Rejoice! That’s what you do. The problem here is not that you feel so small but that you are probably hoping for a fix that would make you feel at least adequate or, God forbid, big. But there’s a reason the sun, that blinding, nuclear bonfire, is tiny by galactic standards—a single flame flickering in the darkened backyard of the universe. And why? So that all of our centuries, all our telescopes, cannot scrape the edges of space, ever expanding, ever deepening. There’s a reason that in all the vastness of stars and swirling gas giants, of planets and dark matter, you, a speck, barely mark the surface of this blue marble, spinning in some suburban corner of the Milky Way.

We weren’t made to feel big; we were made to feel wonder. God stretched out the heavens to draw us into awe, to remind us it’s good to be small, for that’s where we find a big God. Pride hallucinates. It distorts reality and makes so much of yourself that you inevitably make little of your God. John the Baptist understood this when he declared, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” The truth here is simple: both can’t increase at once. When we make more of ourselves, we inevitably make less of God.

Small is good, but not an excuse

Being small isn’t about being fragile, like a glass so thin it might shatter if someone sneezes. No, it’s more like being a pebble—small but steady, grounded, and ready to withstand whatever the wind or waves throw at it. Smallness can handle the truth; pride’s a bit more like a soap bubble: big, shiny, and just waiting to pop at the lightest touch. How can one who is small feel proud? Self-pity. It is just pride in disguise.

And your smallness is no excuse for inaction. If you’re a father, and you’re staring down the vast gap between your knowledge and your calling to lead your family—embrace the smallness. Smallness is good. You’re not called to be a self-contained universe of wisdom; you’re called to be a guide. And our God, the Big God, stands with you, willing and working in you for His good pleasure (Philippians 2:12-13).

Or let’s say you’re a homeschooling teacher or hope to be one soon. The resources feel thin, the questions relentless, and your confidence a mile behind. That’s exactly where smallness serves best. Learn and teach the best you can where you are, and God will honour the simplicity of your faithfulness.

How about the business world? You’re a believer in the land of cutthroat, wanting to lead with integrity. Take each small decision—each honest deal, each fair wage—as a stone in the wall of Christ’s kingdom. God builds from the bottom up, using humble materials.

And then there’s the lone believer in the family. You don’t have to be that prophet, just a guy with faith surrounded by sceptics. Smallness here means showing up with love, patience, and maybe even restraint. Your quiet presence is a sermon that can preach in more ways than words alone. Love, joy, obedience combined with conviction, clarity and well ordered priorities are a testament in such a situation.

Or you’re burdened for the orphan, the widow, the elderly. Your heart aches, but you’re all small hands and no plan. Start with one visit, one letter, one act of kindness. Show up to that orphanage or that old age home. The heart of God is with you, and He has a way of expanding even the tiniest loaves and fish.

Maybe you’re in ministry, and God’s pulled a fast one on you. You blink, and the Bible study is suddenly a congregation. You’re not ready for the crowd. Good. Embrace the smallness, and lean on Him for every need. This happened to us, and we became a local church.

In every case, small is good. It keeps us dependent, tethered to grace. Our own feeble capacity only brings God’s power into clearer relief, like candlelight against a black night. The pressure is off to be bigger, better, or perfectly competent because, let’s face it, that’s His job. Our job is to be small, faithful, and to watch the kingdom grow like mustard seed.

And as you do this, the expertise will follow. You’ll keep getting better at it. But no matter how much you grow, you’ll still be that speck on the little blue marble in this vast universe.