Stop comparing yourself to Jesus

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”

I’ve seen this concise little admonition on many a Facebook wall and cutesy wall hanger, mostly in a secular context, and I always think it’s great advice. One can’t have joy if one is constantly comparing oneself to others–all that brings is embarrassment and envy, or pride.

But too often do I see my brothers and sisters in the Christian community (and myself) completely reject this good advice, and begin to compare ourselves to our Savior, who set a standard we can never meet on our own. And we mask our judgmental attitudes in penitence or self-discipline, as if the comparisons we’re making should somehow be helping us grow, rather than discouraging us.

We have been instructed, as Christians, to become more like Christ, so we look at the life of Jesus and start asking ourselves impossible questions:

“If Jesus resisted temptation his whole life, why can’t I resist the temptation of a single moment?”

“Why don’t my words change other people’s lives?”

“When was the last time I stayed up until dawn, praying and pouring my heart out in anguish to God?”

“What can I do to help save the people around me?”

If you continued in this way you’d eventually have to ask yourself, “When was the last time I laid my life down for the good of all mankind? Why can’t I obey God the same way God’s own Son could?” And you’d see that it’s ridiculous to expect the same standard from yourself as you would from Christ, who is the perfect human embodiment of God.

But we usually don’t get to those ridiculous questions–we stop with the smaller ones, the ones that seem more achievable from a human standpoint, and we compare ourselves to the perfection of Christ. And it doesn’t stop there.

If we aren’t careful, the judgment begins to extend outward, to our friends and family, our spouses. We start comparing people to Jesus who might not even KNOW Jesus, and become increasingly disappointed with what we see. Because no one is living up to Christ’s standard. No one. And focusing on how we’re all falling short creates frustration, bitterness, shame, and self-righteousness all in one twisted package.

I can say this with confidence because I am a judgmental person, something God has been gently rebuking and teaching me about for a long time. It’s easier for me to mask this flaw, because most of my judgment starts reflexively. I judge myself about everything–how I feel, what I’m eating, what I say, how I look, whether I’m working hard enough (the answer is usually no). But in judging myself I inevitably become quicker to judge others. I don’t want to be bad, so I turn my judgement to those that look worse than I do. I look at another person and think “at least I’m not like her” or “he really needs to straighten out x area of his life.” And then I shame myself for doing that.

It’s a vicious cycle, and it all begins with me looking at Jesus, and instead of standing in awe of everything good that he is, berating myself for not being worthy of Him.

When I think about the answers to those questions, though, I realize the flaw in my logic. Why do I find it impossible, sometimes, to resist temptation? Probably because I am not God incarnate. Why haven’t I ever pulled a distressed all-nighter? Probably because I haven’t faced the same suffering that Christ faced.

And that’s a good thing! We’re not meant to do everything Jesus did–He did it all for us.

Jesus would never look at me accusingly and ask, “why can’t you just be more like me?” No. He knows me, He knows everything that’s “wrong” with me, and everything that’s good about me–and He loves me unconditionally. He’d ask the only question that really matters: “Do you love me?”

The Bible says that anyone who loves Christ follows His commandments. This was never a challenge to prove our love for Christ by whipping ourselves into shape–if it were, we would fail miserably. Rather, it’s a statement of cause and effect.

True love in our human relationships shows itself in a similar way to how our love for Christ should show itself. When you love someone you see what they are, you accept them fully, you support and encourage them. You want them to have every good thing. You might even begin to mirror some of their personality traits.

If I love Christ–that is, if I recognize and appreciate who He is and what He’s done for me–I will naturally wish to please Him, thereby becoming more like Him.

So how do I leave behind the unproductive toxicity of self-shaming and truly love Christ?

By immersing myself in Christ. In other words, by getting to know Him deeply.

Stop comparing yourself to Jesus. Instead, admire and love Him. Read about His life and teachings–let His words move you. See how He trusts the Father completely, prays actively, acts mercifully. See how He moulds his will to God’s, self-sacrificially.

Let yourself be amazed by Jesus and everything that He is. Let yourself be inspired by His love for you. Follow His example of seeking a deep and vulnerable relationship with God–and in so doing, you will become more like Jesus, less like your old, bitter, self-centered self.

“My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world. And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments. Whoever says “I know him” but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked.” -1 John 2:1-6

To the truth-seekers

Yesterday, my sister told me, “It’s really painful to be alive.”

