In a town full of Tallers and Shorters and Such,
Where the Tallers made more and Shorters made much,
There lived young Sam, so marvelous in many ways—
But Sam lost his hoorays in the scoreboard haze.
He measured his shoes by his neighbor’s new pair.
He weighed his worth by people’s likes and stares.
He counted all his wins with a blink and a beep—
And worried when low numbers made him look cheap.
“You must do it like them,” cried the Seminar Crew.
“Just paste it and copy. Their pattern is a model for you.
But a whisper blew in on a kind, holy breeze:
“You’re not them. You are Sam, if you please.”
The whisper said softly, “Now listen and see:
I crafted your laugh and your wayward knee.
I tailored your timing, your tone, and your pace.
Nobody else can wear your wonderous grace.”
“But I’m not as quick.” Sam fretted and sighed.
“My writing isn’t good enough,” he weakly cried.
“Take heart,” came the whisper. “The way you’re made
Is the path I planned for your stories to persuade.
“Don’t climb other ladders or run in people’s lanes.
Don’t borrow their boots or try to use their canes.
Your journey’s a map that I will draw as we go—
A lamp to guide your feet, not a full-picture show.
“So measure today by the Sam of before.
You touched one heart and opened a door.
You offered a kindness with one faithful line.
With each step, you’ve grown as a child of mine.
“Don’t compare yourself with others, but trust my care.
Just walk with me through your troubles with prayer.
When you stumble through brambles and tangle your hair,
I will steady your steps. Just know that I’m with you there.
You should cheer for the Tallers and Shorters and Such,
Where the Tallers make more and Shorters make much,
Not less and not more than Sam—just a different design,
Where each one has part on the same Fruitful Vine.
So march in your muchness with a hop-skip-and-sway,
With your God-given grin and a glad, grateful, “Yay!”
For the truest success is not beating the rest.
It’s being the Sam that your Maker thinks best.
