It is a sad day when inanimate objects can challenge one’s personhood. I tried to comment on a friend’s blog recently, and it popped up that little captcha phrase box that said, “Prove you aren’t a robot.”

Quite a challenge from something that, basically, is a robot!

I squinted and then typed in my interpretation of the gibberish.

Wrong! Try again.

I kept looking at the little wheelchair icon and wondering what would happen if I pushed it. Do the scribbles get bigger? Does an attendant appear on screen and enunciate the letters? Loudly?

After the third try, I gave up on that comment. What I had to say was seriously not woth this identity crises. A short time later, I tried to wash my hands in a public bathroom. That’s right. The automatic towel dispenser did not acknowledge me either. Evidently, I do not exist. Or, I’m a robot.

So, do you know what I did? I dried my hands on my blue jeans and went on about my day. Because I’ve finally learned my worth is not decided by any of this earth-stuff. Not by the number of people who visit my website. Not the number of likes on my Facebook page. Not even by how many people wave at me when I drive to the post office. (I live in the country, you know.)

My worth was decided before the foundation of the world, and so was yours. No technology tyrant or hot-wind machine can change that.

I am secure in Whose I am.