She was speaking collectively, about humanity, and the week that we’ve all had, and also about things that have happened in the lives of some of our dear friends—and she said it so matter-of-factly that it stopped me in my tracks. And I said, yeah. It is. That’s not how it was supposed to be.

It’s so true that life is painful. I don’t think anyone would disagree.

And it was so not supposed to be that way, in the beginning of things. How do I know that (besides by reading Genesis)? Because of how wrong pain feels. How we can’t seem to avoid trying to avoid it, even when we know it’s unavoidable.

If we were to stop there, things would seem really hopeless, wouldn’t they? I don’t blame people at all for despairing, if they believe that pain is the end of every human story.

But if you stop there, you’re cheating yourself.

I’m a human too. I’ve felt pain and I’ve caused it. I’ve been so lost I never thought I could be found. I’ve wondered if any of this is worth it.

And every time I come back to this, the answer is yes–it’s always been worth it. The growth is worth it. The trust I’ve been able to find in God, the simple joy of following Him, is worth it.

What a blessing it is to feel pain, to feel loss, to miss things and people and places. Just imagine. If you felt none of those things, you would never have felt anything. You wouldn’t be you, here, now.

You wouldn’t have this chance to see.

Because what do humans do when they feel pain? They look for answers. Answers that are, incidentally, kind of hard to find–mostly because they’re answers to questions that are kind of hard to ask:

Why do we feel pain? What is the purpose of all these things? Is there something out there that’s bigger than all of this? What am I meant to do?

Am I seen, heard, loved?

These are the questions we’re meant to ask–because the answers ARE out there. I’m not saying we can know everything, but we can know the things that matter, if we’re willing to ask. God wants to see you grow through the pain and discomfort of seeking truth, and you will never regret asking him humbly to reveal it to you. Because this hope is worth chasing.

Wanderer, this is a message to you: You are meant to find your answers, and if you’re lost, you don’t have to go far to be found.

“Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'” -John 14:5-6

People and the plague

Most often, when people hear the word “plague,” the first thing that comes to mind is the Bubonic Plague, or the Black Death, as it was referred to by the locals. In the fourteenth century, this disease ravaged Europe, killing around 24 MILLION people. One-third of the population.

It was a scary, sinister, and smelly time to be alive. Regular people had little to no protection from contamination, but despite the danger, they still had to work to provide for their families. Plague brought with it horrible disfigurement, pain, and humiliation. The decaying bodies of the dead perfumed the city streets.

And yet, despite the horror, most of us modern people find it strikingly difficult to whip up any sense of empathy for or connection to the everyday humans that were affected by the Black Death. We think of them collectively as a group of brown-clad peasants, walking along muddy streets saying “yes, milord” and calling their enemies “saucy curs.” Rarely do we imagine that these earthy people had any sort of personalities. All they could spare time to think about was work, or death, or ways to avoid getting put in the stocks. On the weekends, for fun, they would report their potion-brewing neighbors to the town witch-hunter.

These people didn’t fall in love, or hug their children, or even smile. And they definitely didn’t crack jokes. How could they, when the internet didn’t even exist yet?

But that’s where we’re totally wrong. Seven hundred years of separation has caused us to forget this one vital truth about people: they’re people. No matter where we picture them.

Granted, jokes in the medieval times were more likely to revolve around figs than around John Cena, but still. It happened. In fact, comedy was one of the main accessible means that people had to cope with plague and other medieval-themed difficulties. With all the plays and even nursery rhymes written about the plague–and death in general–during this time period, it’s no wonder the British are still known for their dark and morbid sense of humor (Shaun of the Dead, anyone?).

And people today still find the Black Death incurably funny. We use it as fodder for sketches and exposition for medieval rom-coms. I mean, just try to say the word “bubo” while keeping a straight face and you’ll understand.

I’ve seen–and made–more plague jokes than normal in recent months, and it’s no surprise. Coronavirus has infected all of us with a need to lighten the mood.

This isn’t meant to sound insensitive–believe me, I know it’s scary, and people have died, which is never something to laugh about, and no one is sure where this thing will go next. I’m just trying to give us all a little perspective.

We’re still people, aren’t we? Regardless of how this new disease affects us, it can’t take our humanity.

Perhaps hundreds of years from now, future humans will see us as gray-hoodied nobodies, obsessed with coffee and unable to stop arguing about things that don’t matter.

