“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
I’ve heard it in motivational talks. I’ve seen it on pretty motivational Pinterest graphics, like this:
You’d think I’d know better, but this thief came knocking. It wasn’t even a break-in; I watched it walk right up, ring the doorbell, and peer through my window.
And I let him in.
Here’s some context: My team changed. My new team, Team Wolverine, is freaking awesome. Seriously, as soon as I read the 6 other names on the piece of paper I was handed, the only thing on my mind was thankfulness. Obviously, it’s sad to not be on the same team as the Helio/Kaleido girls, but it’s so good. And Jon’s still around, as my new Team Leader, so that’s a bonus.
You could say I was riding that joy train.
Enter that dumb thief: comparison.
I’d found out what some of the other teams were doing for ministry this month, and they sounded sweet. Like-this is my dream. And I waited to hear what mine would be, excited to hear the news.
And then I found out I’d be teaching.
Admittedly, I got a bit salty. And then I got salty about being salty, because I knew that if I hadn’t known the other ministries first, I would’ve been stoked. I’ve wanted to teach! I love to do Sunday school and VBS, and that month of preaching in India was great. I’d even be teaching English as a second langauge-something that I’ve thought about doing in the future. Why did I feel like pouting? What was wrong with me?
I felt like pouting because I’d straight-up traded my trust and contentedness in God for a stupid comparison. I’d let the thief whisper through the window, “Man. Do you even like children? Manual labor? Doesn’t that suck? Wouldn’t you rather be doing ____?”
And I flung open the door and dramatically bawled, “YESSSSS. I SURE WOULD, HERE’S ALL MY VALUABLE JOY, JUST TAKE IT AND LEAVE.”
Dude, it was pathetic.
I literally thought I knew, better than God, where I should be this month. I let myself believe that I was the best captain of myself-that I knew what I needed and what Cambodia needed.
My pastor in Juneau once talked about Philippians 2:14, “Do everything without grumbling or arguing,” saying that “grumbling” is an outward expression of inner lawlessnes. He explained that complaining is an intellectual rebellion-“I know better, this is incorrect/unfair/stupid.”
As I inwardly pouted, I remembered my pastor’s words. The Holy Spirit dropped a pretty revolutionary idea on me: I do not know what is best. It’s a blow to my pride (something Jesus talked to me about in relation to my hypocrisy in intimacy with Him), but I really don’t know anything.
God knows that I needed to be in Battambang. God knows why I need to be an English teacher/manual laborer. God knows Battambang’s needs better than I do, He knows Bright Start’s needs better than I do, and He’s meeting them perfectly having Team Wolverine here. He knows the other ministries’ needs better-and I am not the one to meet those needs.
I cordially showed that thief named Comparison to the door and slammed it shut.
Being on the Race means I can invite a lot of comparison into my life if I’m not careful. I can compare my team’s experience in Country X to another team’s or squad’s experience. I can compare my Race-self to my pre-Race self (INDIA EATS CARBS ON TOP OF THEIR OTHER CARBS AND BOY IS THAT ROUGH). I can compare my currently long-distance relationship (#facetimewinning) to others back at home as my Facebook newsfeed explodes with announcements of engagements and cute holiday couple-y pictures this season.
But comparisons ultimately leave me feeling empty and pouty. And I know why: comparisons are generally all about how I can serve myself, which is literally death and emptiness.
When God reminded me that this month in Cambodia (or any month in any country) was never about me and my near-sighted opinion, the fullness of what God has outside of my plans for serving myself became so much clearer.
The rest of that verse in Philippians reads, “Do everything without arguing or complaining, so that you may become blameless and pure, ‘children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation’. Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of Life.“
There it is-the entire point! I put aside my grumbling to unite myself with Christ’s purpose; to shine among those who don’t know Jesus, to draw them nearer to the Light.
I am very happy to report that all my saltiness has evaporated. I love Battambang! Our ministry hosts have given us bikes, so the Wolverines are the newest bike gang of Battambang. The seven of us zoom and weave across the river and roads to ministry every day. To top it all off, we have the sweetest hosts, and our living situation is the best it’s been since leaving America.
Friends, there is even an adorable neighbor puppy that we’ve named Wolverine that comes and cuddles and plays with us. YES-LIFE IS THAT GOOD.
While I have yet to teach English, I had the opportunity to give the message at our ministry’s first-ever youth group gathering. My host had said that she would be surprised if any of the kids knew who Jesus was, so I started at the beginning and told the 26 teenagers the full meaning of Christmas. I told them to ask Jesus himself if they’ve made room for him to live in their hearts. It was beautiful to share the Gospel to so many new ears! And when I do teach English, it’ll be the oldest group of students, which is high school-aged to young adults in the pre-intermediate class, and I’m really excited.
And I truly had a good time doing manual labor the other morning-we cleaned the street and I personally broke two out of the three rakes. It was grand.
Once I gave up my comparisons, Jesus showed me what I already knew underneath the selfishness that was clouding my sight: I want to teach English. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy doing manual labor. I like tangibly serving others.
Jesus was like, “Brittni. Calm down. It’s all good. I mean it. I made it. I know you.”
So I turned around and said, “Huh. Well hey, you’re right. I guess you do know me. Hear that, Thief? Get out of here. I like teaching and breaking rakes. This is the best month ever. Take that. Go home. LOSER.”
And in light of Jesus and the truth, that old thief left me and my joy alone with the rest of the month in Battambang to look forward to.
Thank you Jesus for knowing me so much better than I’ll ever know myself.
Thanks for reading this story from debrief in Phnom Penh! Updates from Battambang to come!
