Comparison is the thief of joy.

Theodore Roosevelt; 2 Corinthians 10:12

To be honest with you, this is the last place I want to be right now. I don’t consider myself to be especially great at externally processing, but I do find it healing. Words mostly come out as fragmented ideas and unfinished thoughts…that I will later come to realize may not be quite accurate. Thinking out loud is the only real way I know how to get started on my honest thoughts and it allows me to try and try again until what I communicate authentically matches what I feel.

I find it sad just how many of my thoughts are ugly. Even now, they’re not polished or mature, but they’re at the very least sincere. Lately, I am really struggling with comparison, specifically in my work. The hard part with that is this: I know comparison is not a healthy thing, but I wish people could acknowledge with me that it’s a real thing. I have several Bob the Builders in my circle. “Can we fix her? Yes, we can!” When really, if I don’t dig deeper into the shadow side of comparison, I’ll lose out on the opportunity to grow. And to do that, I have to sit in the rubble of my mess for moments longer than what feels comfortable.

If I could simply sit here with you for the next few moments, because sometimes it’s just helpful to know there’s someone here with skin on, I think I can try to get this comparison trap I’m in into words. The problem with comparison is that it’s always a fight to have control of something: control of people’s opinions or ideas about you or control of how you view yourself, whether it be positive or negative. I have a tendency to believe that how people view me is mutually exclusive to how they view other people and it’s simply not true.

Somewhere along the line, I have adopted comparison and control as a defense mechanism to hold onto the favor I have with other people. If I’m more interesting to talk to, produce better work and faster results, am funnier, it feels like I can live to survive another day. If not, my soul feels crushed and I scramble to control more projects, to think of wittier jokes, to have more fascinating content to present in a fight to stay relevant. I’ve never seen a therapist (and probably should), but in the meantime, I like to ask myself questions I think one might ask me if I was sitting in their chaise longue.

If I had to find the root of this, how long would it take me to dig through past hurt? At what point did I believe again and again that who I am at face value isn’t enough? So much of my growing up years were shaped by moments of doubt that even now as an adult, I still battle and I battle with shame. At 26, shouldn’t I know better? And not just know better, but believe and live better? It’s so disheartening to me to wake up and find that I face this kind of thing in the mirror and I have to be convinced that heaven for me will be met with freedom from the “not enough.”

Can I share a story? A story I’m not proud to carry? In middle school, I was the shortest in my class which made school dances awkward, I wore blue, wire-rimmed glasses and hand-me-downs and had a hard time figuring out what lunch table I was welcomed at. Until I found a group of girls a year in that seemed to really get me, I had never fully trusted that I belonged.

Eventually, my tight knit group fell apart. Of the three friends, one made it entirely clear they wanted nothing to do with me, one avoided me and stopped acknowledging when I came in the room, which left me one friend. But only when she was by herself. The Christmas before I lost their favor, I had turned a journal into homemade scrapbook and had gifted it to her and I was so proud of it. Upon accident months later, I read an unexpected entry where she had emotionally journaled, “I wish Natalie had never happened. She ruined everything!”

Years later we came to a place of reconciliation where I was able to get closure from her, but the seed of rejection was planted and took root. I never could feel safe with her again and will never know why I lost my other friends the way I did. Through college, I had two different roommates request not to live with me, one who only made it a semester before requesting a transfer. To me, they weren’t just roommates those years, they were friends I tried to care for. I had invested time into getting to know about their lives and exhausted my energy trying to give what I thought they needed from me. The bottom line turned out to be that I just wasn’t their cup of tea, especially compared to who else they could room with.

And if I can get really raw for one more moment, I have a brother who I miss so incredibly much that I haven’t had more than a bare minimum relationship with in four years and I wonder through the silence if that’s still my fault.

I have come to believe that the full me, to most people, is not worth knowing. Either because I tend to taint what I touch or bring an emotional intensity to the table that brings more weight than what people desire to carry.

And in recent years, comparison has brought somewhat of a comfort to me in such a backwards and self-righteous way, to know that I’m somewhat okay; I’m somewhat wanted. At least I still hold the favor of my boss, when my co-workers don’t seem to care. At least I don’t have that exact financial struggle they do. At least one person agreed with me on the group text on that discussion. I can gauge where I’m at with others when I base it on the unhealthy habit of comparison.

Until I can’t.

Sooner or later I struggle to believe
I still hold the favor I desire so badly
or that I have anything in my life together, let alone one thing
or someone disagrees with me and then it feels like them against me.

