Sometimes other people's words reach into my soul and straighten things out.
It's only an hour into my day and I've already been hit with two rounds of wisdom words.
Steven Furtick said, "The death of contentment is comparison." I don't know how our culture got so focused on making one another jealous, but his sermon from last weekend about competition really made sense. He pointed out that we used to take pictures to capture family memories -- and now we post pictures to Instagram to show other people how cool we are or how much fun we're having.
His point is that we have nothing to prove to one another, because we are all perfectly made. I get that -- I really do. But I am often tempted to compare myself to others. Or compete with myself. I love to top myself. I always thought that drove me to succeed... but now I realize it only drove me to feel forever inadequate.
My job doesn't matter, nor does my hairstyle or how many books I read in a week. If I write or don't write, paint or don't paint, the world won't come to an end. If I can twist my body into a pretzel or have washboard abs, it won't make me any more or less perfect in who I am. And you want to know how I know this?
Because I read this from my poet/artist brother this morning:
Welcome, fate. Bring your trials by fire, your insults to injury, and I will overcome. For I am not weak. I am the son of resolve and stoicism. I am the brother of hope and realism. The father of strength, and the lost love of order. I may be chaotic, but I will leave my mark. I will never give up...
He called me "hope." I am hope to my brother.
How can I possibly read that and think I'm not perfect as I am?