One thing you may know about me is that I love painting. Not fine arts kind of pretty painting, but painting walls, entryways, trim, et cetera. I was able to paint in one of the orphanages in Bulgaria and it was nice to be able to do something tangible to give back to future generations of people who will visit that place. Will they remember that I’m the one who painted it? No. Would they care anyway? No. When’s the last time you were somewhere and thought, “I wonder who painted these walls and why?”
Anyway, it was nice to plop down for a few hours and focus on just painting. No talking, just quietness and feeling like I was making a difference. It felt good, for a while.
So many times when we I do things, when we I volunteer for things, we I do it with a hidden agenda – I am queen when it comes to that. We do it to be noticed. Painting this, I wanted everyone to see how good my painting skills are, how well I cut a trim, how I was better at it than everyone else because my dad was a painter and he taught me some stuff.
So, needless to say, I went in with an attitude of superiority. Which was absolutely wrong. And it made for a critical attitude on my end of how others worked. I went from having an attentive eye on the walls to make sure they were being covered well to having a critical attitude towards those I painted with. I needed an intervention.
Intro No-no. Noah was itching to paint all day. He kept asking when I would be done edging so that he could paint. Every 3-5 minutes. For 2 hours. Hahaha, to say he was dedicated would be an understatement. 🙂 After an eternity, relatively speaking, I was finally finished. I couldn't come up with any more excuses to not let him paint (have I mentioned that I really enjoy painting?).
So, I showed him how far the paintbrush should go into the paint tin before he should pull it out, scrape the excess paint off and then put the brush on the wall. He did well, usually dipping the brush in further and not really scraping the paint off very well, but as I said before, he was dedicated. He did what he came to do, and he had fun. That's what mattered to me. He felt like he was a part of the family and was making a difference.
And I learned a lesson. I learned that if I want to get rid of this critical, controlling, comparing spirit that I so often adopt (that I try to keep it well hidden from everyone around me) you have to find ways to intentionally give it up from the start. Allowing Noah to paint was the first step to letting go; I let him paint and stood behind him giving him pointers and occasionally taking his hand in mine and redirecting him to a spot of white on the wall rather than applying a 5th coat of green to an already green patch.
Criticism, comparison, judging, it's all the same in it's most basic form – and it always comes with a negative connotation. When I compare yourself to someone else, I'm taking away the fact that they want to feel like they're making a difference too. And it's not fair to judge their actions when really what I'm doing is judging their heart and motivation – and that's not my place. And it goes so much deeper. I'm not just comparing my painting skills with you, I'm comparing all my skills, my life, experiences, relationships and even more. I'm basically pitting you against me in a battle that no one wins. It affects and inhibits me personally, and my relationship with the people I'm comparing myself with, regardless of whether they know what I'm thinking or not.
It's lose-lose.
But there's hope. Even for me. It's times like that when I have to tell God that he needs to deal with this, he needs to correct and fix me because left to my own devices, I'm nasty – my insides are dark, jumbled and gross. All of us are. But, thankfully, Jesus died for that. The blood ran from his insides, cleansing us with his grace. It ran from his head, allowing his grace to cover our thoughts, our emotions, and our actions. How beautiful that grace is when we see the grime that so often resides inside our hearts and minds. Praises to him who brings brings redemption!
In his grace,
Amanda
