He’s been with me since I was born. I wish I didn’t know him. I wish that he would just disappear. I hate him. He robs me of contentment and peace. He robes me with self-righteousness and despair. Even when I think he is gone, he pops up his head from the shadows of my thoughts with shouts that are hard to ignore.
When I do something well he tells me I am the greatest. He makes me feel like I am superior to those around me. He reminds me of my giftedness, abilities, and accomplishments. He points out the flaws in the people that seem to threaten me so that I feel a sense of comfort. He makes me feel so good about myself that I end up thinking of no one but myself. He loves to help me love me more.
When I do something wrong he tells me I am the worst. He makes me feel like a failure. He reminds me of all the ways I am incompetent, lacking, and unable. He shows me how everyone around me succeeds in the very ways that I fail. He makes me feel such great despair that I sometimes wish I didn’t exist. He loves to help me hate me more.
Yet amid his loud shouts for self-righteousness and despair, there is another voice. A voice that comes from One who is meek and lowly in heart. His voice is neither flattering nor condemning. Rather, His voice is true. He speaks with authority. He speaks as though I am His. He tells me that I am worse than I think, yet loved more than I could imagine. He tells me that neither my successes nor failures define me. He tells me that I am not defined by my record, but by His. He loves to help me forget about me and rejoice in Him. He reminds me that Comparison has a loud voice, but that he is a conquered foe. He reminds me that Comparison doesn’t have to control my life, because my life is already His.
Comparison, you can’t have my joy. Because my joy isn’t found in what I think of me, but in He who died for me.