Comparison (and a lesson from Philippians)
I have spent a lot of time comparing myself to others. When I was in first grade, one girl was given permission to read chapter books like Nancy Drew. She got a lot of attention since she was considered gifted. I didn't care about the attention, but I wanted to read the special books, too. I am not sure if I was simply competitive or if I was jealous, but I worked and read until I could also be given that privilege. Comparison can help us do well and learn to choose what is better.
It can be a hindrance as well.
I was put into a special reading group when I was in 3rd grade. The kids in this class needed extra help. I was confused. We had moved to this new school during 2nd grade, and it had been a challenging transition. Mom had a new boyfriend. We moved from our city home to an apartment complex where we had to ride a bus. We had to make new friends. I thought I was a good reader, but since they put me in this new class, maybe I wasn't. I figured I was kind of dumb, like the other kids. I became discouraged and introverted.
Eleanor Roosevelt is credited with saying, "Comparison is the thief of joy."
Now, a grown woman, I still compare myself to see if I am where I should be. I look around and see some believers with such solid confidence in God that I am ashamed at how easily I argue with God instead of accepting His sovereignty, how I struggle to believe how wide and long and high and deep His grace is and that He really loves a mess like me. This comparison used to be a simple shame at my lack of domesticity; I don't cook much. It was so much easier then.
It is a quandary: this lack of confidence and this deep need. I am never going to be that gifted child, and I worry about being stuck in a dark classroom with the rest of the needy kids. I desperately need this recognition of my desire because it is obsessives, all consuming. I crave being seen as worthy and wanted. If God doesn't love me or want me, my existence is a hollow shell without life. There really is no point in this striving.
Many years later, my mother heard me telling the story about my remedial reading class, and she stopped me, surprised. After all those years, she told me that I was placed in that class because it was a pilot program to put students who had above average reading levels with those who struggled in an attempt to increase the reading scores of the latter. Here I was, chosen, seen, worthy...but all the while believing myself to be less than.
Whispering a sheepish prayer of repentance as I pen these words, I see the reflections of truth. I invalidate myself and believe myself unlovely, not because God told me, or any of those friends who are believers that I admire told me, but because I interpret the situation based on my feelings without understanding the truth.
I can picture Jesus stopping me, surprised and amused at my explanation of being inadequate. I have been given these unique struggles and unique gifts to advance the gospel in places and to people who would not think to step into a church or seek the counsel of a pastor. Although I am restricted by illnesses and traumas, just like them, I am a daughter of God and his light shines through my struggles. Because I am honest and bold when I speak about wrestling with God about these things, others become aware that they needn't be perfect or good before seeking Jesus.
What if this IS the truth of this situation? Just like the reading class, I may not find out the truth of the reason for the pain and the grief and the loss until much later. Should I sit in discouragement and withdraw into my doubts and despair until then? Of course not, especially having experience that puts it into perspective.
I will stay on this journey, trusting that there is more to this than just me hurting and struggling, more than him just deciding to work this out for my good later, more than just a dumb test when he already knows how I would do. I may not know why I walk with certain people or have particular experiences, but God does. Just like the fond memory of the entire class giggling uncontrollably when learning to read "porpoise," I will look for the giggles here and be transparent with both the struggles and the reason for my hope in this life.
It can be a hindrance as well.
I was put into a special reading group when I was in 3rd grade. The kids in this class needed extra help. I was confused. We had moved to this new school during 2nd grade, and it had been a challenging transition. Mom had a new boyfriend. We moved from our city home to an apartment complex where we had to ride a bus. We had to make new friends. I thought I was a good reader, but since they put me in this new class, maybe I wasn't. I figured I was kind of dumb, like the other kids. I became discouraged and introverted.
Eleanor Roosevelt is credited with saying, "Comparison is the thief of joy."
Now, a grown woman, I still compare myself to see if I am where I should be. I look around and see some believers with such solid confidence in God that I am ashamed at how easily I argue with God instead of accepting His sovereignty, how I struggle to believe how wide and long and high and deep His grace is and that He really loves a mess like me. This comparison used to be a simple shame at my lack of domesticity; I don't cook much. It was so much easier then.
It is a quandary: this lack of confidence and this deep need. I am never going to be that gifted child, and I worry about being stuck in a dark classroom with the rest of the needy kids. I desperately need this recognition of my desire because it is obsessives, all consuming. I crave being seen as worthy and wanted. If God doesn't love me or want me, my existence is a hollow shell without life. There really is no point in this striving.
Many years later, my mother heard me telling the story about my remedial reading class, and she stopped me, surprised. After all those years, she told me that I was placed in that class because it was a pilot program to put students who had above average reading levels with those who struggled in an attempt to increase the reading scores of the latter. Here I was, chosen, seen, worthy...but all the while believing myself to be less than.
Whispering a sheepish prayer of repentance as I pen these words, I see the reflections of truth. I invalidate myself and believe myself unlovely, not because God told me, or any of those friends who are believers that I admire told me, but because I interpret the situation based on my feelings without understanding the truth.
I can picture Jesus stopping me, surprised and amused at my explanation of being inadequate. I have been given these unique struggles and unique gifts to advance the gospel in places and to people who would not think to step into a church or seek the counsel of a pastor. Although I am restricted by illnesses and traumas, just like them, I am a daughter of God and his light shines through my struggles. Because I am honest and bold when I speak about wrestling with God about these things, others become aware that they needn't be perfect or good before seeking Jesus.
What if this IS the truth of this situation? Just like the reading class, I may not find out the truth of the reason for the pain and the grief and the loss until much later. Should I sit in discouragement and withdraw into my doubts and despair until then? Of course not, especially having experience that puts it into perspective.
I will stay on this journey, trusting that there is more to this than just me hurting and struggling, more than him just deciding to work this out for my good later, more than just a dumb test when he already knows how I would do. I may not know why I walk with certain people or have particular experiences, but God does. Just like the fond memory of the entire class giggling uncontrollably when learning to read "porpoise," I will look for the giggles here and be transparent with both the struggles and the reason for my hope in this life.
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