This weekend I went to the Festival of Faith and Writing. It was amazing. I will write more on this later. The salient point here, though, was the final plenary session. It was Rachel Held Evans, one of my favorites, and I so needed to hear what she had to say.
“If
Only I Had Her Verbs! On Jealousy, Creativity, and a Generous God.”
The
title got me, because I had more than an inkling she was going to go
there. There, to that place I knew would be raw and painful to the
touch. Like the time I had to let my husband dig a piece of glass out
of my foot while I cried and grasped the chair like it was a rope
hanging off the Sears Tower. It had to come out so I could walk. But
the process threatened my polite pastor's vocabulary.
Jealousy.
Jealousy
of other writers, other pastors, other professionals who are where I
want to be. Saying what I want to say. With platforms that actually
get them heard. And I am jealous.
Yes,
it's ugly and counterproductive and hard to admit. But it's real. And
I don't think I'm alone.
A
few weeks ago, I mentioned on my Facebook author page that I have one
prayer practically every day: “More You, less me.” Short and to
the all-too-mortifying point. I despise my own obsession with me. But
I have a tough time getting over myself.
Is
anyone with me here?
I
echo John the Baptist so often in my personal moments of
chastisement. “He must increase, and I must decrease.” God,
that's what I want. But I lack the mad skills to know exactly how that happens when the mind is an insistent thing clamoring for me to
live inside its walls and telling me the internet reception is better
there anyway.
It
doesn't matter if it's the demon on one shoulder telling me I'm the
best thing since CS Lewis and why don'y people recognize that
or the demon on the other shoulder insisting I'm a huge fraud with no
talent who should have gone to law school as planned because at least
there putting on a show is acceptable business.
Neither one, you
might have noticed, is an angel. Both have the same goal—to get us
to think about ourselves. Only ourselves. And to obsess over where
those selves stand in the world of other selves. Above or below? We
have to know.
(For
the record, I have never believed myself to be the best thing
since CS Lewis. That is called hyperbole. Just so you don't think I'm
that far gone. And the immediate need to make sure you don't
think badly of me just proved my point handily, I believe.)
I
took to heart what she said, and I vowed to make it mine. “There is
enough room out there for everyone. God is a generous God.” I know
this to be true. I believe it with everything in me. I want to live
it.
Then,
with those best intentions evidently not-so-firmly in place, I open
Facebook on Monday to hear all about my writer friends who are doing
great things. And all those intentions sink in a sea of “That's so
not fair!/ Why is that not my life?/ Well goody for you little Miss
Sunshine I hope you enjoy it while it lasts.”
I
can be pretty rude in the grasp of jealousy.
Usually,
I am content to be very happy for others' success. I can want mine
and love theirs. But some days, it feels like their comes at
the expense of mine. That so smacks of older brother rivalry of his
little prodigal bro. I don't like being that brother.
Why
is there such a disconnect between what we know to be true and what
we feel to be true when our dreams are threatened? Why do we listen
to those twin demons? Why does someone else have to be less than so I
can be more? Why can't we live like we believe “There is enough
room out there for everyone because God is a generous God”?
I
think the culprit, as usual, isn't anther person. It's fear. Fear
that our dreams will not look like we want them to. That they won't ever look like anything. Fear can cause
some ugly, ugly stuff to come out of our hearts and into our
thoughts.
What do you do when fear makes you ugly? I'm pretty sure
it's not just me.
Less
me. More you. God, every, every day. Until it's true.
1 comment:
Hey lovely,
I just wanted to check-in. I haven't heard about the Festival of Faith and Writing, but it sounds like something I need.
I think the thing which makes me ugly isn't jealousy, but control. When I want and I work and I try to mold what I want instead of letting God do his thing.
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