And it’s when I’m left feeling so small, that I reach for my white flag.

Because not knowing the true joy means I can’t fully know Jesus and what he hopes for my life. Feeling threatened by someone else’s existence diminishes experiencing His fullness. I have a lot of fear that I’ll be phased out of my job because I can’t control the favor I hold with others. There’s always someone who’s wiser, wittier, or a better fit.

It’s incredibly shallow to be saddened by the way the attention gets shifted from me to someone else and that has probably been the hardest thing to rally from out of everything. To lose attention at times feels like I’m not worth being known or not as distinctive or exceptional. But I know that there is more for me than this kind of emptiness and feeling like I’m filled with shortcomings.

The message series I’ve been listening to is called, “Poured Out” based on the book of Psalm. Why is it easier sometimes to admit failures and backwards thinking to people than the One who wrote my very own manual? Why does it take so much and so long to finally surrender?

I’m praying that after I leave here I can keep pouring this out to Him, that I’ll find more comfort and fulfillment in His presence than I do my own feelings and what I think I can control. Will you pray that I can do that? So often what I know doesn’t connect with what I do in the ways my own heart needs it to.

If comparison is the thief of joy,
may you and I cling to the King who put all fear to death
by conquering the grave
so that we may believe His truth
that we are enough
and that we are wanted at His table.
He’s even saved us our very own seats.

Take care & take heart,
Natalie

In 3 weeks, I’ll be moving to a new place with new beginnings. I’ll start over in finding all of my familiar places like walking paths and coffee shops. I’ll figure out the traffic patterns around our new neighborhood and find the best time of day to go grocery shopping again.

And while I think about those kinds of changes, it doesn’t take up nearly as much of my time than one other thought. When I leave this town weeks from now, I’m not sure that many people will realize I’m gone. And that is what quiets me the most.

I have a tendency to reflect on the past more often than I would care to admit to you, and from my reflections I craft my reasoning for my present decisions. Like how in the last 6 months, I’ve withdrawn from people in this community after a long period of initiating with moms from church and women my age I’ve met around town. I’ve been told by multiple people that it just wasn’t a good season for them to get together in the midst of raising kids and my texting conversations that sound like, “When are you free? I have Thursday morning available.” abruptly end after sharing my calendar. It’s hard not to believe that a year of stillness in my relationships won’t roll over for me into the next place. I’m not sure if my efforts weren’t enough or if I wasn’t exciting enough or deep enough or shallow enough…or if it was all simply out of my control the last 3 years.

I found myself diving deeper into what I could control, which was my work and my contributions to a company. In some ways, it has served as a life line for me. In other ways, it has brought equanimity to me. And then there have been the times where it’s felt like having a virtual job limits and prohibits my growth simply by not being proximate.

So that’s what has been weighing me in the last 6 weeks since finding out we’d be moving. It caused me to pause when I think about the life I’ve lived over the last 3 years and the low impact it feels like I’ve made in this town and I fear to repeat it again. There’s also a small part of me that wrestles with the idea of moving for my husband’s job with no clear direction on what’s to come for me.

I’ll keep my job, but will things continue to shift the less I’m able to visit the store? Will I be able to help people become the best versions of themselves as people and as leaders from an hour away? Will there be young moms like me who would want to get to know me or would want me to get to know them? Will our new church welcome us or have a community? Will Hunter’s new basketball community accept our family for who we are or what my husband can do for their sons?

As I was driving home on country roads Sunday night reflecting on our season in this town and thinking over what’s yet to come in the next place, I asked God if I’m ever going to feel like I’m home. And if shooting stars can work like thoughts, this is what came to my mind from the Lord:

“Natalie, I want you to know what Hagar knew. That I am the God that sees you. I not only see you, but I hear and know your heartbreak.”

What I know about Hagar was that she was told over and over that her life didn’t count in so many ways to a point where even when the real voices stopped, her inner critic would pick up where they left off. She felt used and forgotten. She was mocked and resented by people who also seemed to be following God. Can you imagine that kind of confusion on who to trust? She was forced to flee into the unknown, pregnant and alone and I can’t imagine the agony of feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, just to survive.

So while I don’t have anything worked out for what’s to come that’s concrete, this I know. He saw me in this town and he will see me in and through the next one. He has seen my work and will find me at my same desk weeks from now. He not only made sure Hagar knew she was seen by him, but he provided for her needs in the chapters of her life that followed.

