Where Credit Is Due

What Addie LaRue and the hungry ladies taught me about contributions that matter

I have not written a blog in more than four months. I could say it’s because I’ve been busy, but really, it’s because I haven’t felt like I’ve done anything worth writing about.

Most days, I exercise, work, handle my family responsibilities, volunteer, pursue my own personal pleasures and hobbies. I do the things in front of me and try to bring positive energy and creativity to all of them. But none of these actions feel very weighty. I certainly haven’t done anything that’s impacted the world in any perceivable way.

I recently read The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, a beautiful and provoking novel by V.E. Schwab. The main character, Addie, is cursed never to be remembered by anyone she encounters. She never dies, never ages, and cannot ever create anything. She can make no mark of her own on the world, receive no credit for her deeds. Everyone forgets her the minute she’s out of sight.

Addie spends her immortality trying to leave a mark by influencing others. They know her only in the present moment, and she uses those moments to inspire them to make art, music, writing, all of which bloom from her ideas and desires to create something of value in the world.

In one scene, Addie asks a young man she’s befriended for that day if it’s possible for a life to have worth if it leaves no mark. He responds that there are many ways to matter and holds up a book by a renowned author and philosopher:

“These are the words of a man – Voltaire. But they are also the hands that set the type. The ink that made it readable, the tree that made the paper. All of them matter, though credit goes only to the name on the cover.”

I love this perspective. Not every contribution gets the cover, but all of them matter. How often do I dismiss my contributions because they don’t feel important enough? Because they’re not seemingly significant enough to earn me any credit?

We’ve all read stories about people charging into the terrifying unknown, building organizations to change lives, launching visionary movements to heal suffering and fight injustices. Indomitable humans who make the world better and inspire us to do more.

I love these stories. Yet as much as they move me, they make me feel inadequate too. I catch myself judging my offerings, my actions, my creations, my “marks” as meager when I compare myself to the bold, driven Voltaires of the world. The ones we point to and say, “That’s a successful person, a person of influence, of power, of indomitable daring and doing ...”

Most of my doings are small and uncelebrated. My ego, Gail, likes to berate me for not doing anything important if I’m not gloriously acknowledged for it. She lives for credit. I have to remind myself that I do contribute every time I reach out in love and kindness. When I am focused on the highest, best outcome that God would have me make, every interaction with others affords me an opportunity to make a powerful mark.

Last month, I finally returned to volunteering at the Women’s and Family Development Center. Like blogging, my busy life had interrupted my serving lunch to the hungry ladies. The day I returned, I remember feeling critical of myself for how I had been contributing lately. I felt like I’d done nothing significant in the service of others. Wouldn’t my presence on the lunch line just be a token effort? I almost canceled my shift. Thankfully, my commitment conquered my apathy.

When I walked into the cafeteria, my favorite staff person, Vanessa, wrapped me in a tight hug, “We missed you!” Her glowing reception filled me with enthusiasm for the tasks at hand.

As I plated chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and gravy, I smiled, talked to, and beamed love to the ladies in line. Several times, the women told me how glad they were to see me back, how much they appreciated my smile, my attitude. They only know me as that “nice lady” who serves lunch most Mondays – if they even know that – but their smiles and comments that day reminded me that my weekly one-and-a-half-hour contribution means something to them.

We all make contributions all the time that receive no acknowledgement and produce no proof of impact. But we convince ourselves that life depends on the outcomes, results, achievements, and credit that we’re all wired to strive for as humans. Maybe life doesn’t actually depend on these things, but still, I love getting credit. I love achieving results. I love creating works of meaning, eloquence, or beauty that others appreciate and find value in. At the same time, I don’t want to rely on acknowledgement to motivate my best actions or determine my choices.

I want to do the right, kind, loving thing because that’s what I’m here to do. Similarly, I don’t want to diminish my contributions just because they don’t receive applause. Following where God leads me in life has little to do with what I achieve or am acknowledged for and everything to do with how I show up for others.

Thinking back to Addie’s conversation with the young man in the novel, I wonder if sometimes I am the “hands” that do and support the journeys others are taking. Or the “ink” that helps make the creations and impact of others more powerful. And sometimes, maybe I am the “tree” that unknowingly provides what someone else desperately needs.

Rarely am I on the cover. But maybe, when I focus on the actions God would have me take rather than worrying about my byline, I end up doing the things that truly matter.

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