a time. I know what it feels like to compete for something another person might receive instead.
But I don’t understand my relationship with God as one of those limited opportunities. Someone else growing closer to Him doesn’t leave less of Him available to me. What He is doing in another person’s life isn’t a subtraction from what He is doing in mine.
As I look for rewards, I keep coming back to the fact that growth and a stronger relationship with God are themselves things I value. They aren’t consolation prizes for missing out on something more important.
That doesn’t mean I stop wanting opportunities or appreciating encouragement. It means the attention someone else receives is a poor way to measure the relationship I already have.
What I was trying to win
Near the end of the story, the older brother refers to “this son of yours.” The father answers by calling him “this brother of yours.” He brings the conversation back to the relationship: someone who was lost has been found. That is why they are celebrating. (Luke 15:30–32)
I understand the desire to make sure the father hears every word of the complaint. I’ve wanted my effort acknowledged, my disappointment understood, and my point recognized.
But I’m struck by what the older brother is missing while he stands outside. He hasn’t lost his place in the family. He has gained his brother back. The father’s invitation is to share that, not compete with it.
“What about me?” isn’t always a selfish question. Sometimes it’s the honest beginning of a conversation that needs to happen. I’ve needed to ask it, and I’ve needed to listen when someone else asks it of me.
I’m just learning that my disappointment doesn’t have to become the objective everyone else must organize around. I can want to be heard without withholding everything good I have to offer until somebody hears me.
I COULD choose to lose the whole game by making sure somebody knows how I feel. I COULD choose to leave the party in protest! I would much rather live my life celebrating that my brother is home, and realize I AM WITH THE FATHER!.