It’s an interesting season, isn’t it, the new year? It seems everyone has their planners and new calendars out, and they are posting on social media about their grand plans for the year. Pressure is even higher this year, as it’s not only a new year this January but we are entering a new decade—with no mistakes in it yet! Yet already several times this week, I have been in conversation with different people who have expressed inadequacy in their lives. This from people I love, respect and think are wonderful people.
"When I see what so-and-so is doing, I feel that I fall so short."
"I think I am disappointing so many people--I can't seem to call everyone back, respond to emails, get all the housework done, be patient, and and and..., I always feel like I am falling short."
"My children seem to fight all the time. I just can't seem to manage them like other people do."
"I am such a failure in my marriage."
Even my children have felt this way sometimes.
"Seems all the people who are immoral get the positions I’m trying out for, and I just keep plodding along with no special favor."
"Compared to all of the other professional musicians around, I am not up to snuff."
"Mom, do you think she has more skills than I do? Will you be disappointed in me if I don't do as well as I thought?"
Comparing ourselves to others is epidemic, and it will always, always be destructive. We will either find ourselves falling short of others, which will cultivate self-condemnation, or we will find ourselves better than others, and that will bring pride.
Proverbs tells us that "The fear of man brings a snare."
When we look to others as the standard by which we should live, we make them idols. They become the standard by which we think we should live, instead of living by grace and freedom in Christ. When we look to others for our affirmation, we will never find enough. There will always be someone better, prettier, more successful, wiser, etc. etc. etc.
How grateful I am that Jesus shows no favoritism. He reached out to the unlovely, the unpopular, the meek; children, prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, Roman soldiers, bleeding women--women, which was pretty revolutionary at the time! He lifted them up and gave them worth. Maybe he did show favoritism after all--to the broken, the humble, those who had no illusions about themselves--those who appropriately realized that they needed a Savior.
Jesus said, "I am humble and meek. Learn from me."
I love coming into His presence. I am usually in my wrinkly pajamas, with sleep breath, no make up, tousled hair, vulnerable--(I am naturally a fearful person.) But I light my candle, pour my tea, and in His presence I find love and acceptance and hope. He made me. He knows me, and as Psalm 103 so kindly tells us, "He is mindful that I am but dust." But I am also part of His family. I came from Him--His very own Spirit. He formed me in my mother's womb. He will always be loyal and accept me because I am a part of His very being in this world.
In His presence, I am adequate, because He saved me so that I could be in His presence without pretense or performance.
"Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
Not come to me all who are perfect, have arrived, have accomplished enough.
If I am acceptable to the Lord of Hosts, the king of the whole universe, then I need not compare myself to others. As a matter of fact, it is the only way I am acceptable to Him— if I don't try to come to Him on my merit, because I will always come up short.
I love the story of the little drummer boy, which I listened to at Christmastime as a little girl. The scene I pictured was the traditional manger scene of Jesus. Humble shepherds, keeping watch in the fields, heard the angels and sought the baby who had been born King of the Jews. Yet, there were also the great "seers" from the far East. Seems that the wise men all dressed in silks, satins, and velvets adorned with gold. They were carrying more gold along with frankincense and myrrh as they approached the manger where baby Jesus was born. These magnificent kings probably also came with an auspicious entourage of servants, camels, baggage, and fine jewelry.
However, the poor shepherd boy had no possessions--nothing to give to this newborn Servant, come from heaven. He had nothing to compare to the finery of the wealthy, learned men. As he pondered what to do, he realized he could play a song for baby Jesus on the rude drum that he highly valued. And so the young boy, humble, uneducated, with no title or prowess, approached the crib--and played with all of his heart.
"I played my drum for him, parumpapumpum. I played my best for him, parumpapumpum."
To honor the Lord Jesus, the little drummer boy gave what he had, offering his heart of love with his gift.
That, of course, was what Jesus wanted--the boy's love, the boy's admiration and willing heart.
Now that is something I can give wholeheartedly--myself, my love, my faith and gratefulness. I may not give perfection, or maturity, or prowess, but I can give him my little girl heart. The heart that sees His beauty, His unconditional love, the freedom He gives me to be me, just as I am. And that makes me respond with such love and appreciation. How very grateful I am that Jesus does not compare me to anyone else. He is my justification. He is my badge of honor.
So, this new year, may I give Him the gift of my adoration, not because I will ever be enough, but because He is my all in all.