But someone who’s looking will be able to see, and they’ll say “hey, these people may be uncivilized, but look at these old documents I found on this recovered hard drive. Coronavirus–isn’t that the plague we learned about in history class last Tuesday?” And they’ll click through the memes and share a laugh with us–and probably a grimace–from hundreds of years away, and for that moment, we’ll be real to them.

The human race has made it through millennia of wars, widespread panics, and fashion don’ts to make it here today. And you know what? I truly believe that everything will be okay.

So cry if you need to. Use your time in quarantine to finally beat Super Mario Bros, or eat a bunch of homemade cookies. Pray. Tell your parents you love them. Don’t be afraid to make jokes.

And don’t forget to be human.

What I've learned from cats

Growing up, I always thought I was a dog person.

Then I got my cats, and my life will never be the same. See, I always thought that what I loved about dogs was that they’re always happy to see you and have your attention. I thought that a cat wouldn’t like me, or that I’d be frustrated by its aloofness.

But having been a cat owner for six months now, what I’ve really come to love about cats is how hard they are to love sometimes–how much work it takes to develop a relationship with a cat and gain its trust, how rewarding it is when it pays off, even in the smallest way. (I joke that those are the same reasons I was initially attracted to my husband)

My two cats are very different. Pippin is a precious, dainty lady, a true angel. I swear she never does anything wrong, besides drool on my face in the middle of the night.

Bombadil, on the other hand… is a big, boisterous boy. If Pippin is the perfect cat, Bombadil is the real one. He talks all the time, regardless of our sleep schedules. He begs for food, he whines to go outside. He shreds the carpet. This cat’s quirks have taken some getting used to–no surprise, since we adopted him as an adult, and have no idea what his life was like before rescue, whereas we pretty much raised Pippin.

Before owning cats, I had absolutely no perspective for the behaviors that characterize them, but I’ve been doing a lot of research lately (because of the carpet-clawing), and my major conclusion at this point is that there’s no one right way to be a cat. And more than that, there’s a deep, instinctive reason for everything my cats do, even the things I find destructive.

Realizing this has changed my perspective from “what do I want to change about this little goblin of a cat?” to “what are Bombadil’s motivations? What about his environment is influencing him to behave this way? What does he need in order to feel safe in this environment?” Because clearly, the behavior I find frustrating is just a symptom of an unmet need, a gap of understanding between us.

Asking these questions helps me recognize Bombadil’s needs–and once I do that, I’m able to try to meet them, rather than trying to change his behavior to better suit my desires. When I choose to love the cat despite his catness, I can look at him scratching the carpet in futility and ask myself “what can I do to help him channel this energy?” Love doesn’t blame or shame; it purposefully creates space where one can be, and where one’s natural instincts and desires can be directed in healthy ways. At that point, when I’m intentionally acknowledging my cat’s fundamental nature, any guidance or rebuke I give him comes from the desire to protect him and help him grow.

The biggest thing my cats have taught me is that it stops being hard to love someone unconditionally when you simply accept them for what they are. A cat may not see what motivates you, and he probably won’t even recognize that you’re working to redirect his behaviors. But if you love him for what he is, he’ll have no reason not to trust you to take care of him–and you’ll have the patience to endure through the teaching.

You probably know by now that I can’t help but see the connection to the way Jesus loves us here.

Patiently. That’s exactly how Jesus loves us–though He does it perfectly, whereas I still have to bite my tongue sometimes to keep from cursing at the cat.

Jesus accepts our whole selves, and loves us for all the messes we cause. And He doesn’t need research to find what we need, because He knows us more deeply than any researcher ever could. In His love, Jesus knows us perfectly. And so there’s no need for Him to lash out against us, because He feels the hurts that drive us, and He knows that unconditional, grace-filled love is the only thing that can truly heal us and redirect our path. Jesus comes with compassion into a torn-up carpet of a life and shows us a better way.

In the end, there’s no one right way to be a human. There’s only the question: have you surrendered your life to the love of Jesus?

When the answer to that is yes, His love will transform you–guiding and correcting, giving purpose and assurance. When I am assured of Jesus’s love for me, fear and shame can’t hold me. I know He made me to be exactly who I am. I’m free to be, to exist, free to trust Him completely.

Human love is, and never can be, that perfect–but all of this is to say that I truly believe our lives are meant to reflect the love of Jesus, in every respect, even when it comes to the cats who share that life with us. And praise God, He loves us more that we even love our sweet pets, and His mercy stretches far further than human mercy. Praise God–He gives His goodness to us freely, irrespective of the brokenness we bring before him, and He has the enduring patience not to leave us to figure things out for ourselves.

