Some time ago, I received an email telling me that I had been awarded a teaching prize—an education award that, I assume, came from encouraging student feedback on my lectures and tutorials. I was grateful. But my first instinct wasn’t what I expected.
The Instinctive Reply
Before pausing to give thanks or even to tell my wife, I immediately forwarded the email to a close colleague with a question: Who else in the department has won this award?
It was a reflex. No second thoughts.
Later that evening, as I recounted the news to Bel, she gently encouraged me to slow down and think about why that question had sprung out so quickly. “Don’t just brush past the moment,” she said. “There’s probably something underneath worth noticing.” Her words stopped me.
Why was it so important to know who else had received the award? Joy alone would not have driven me to ask that question. Something deeper was at work.
Digging Beneath the Feeling
Every action, I’ve learned, flows from an emotion, which itself springs from a belief.
The surface feeling here was insecurity.
Yes, I was thankful to be recognised. But beneath the gratitude lurked a subtle craving: I wanted to know whether I was the only one in the department to receive it. If I were, I imagined I would feel happier.
That is revealing. It shows that part of me wanted to be not just appreciated, but set apart—to be the best, not merely among the good. Even if I had been the sole recipient in the department, the comparison might simply have shifted outward: Am I the only one among all surgical disciplines? Among the entire hospital?
The Endless Spiral of Comparison
This is how comparison traps us.
Recognition, once a gift, becomes a ladder with no top rung. Today it is a departmental award; tomorrow, hospital-wide. Then national, international. The craving to remain “the only one” never ends.
And it feeds a cycle of insecurity. The more I chase affirmation, the more fragile my worth feels—because there will always be someone else to outshine, some higher bar to reach.
Unmasking the Beliefs
As Bel and I talked, three false beliefs surfaced:
- Before God – I acted as if God valued me more because I am an effective teacher, as though His pleasure rose and fell with my achievements.
- Before others – I wanted people to see me as the outstanding teacher, to think highly of me, to affirm my worth.
- Before myself – I equated my identity with success and awards, forgetting that my deepest identity is not earned but given.
Each of these beliefs placed me at the centre—me, myself, and I—and left little room for grace.
A Better Foundation
The gospel speaks a different word.
In Christ, my worth is secure, not because of teaching awards or accolades, but because of His finished work on the cross. God’s love does not fluctuate with my performance. His delight in me is anchored in Jesus, not in my CV.
That frees me to receive recognition as a gift rather than a measure of value. I can collect an award with gratitude and humility, praying that God would use every opportunity for His message to be heard—without the restless need to be the only one.
In Christ, my worth is settled.
Awards may encourage, but they do not define. And that truth allows me to celebrate excellence without becoming enslaved to it—a truth I might have missed if Bel had not urged me to pause and unpack my heart.