The Thief of Joy
AM Psalm 106:1-18 • PM Psalm 106:19-48
Hosea 14:1-9 • Acts 22:30-23:11 • Luke 6:39-49
“We will never again say ‘Our gods’
to what our own hands have made,
for in you the fatherless find compassion.”
The image above from today’s reading from Hosea (14:1-19) that has been on my mind for week or so now, the idea that we worship “what our own hands have made,” and put our achievements and possessions before our relationship with our Creator. It brings up an issue I’ve been wrestling with for about a year now: comparison. Last winter, I began to feel like something—some sparkle or excitement or something—was missing. I remember making an inventory of all the cool, interesting aspects of my life, things I am grateful for and care about deeply: my creative work, my job, my home, my friendships. I caught myself saying out loud to my friends and in therapy that nothing was wrong—I love my life! I built it (mostly) myself!
What I was unwilling to admit was that I was comparing myself and some aspects of my life to what other people were doing, and it was bringing me down. I was looking at what my “hands have made” and what everyone else’s “hands have made” and spending a lot of time feeling like my life didn’t contain enough romance, fellowship, fun, and joy. Instead of connecting with friends in real life, I was bumming myself out by scrolling on social media, wondering why I felt grouchy and restless all the time. Do you know the expression, “Comparison is the thief of joy”? Reader: your friend was being burgled.
I started to slowly emerge from my bummer mindset in the Spring, when I finally admitted to myself that my possessions and achievements won’t ever truly satisfy me, and they shouldn’t. They are stops along the way of life and certainly sweeten the deal, but they aren’t enduring and they won’t set me free. I was acting out my struggle to accept this by looking outside myself and my life to see what more I could be doing or having, and it made everything so much more painful. It was like being wrapped up in barbed wire; every time I moved, it hurt more. I needed to be still and ask for help.
Last week on Tuesday, I was talking with someone I trust about patterns and themes we notice in life. I mentioned that for most of the last year, I’ve been struggling with comparison, but it was starting to shift since I’d brought that struggle to G_d in prayer, and asked for a healing. The next morning as I left for work, I noticed a recently vacated cicada shell resting on the roof of my car. I stopped to take it in, and to take a deep breath in gratitude. Freedom. The glorious work of G_d’s own hands.
Written by Jane V. Blunschi
Jane V. Blunschi is a writer and a teacher living in Fayetteville, Arkansas.