further up and further in

As a kid growing up with a much older brother, I lost a lot of games playing against him. Baseball. Basketball. Checkers. Video games. Street races. Ping-pong (especially ping-pong).

For years, I'd lose. And lose again. And lose some more.  

"Why can't I be as good as him?" I'd think. The obvious answer was that he was older, farther along in development as a person. 

Truth is, when we compare ourselves to others in any area of life, it gets challenging. This also happens when it comes to faith. 

We look at other people's relationship with God, and then we look at our own. And sometimes we can't help but think 'I don't feel like I have the same sort of relationship with God that they do.' And you think this in a way that leaves you wishing your relationship with God was different. Was more. Was more vibrant, more connected, more everything. More like theirs. 

So let's unpack.

Truth #1: We're meant to pursue God and our relationship with God with others, in community (Heb. 10:25). It's essential. So avoiding all comparisons by avoiding all people can't be the way to go (sorry, introverts!). 

Truth #2: Comparison is the thief of our joy?  Sometimes. This can drag on our countenance. By constantly wondering why our relationship with God isn't like others, we can easily overlook the fact that God relates to us uniquely.

Case in point: In John 21, Jesus tells the apostle Peter about Peter's own future. Peter then (referring to John the apostle) asks Jesus, "Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to Peter, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!” So this isn't just a comparison we're prone to make. The disciples did this too. Jesus lovingly redirects Peter's attention: 

"You follow me."

Truth #3: Comparison can't just be the thief of joy. It can also be the thief of complacency. And this can be a backhanded lift to our countenance.

It's a fact of life that if you want to improve at any task, you put yourself in the company of people who are better than you at that task, and know what you don't (yet) know. 

If I want to improve at tennis, I play tennis against people better than me. If I want to improve at singing, I sing with voices more developed than my own. It's a well-tested way to truly improve. 

So observing someone's relationship with God, and thinking 'I wish I had that' can help motivate us to know God more like that person knows God. We're meant to grow with God by watching others (1 Corinthians 11:1).

First, we should check our perceptions. Comparing what we feel inside vs what we perceive on the outside about others is rarely a fair comparison. Knowing more about that person will help our comparing be more fair to ourselves.

Second, we sometimes learn how to love something by observing others. An older sister with a new younger sister learns how to hold the baby by watching how her parents hold the baby. A guitar player learns how to care for their instrument by watching a more accomplished player take care of their guitar.

"Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way." -Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz.

Do others have a relationship with God that we'd like to emulate? Certainly hope so. Are we meant to motivate one another to seek the Lord? Absolutely. The funky thing is that pursuing a better, closer relationship with God might not make you more like someone else. It'll more likely make you a stronger, healthier, more vibrant version of yourself.

sewer rat-sorta hope

Let's take some of the sepia-enhance filter off what we consider as hope. In order for our hope to be more than just wispy wishes, our hope needs grit.

Hope can't be a dainty, sickly flower that only survives in dry, semi-shade terrain, free of bugs and any foot traffic. It's gotta be like a dandelion; a weed, capable of surviving any and all conditions. Oh, you think you got rid of the dandelion because you mowed the lawn? Surprise, mother-grass cutter: it's back.

Hope can't be that women's cardigan with super explicit laundering instructions ("Wash Cold by itself in Distilled, Filtered, Non-Tap Water, Turned Inside Out, on Delicate Cycle. Once cleaned, lay flat to dry across bamboo-infused slats with 1/4 inch separation between slats, taking care to smooth out any wrinkles. Use organic latex gloves when laundering for best results.") Hope needs fortitude. 

Hope needs to be the sturdy, well-constructed t-shirt that be be washed hot, cold, with any other clothes. You can spill on it, bleed on it, and it'll get clean. It can be dried hot or medium, or not at all. Over and over. For years.

Hope can't be the affluent house cat that only eats specially formulated canned food purchased at the most expensive pet store in town. Hope has to be the sewer rat: capable of digesting anything, willing to forage and subsist on scraps and cold sludge. Willing to live with the gunk of life to find its way.

You get the idea. 

The hope that God gives needs to be able to hold onto us when we lack the strength, the resolve, the willpower to hold onto it. Hope kept away in a glass case is not hope. Hope needs training. The gnarly part of this is that the only way hope gets to be this tough, this rugged, is by enduring setback after setback, disappointment after disappointment, interrupted occasionally by glimmers of progress and love.

We like the look of a battle-tested warrior or sage when she's resolute, standing firm, digging in. She only got that way by enduring countless smaller blows and training.

Are you in such a place these days? You taking the setbacks and defeats, trying to stand up underneath them? This is how hope that endures and withstands is formed. 

We get knocked back, and not gently. We get our bearings, clear the stars from our eyes. We rise, and we push again forward.