He sees me. And he sees you. He sees every meal you made alone in the kitchen, every time you’ve pushed a lawn mower across the yard, and every instance you went out of your way to make someone else stand a little taller.

You’re not hidden and what you do does count when it feels like no one cares to watch, and you matter when it feels like you don’t. He wants you to know what Hagar knew. And I pray that you sense him whispering that to you like the hundreds of times I’ve needed him to whisper that to me.

May you be confident of what Hagar knew: that you belong to the God who sees you. And to the God who has chosen you for the person you are and who has a purpose for your life if you’re willing to let him know you from the inside out.

Take care & take heart,

Natalie

Every Monday night growing up, my dad would take me out to Panera for dinner. We had this routine where he would wait on our food and I would get water for us in those tiny, clear plastic cups. I would carefully select the freshest lemon slice for my dad’s cup and fill both halfway with ice before finding a table. Being able to find an empty booth at 5:30pm always felt special, but beyond than that, I had the undivided attention of my dad.

Have you ever met someone who can ask really great questions? Questions that make you think out loud as you try to answer them the way you want to the first time without taking too long? My dad asks fun questions like that. Sometimes when I try to pull a memory, I can’t pin down how old I was at the time because in a sense to me, I’ll always feel like a little girl and my dad never ages. But on one of those Monday nights, my dad asked me who my favorite character in the Bible was at the time and I remember telling him that it was Joseph from Genesis.

After I had finished answering his follow up questions on, “Why Joseph?” it occurred to me to inquire about who his favorite Bible character was and why. In the years to follow, I have recalled this conversation to mind dozens of times and the older I get, the more I understand and relate to his answer. I remember a learning light turning on in my brain as my dad spoke on a character I had never heard of before. At my age, I had been taught about the main characters like Noah and Moses, David and Solomon, the 12 Disciples, Paul, of course, and women like Mary, the mother of Jesus.

But I had never remembered hearing of Barnabas. Once I got home and was able to put my finger on the very text my dad taught me about, I’ve never once forgotten Barnabas and here is why:

• Barnabas’s real name was Joseph, but he made such an impact on people that the apostles called him Barnabas which was means “son of encouragement.” He was known for his generosity (Acts 4:36-37).
• He was one of the first accepting people of Saul (who was to become known as Paul) and was able to advocate on his behalf to the apostles. Barnabas used his influence to unite people in Jesus’s name (Acts 9:27).
• People called on Barnabas when they needed to be encouraged. Barnabas also sought out people to encourage and spent dedicated time meeting with others over the period of a year (Acts 11:22, 25-26). Because he got to know the people he spent time with, he was also able to challenge others in their spiritual growth effectively (Acts 14:3, 14-15).

When I read about his life, there is a part of me that wants Barnabas to take on more of a starring role in the story. When others defiantly hid their tithes and offerings, Barnabas was finding ways to give all that he had to the Church. When no one wanted to accept Saul into the apostles’ circle out of fear, Barnabas rallied support for him with his minority vote. When everyone needed encouraged, Barnabas helped set the tone. He was ridiculed, thrown out of places, abandoned by someone he invested real time in, his counsel was ignored, and I have to imagine that there were many times when the son of encouragement felt discouraged.

I want to know that a noble life like his gets more air time, more applause, and more appreciation on earth for going against the grain than what I read throughout the New Testament, but perhaps this very thought is where I miss the point. Barnabas knew that there was more. He understood his role and his purpose to simply give of himself with this tithes and his time.

What I gather from the text and what inspires me about Barnabas was that we often see him paired with someone else. He discipled while he encouraged others. He found strength in numbers by joining with Paul while he challenged the early Christians. He didn’t isolate himself and took joy in getting to invest in people. Acts 11 says, “for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith. And a great many people were added to the Lord.” I love the last “and” right there. Because Barnabas lived by and through the Holy Spirit, we get the part where people came to Christ as a result!

I want that. I want to live a life that is so tempered by the Holy Spirit and the way that I obey His whispers in my life that people come to know Jesus as a result of our proximity. Barnabas held that influence through the way encouraged and advocated for people, and through his selfless generosity. He took the spotlight off himself time and time again. As he served as an advocate, the early believers were able to know the true Advocate, the Holy Spirit.

I am so grateful for the Bible. I am so grateful to find encouragement in this book when life seems confusing and I crave all of the credit. I love that Barnabas modeled a life that tells me that I too, can do this with Jesus.
And so. can. you.

Take care & take heart,
Natalie