I will give thanks to the LORD with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds. (Psalm 9:1, ESV)
We pile in the car and drive across town. We’ve been invited to have lunch with a friend. When we arrive, she and her children greet us warmly–smiles and hugs, and we feel right at home. The kids dart off, my friend takes our heap of coats to her closet, and then she and I begin to work in her kitchen.
There’s something precious about coming together in this way.
Conversation is easy and free but as we work side-by-side, I’m distracted. Suddenly I’m keen to every detail of her tidy kitchen. The counters are clutter-free. The aluminum appliances gleam. The floor is void of crumbs and even the windows are streak-free. My friend and I chat about a ministry she’s involved in, my older two sons and our husbands, but all the while I’m thinking about the mess I’ve left behind. Smudgy appliances. Dishes piled high. Rugs that need a good shaking and windows that could use a spray and a swipe.
I compare myself to my friend.
She’s neat, tidy and organized by nature. I covet these attributes because they are so unlike my own.
Whenever I compare my weakest points to someone else’s gifts, I come up short.
The house rumbles with activity, and we call the children to the table.
“Can you get the drinks, Shawnelle?” my friends asks.
I do. Then we take chairs and gather close.
“Thank you, Lord, for this day. Thank you for this time with friends,” my friend prays. Her prayer is rich with gratitude. I listen. With my ears. But as I sit, head dipped and hands folded, my spirit listens, too. I begin to understand that comparing is coveting and coveting is ungrateful ground. It can happen in an instant, and I think as women we’re vulnerable. A script of recent comparisons runs through my mind.
She’s thinner. In better shape. Looks younger. Her children never misbehave. She always looks together. I wish I could keep house, write, entertain, do-whatever as well as this person or that…
The Lord never compares me to anyone else. It’s a liberty I take all on my own. But it’s unhealthy because it reflects an unsatisfied heart. “Thank you, God for what I have. But really, it’s not enough…” While I’m there at my friend’s table, I think about how I’d feel if I gave my child a gift only too see him lust after what had been given to a brother.
My friend finishes praying and chips and warm sandwiches and a platter of fruit move around the table.
“Are you okay, Shawnelle?” my friend asks.
“I will be,” I say. But before I eat, I need to take care of a little business of my own. I bow my head again.
Lord, forgive me. Thank you for opening my eyes and create in me a thankful heart…
