The Green Eyed Monster

I’ve been putting this one off for awhile.  Mostly because I don’t like admitting I am wrong.  But the long walk to the principal’s office is over and now here we are.  Confession time.

Recently, I’ve been confronted with the fact that I’m a jealous person.  Like really jealous.  To the point it affects my relationships with others.  And (obviously) that’s NOT okay.

The jealous thing doesn’t come as a surprise to me...well, not entirely.  I’ve spent a lot of my teenaged through grown up life feeling not good enough in one way or another (Can I get an “Amen” from the other women out there?).  Comparison is such a drag; it eats you alive.  At this point in my blog, I was going to share pictures of my beautiful friends so you could nod in agreement and legitimize my insecurities.  But just take my word on this, I am surrounded by supermodels.  And I’m getting better (or at least more honest) about dealing with it.  The other day, my beautiful friend Tricia walked into Bible study and the first thing I said to her was, “Ugh.  You look annoyingly cute today.”  That’s a Biblical way to deal with this issue, right?!

Seriously though, this culture is constantly creating new categories for comparison (Say that sentence 5 times fast).  New reasons for us to feel less than.  The fact that we can easily, instantly post pictures of our newest, cutest, and best only exacerbates the situation.  Then the media continually pummels us with the notion that WE ARE NOT ENOUGH.  It’s almost easier to believe in this manufactured want instead of the wholeness and acceptance we already have as children of God.  Because how could God possibly love us just as we are?  Now if we were more attractive, skinnier, had a bigger, better decorated house, and the perfect job...of course we would feel fulfilled then.  That’s the lie we’re eager to buy.  And the more we try to fill that pit, the deeper it gets.  All the while, Jesus stands patiently by, tapping his foot, waiting for US to accept His acceptance.

But in my opinion, there are some kinds of want that exist outside of those aforementioned temporal categories.  At church they like to call them the “desires of your heart.”  Although that term sounds a like a cheesy romance novel, I hold strongly to its validity.  Maybe you do too.  Example: Several years ago, a dear friend of mine (who happened to be single) opened up her house for our Bible study.  As our group periodically likes to separate Mennonite-style by gender, we girls had gathered in her room and were discussing things we wanted to be held accountable about.  On her turn, my sweet, honest friend looked around at the overflow of married girls invading her bedroom and said, “I feel bad because I want what all my friends already have.”  Wow, I won’t ever forget it.  She stripped down her emotional self and laid her hopes bare before us.  I was so proud of her.  Because despite how uncomfortable that moment seemed, she was being REAL.  Those desires, those aches of the soul, cut us straight through the heart.   And unfortunately, it is simple to allow that painful deficit to define us, making us feel incomplete, unworthy.

You’ve probably guessed where this is headed.  Infertility.  Having an incomplete family.  These absolutely are the “lacks” that I’ve come to define myself by.  As a woman, infertility is the lack that keeps on giving.  There’s a monthly reminder of this fact: You are empty, barren inside.  Talking about secondary infertility is difficult because I want to be sensitive to everyone’s feelings (especially Mamas dying to be pregnant for the 1st time).  But when well-meaning people say, “At least you have Elijah,” it kills me inside.  A friend, who also dealt with secondary infertility, compared it to missing a limb.  Yes, of course I am glad I have this leg.  I love my one leg so much.  But I know I am supposed to have 2.  The pain associated with that missing limb is continuous.  And to be surrounded by others nonchalantly walking around, taking the “whole-ness” of their bodies for granted, is paralyzing some days.  Every pregnant belly is a flashing, neon arrow pointed in your direction; the sign blazing, “You are not enough.  You are not enough.”

So yeah, jealousy happens.  When people ask for updates about our adoption and all we can say is, “We’ll probably be waiting for 2 more years,” it’s hard to not be envious of others.  I hate not having doctor appointments to schedule, a big belly to complain about, sonograms to show off. It sucks.  In a way, I feel like David and I have earned the right to be slightly bitter.  We are allowed to grumble under our breath when another friend gets pregnant, another baby gets born.  This is our RIGHT as struggling parents of an incomplete family.  Except it isn’t.  Satan loves to sow these seeds of pride and discontent in our lives, especially during vulnerable times.  I’ve fallen victim to it.  Actually, to be honest, I’ve done more than my fair share of watering and nurturing these weeds on my own.  My sniping has hurt those I love the most.  I’ve turned occasions for joy into pity parties, compiled others’ blessings onto my grievance list.  And I’ve done it all under the guise of being a grieving parent.

God, forgive me.

While my desire for my daughter is completely holy and God-given, the outworking of my grief over her absence has not been.  I’ve let jealousy take the wheel of my interactions.  When you are denied (or have to wait for) something you feel OWED, it is easy to slip into a competitive/comparing mindset.  That’s when things really start falling apart.  Like I said in a blog about prayer, “I don’t deserve anything.  All that my sinful actions on this earth have earned me is separation from a perfect God.  So what I’m entitled to brag about is Jesus.  His redemptive work and patience in my life.  Any blessings from God beyond that are a bonus, not a requirement.”  We are owed nothing, yet God has given everything.  The least I can do is try to recognize that immeasurable mercy in my life, conversations, actions.  Okay, perhaps additionally I could work on applying this little tidbit from Galatians 6: 4b-5, “But don’t compare yourself with others. We each must carry our own load.”  Blah, Jesus and His wisdom.

Thank goodness my little Elijah displays evidence of God’s grace nearly every day.  On our drive to school last week, he asked to talk about the Bible:

Me: So, what’s your favorite Bible story?

Elijah: Probably David and Goliath.

Me: That’s a great one.  Why do you like it?

Elijah: Because it shows the power of God.

Me: You’re right!  It does show the power of God.  You know why I like it?

Elijah: Why Mama?

Me: I like that even though David wasn’t the biggest or strongest, he was….

Elijah (cutting me off): Faithful.

Me (getting choked up): Exactly Buddy.  He was faithful.

Elijah’s right, David WAS faithful.  God used him as a tool to show Himself victorious  over Goliath and to later lead his people as king.  But also, to be fair, David was a hot mess.  Adultery, underhandedness, murder.  Regarding those lamentable moments of his life, it’s important to remember that faithfulness runs both ways.  For “this is a trustworthy saying: If we die with Him, we will also live with Him.  If we endure hardship, we will reign with Him.  If we deny Him, He will deny us.  If we are unfaithful, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny who He is.” -2 Timothy 2:11-13.  In the midst of David’s screw ups, God still knew his character.  Hidden inside that greedy, misbehaving king was the heart of a faithful little boy standing knock-kneed before a giant.  Our loving God doesn’t throw his hands up in defeat when we make bad choices; He can see our very best through the storms of our very worst.  He knows the good we are capable of and He never gives up on us.  

Recently my entire family was witness to the finest kind of this renewal  and transformation: We participated in a beautiful wedding.  It’s amazing how God works these miracles.  Even from ruin.  Even when mistakes were made.  Hearts of stone turned soft again.  Joy emanating from a place once so deeply dark that the ability to love was almost lost.  But regret failed to have the last word in this story.  Instead, my Jesus traded “beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair (Isaiah 61:3).”  And if God can do that, I KNOW He can turn my jealous heart back into what He originally intended it to be: A mother’s love.