Comparisons damage us in so many ways.
When we want what our friends have rather than enjoying what God gives us we make ourselves miserable and take a step away from Him.
When we compare our behavior to a friend’s or a stranger’s we may devalue them or elevate ourselves based on what we perceive as our relevant standing. “…God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.” (Luke 18:11). Conversely, we may find ourselves disappointed with our own spiritual walk because we walk differently than someone we respect.
We compare our circumstances to another’s and grouse about a lack of fairness, or we compare our abilities and feel unable to move where God would send us. “Moses said to the LORD, “Pardon your servant, Lord. I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.” Exodus 4:10
What we miss in all of this is God’s perfect ability to create us all uniquely and according to a plan that we can’t hope to understand. We also wholly discount the Holy Spirit and His ability to equip us for all tasks God sets before us. We completely lose track of the single minded focus on our relationship with God that supersedes and excludes all comparisons. When you focus solely on your relationship with Christ, recall his role in creating you and the people you’re comparing yourself to, and harken to his passionate commands to love others before yourself and feed his sheep. Things change. Peace, joy, and ready obedience replace all the shallow and negative things our earthly comparisons urge us to spend our energy on.
Love Christ. Look out for others. God will look out for you!”
On the first day of the New Year, with the subtle awareness that it was time for me to stop running from my own brokenness prowling around in my sub-conscious, I dove into a long stretch of PJ wearing idleness – watching Netflix, playing cards, and tracking football on espn.com with my family. Anxiety crept in. The uncertainties of the New Year gathered around. Potential problems grew into happiness robbing fears. I did not want to think about all that uncontrollable uncertainty tinted with the sick gleam of my past failures. I wanted to get off the couch and get busy. I wanted to work on something, anything instead. But I did not. Knowing that Jesus promises peace in the middle of the storm I stayed where I was and let my desperate vulnerability break over me in waves. I mourned the end of the holiday season, worried about work, and suffered with my anxiety.
This was uncomfortable but not all consuming. I had enough attention left to notice that my alma mater, Wisconsin, was also suffering – slowly losing the Capitol One Bowl to South Carolina. I found myself defensively setting each negative play against the greater perspective of the game and the history of the football program. “All is not forsaken (I got a little dramatic). We’ve won Rose Bowls in the past and we will again. Hang on to our glorious history and hope for the future. Keep fighting the good fight Wisconsin!” Then, as I was about to break into a rousing rendition of Varsity, it hit me.
My stewardship (all that productivity I throw myself into and the failure I fear) matters. God chooses to work through people, and my faith must manifest in loving acts of humble service. My sanctification requires it, and God stands ready to use my life’s testimony to invite others. But. But, the greatest possible victory has already been won. I am immersed in the pleasure and privilege of playing a vital role on the winning team. The pressure is off. My participation is critical, but God knows I’m going to screw up and it’s cool. The plan accounts for my selfishness, stubbornness, and astounding desire for control. In fact, all that human messed up stuff is part the victorious game plan. I don’t need to run from it. I need to embrace it and trust God with it.
Poooooof (or maybe it was more like woooosh), anxiety lost its power. The waves stopped pounding, the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. Now the New Year looked challenging and bright. I realized that I could bust my butt, fail, succeed, and find peace all at the same time. His burden is in fact a real burden and the yoke is in fact light.