Yesterday I referred to this excellent blog reflection by Jeffrey Overstreet. I've continued to think about
what he wrote today and am convicted by it, convicted of the degree
to which I also allow myself to be influenced by a corrosive
competitiveness. My gifts lie in other areas than Overstreet's, but
that is not the issue. As he writes:
“Our world reduces everything to
competition—writing, cinema,singing, cooking. Even the news is full
of shouting matches. These cheapen the arts they employ. They divide
us into teams. They pollute our understanding of success. They blind
us to the beauty of the people in front of us, and the mysteries at
work within them.”
Looking at my work over the past
several years, I can easily become discouraged, even despondent,
when I compare it to work others have done in that same time
period. I feel that, by comparison, I've accomplished less, or my
work has not been as spectacular or fruitful—any number of other
comparisons could be used. I allow myself to feel like a failure
because, in my mind, I don't measure up to my own or someone else's
ideal of what should be. In my mind, I view life as a competition and
I'm losing. And I don't like losing.
The same feeling can come over me when
I think of myself as a father and husband. I compare myself to other
families and, knowing my own weaknesses and those of my family, I
feel like a failure because I don't have the radiant, happy
“Christian” family that so many churches and Christians tell me I
should have (and to help me achieve this, they will gladly sell me
their books, retreats and various other helps, most of which just
leave me feeling more like a failure.) I could identify so well with
my friend Micky in what she wrote the other day, even if our specific
circumstances are somewhat different. She writes of the pressure to
conform, but I see in her description of her life and the pressures
she feels also a strong underlying current of competition.
It's an ugly secret in the Christian
community. We don't speak of competition. In fact we speak a lot of
harmony, love and affirmation. But underneath I often feel an
unspoken message of competition. We compare ourselves to one another
and, if we don't think we measure up as well as the other person or to some "biblical" ideal, we
feel like failures and our self-worth falls accordingly. I'm sure
there are many out there for whom this is not an issue, but I suspect
there are plenty of others like myself for whom this is a real issue.
When I accept this message of
competition and comparison, the life within me and the joy in what I
do drains from me, as Overstreet described. I divide those in my
world into teams. Those I feel favorable toward are on “my team”
and those who I envy are on the “other team,” when in fact there
need not be any teams at all. If I want, I can choose to rejoice in
the successes of others without interpreting it as a criticism or
statement of failure on my part. I'm not them. And I'm not required
to be them. I need to stop looking at others to determine how I'm
doing. It robs me of joy. It makes me critical and cynical. I want to
stop competing and start living. I will have successes and failures.
I may accomplish some goals and fail to reach others. My work and my
family will almost certainly not look like others. And they don't
have to.
Years ago Amy Grant sang a short song
whose chorus I still sing in my mind occasionally:
All I ever have to be is what you made
me
Any more or less would be a step out of
your plan
As you daily recreate me help me always
keep in mind
That I only have to do what I can find
And all I ever have to be,
All I have to be
Is what you've made me.
I think I need to sing that more often
– perhaps every morning. Overstreet says it well:
“I want to run like that—not to win
medals, not to live up to the expectations of others, not to meet
deadlines or dazzle audiences, but to discover what is possible....I
need to leave the clamor of the arena so I can hear the call, the
voice that will find me another two yards.”
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