‘And it will be said: “Build up, build up, prepare the road! Remove the obstacles out of the way of my people.” For this is what the high and lofty One says– he who lives forever, whose name is holy: “I live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite. I will not accuse forever, nor will I always be angry, for then the spirit of man would grow faint before me– the breath of man that I have created. I was enraged by his sinful greed; I punished him, and hid my face in anger, yet he kept on in his willful ways. I have seen his ways, but I will heal him; I will guide him and restore comfort to him, creating praise on the lips of the mourners in Israel. Peace, peace, to those far and near,” says the LORD. “And I will heal them.”‘ – Isaiah 57:14-19

How to do nothing (purposefully)

Relaxation.

It’s kind of a dirty word for a lot of us, right? As a recovering (or maybe just ruminating) perfectionist, I know that for me, it has always been hard to relax. I want to be writing and creating and producing–not lazing!

But we can’t always be working–even working on things we’re passionate about. And actually, the need to be constantly working is what leads to the most burnout and–ironically–procrastination. If you’re too busy trying to do everything at once, and determined to make it perfect the first time, it ends up becoming scary and stressful, rather than exciting, to start any new projects. Crippling perfectionism, I like to call it.

I think writers are, in some ways, more susceptible to this than many others–the art we create is incredibly vulnerable, and it’s easy to get into a habit of criticizing ourselves to make sure that others can’t do it first. But! Self-criticism is the bane of morale, so relaxation is necessary to the writing process.

Sometimes that means literally doing nothing, or bingeing a TV show, or eating some comfort food, or going on vacation and cutting yourself off from everything to do with work.

A lot of the time, though–and I would argue, more of the time–those things just aren’t really an option, or they’re not the healthiest way to relax. You don’t want the majority of your rest time to just be spent deflecting or ignoring your stress–you want your rest to be restful, and that means energizing, inspiring, and joy-giving. Rest should serve the purpose of filling you up.

If you have any trouble imagining what that looks like, here are a few tips that have helped me recharge and re-motivate:

Let the creativity of others feed your own.

This one is really simple, but easy to forget–all our ideas come from somewhere, and as creators we need to replenish our supply of inspiration continuously if anything we create can be meaningful and fresh to us. So if you’re a storyteller, you need to enjoy stories told by others. Let them point you to new ideas, new perspectives.

Spend time in nature.

Besides all the scientific health benefits of vitamin D and exercise, there’s a spirituality to the outdoors that humans connect to innately. You don’t have to be a mountain biker or a squirrel whisperer. Just the simple fact of being out in the air, among other living, growing things, is rejuvenating and uplifting.

God created the world; He takes pleasure in His creation, and we should too. And who knows what adventures you may have when you do!

Invest in meaningful relationships.

Sometimes, especially during times of stress, people seem like a lot of work–but with the right ones, we can leave a conversation or a meal or a trip to the mall feeling so much lighter than before. A good friend should build you up, point you to the truth, and give you hope, and we should endeavor to do those things for the ones we love in turn.

Don’t procrastinate your friends and family and spouse. Intentionally support and energize each other.

Lean in to the quiet.

For some this might take the more structured form of meditation, but for me it just means, go to a place you feel safe–and just breathe. Let your mind wander; don’t try to direct or control it. A lot of times, when I’m feeling burned out, my reflex is to avoid being inside my head by distracting myself with any kind of entertainment–which leads, ultimately, to deeper exhaustion. Taking a pause amid all that, just to let your brain be silent, can be healing.

Find a purposeful, creative, pressure-free hobby.

For me, it’s cooking.

I love food. Love it. And it’s so wonderfully encouraging–exciting, even–to create something delicious and different with the resources I have, to share with people I love.

And guess what? No one is telling me to do it, or what I should be doing differently, or that I’ll never make it as a restaurant chef–and even if they did, I’d be (mostly) immune to their criticism. Because cooking, for me, isn’t like writing; I don’t do it with the intent of reaching an audience. I just love food, and I cook because it gives me joy, and the fact that others can appreciate what I produce is simply a bonus.

So find something you can do, just for you.

Moral of the story: you have to feed your creative side, not just whip it into shape. Be like the sword of Godric Gryffindor and “imbibe that which strengthens you.”