Community vs. comparison

As I was holding and admiring my sweet, newborn niece, I was remembering that sliver of time when my babies were brand new, sleep was erratic, and hormones enhanced my somersaulting emotions of joy, fear, elation, and panic.

I also remembered a conversation a few months ago with my sister-in-law Amy, who also recently had her third little boy, and the relief we both felt as we confessed how wonderfully difficult those first days and weeks could be. It is a gift when we can be vulnerable enough with each other to stop pretending we have it all together.

No matter how hard we try, I think most women would admit that it's very, very hard not to compare – whether it's experiences, kids, houses, bodies, budgets, or even grocery carts as we walk through the store. 

I've been seeing this Theodore Roosevelt quote pop up often in the past months: "Comparison is the thief of joy." I attribute this directly to social media -- meaning Facebook, blogs, Pinterest, etc. are where I've read this quote over and over, and social media itself is what has inspired the need of so many of us to repeat those words over and over.  

While Facebook may give us a place to connect, it also gives us a place to compare. And, if you've been on Pinterest, haven't you at least once felt intimidated by some great idea someone else managed to pull off?  Seriously, how can a creation made out of empty toilet paper rolls cause me to feel so small?

In a Mother's Day message that you really should watch, one of my favorite authors, Shauna Niequist, said it's not that we exactly lie on Facebook, it's more like "selective truth telling." We post pictures of our clean-faced, smiling children, not the chocolate-stained, temper-tantrum throwing kids strapped into the backseat and being taken for a ride with the shear purpose of getting them to sit still long enough to fall asleep and take a much-needed nap. (What's that? You saw me driving circles around my neighborhood this weekend? Well, yes, I may be speaking from very recent personal experience.)

It's hard to be authentic when we are trying to make it look so easy.

(And we are so afraid to be seen as whiners. Ask any mother -- we really, really don't need to hear any more whining.)

So, in the interest of authenticity (not complaining)...I enjoyed this long Memorial Day weekend, a chance to play outside with my kids, spend time with family, sleep in until 7 a.m. (!), and go on a very nice date with my husband. But, at least one of my children was crying during 90% of the family boat ride we took yesterday, I got food poisoning from that date with my husband, we ran out of toilet paper (a little tricky considering the aforementioned incident), and I felt constant twinges of guilt as I thought about the 200+ assignments waiting not-so patiently to be graded before the end of this school year.  Oh, and don't forget about that tantrum-induced drive around the neighborhood.

So, if I'm going to make a commitment to authenticity in my life, what will that look like in practical terms? 

Maybe I should turn off the computer when I feel the need to compare, when my time would be much better spent re-focusing on something or someone else. 

Also, I need to turn my face to grace more often – grace not just for myself, but for others, remembering that most of us are probably carrying around more burdens and baggage than it appears at first glance, or first post.

A few years ago I went out to dinner with some friends and their young daughter. When the waitress dropped off the little girl's pizza, her mom turned to her and said, "Let's thank Jesus for your food." With a puzzled look on her face, she retorted, "That waitress is named Jesus?"

I need to remember this -- remember to look for Jesus in others -- when the cashier snaps at me, the car in front of me doesn't use a blinker, when an 8th grader rolls her eyes as I try to teach a lesson. I also need to remember this when I want to criticize the woman with the perfectly manicured nails, when someone makes a different parenting decision than me, or when I am the one rolling my eyes as I read that post about someone else's perfect weekend. Though comparison causes insecurity, it often manifests in judgement and bitterness. 

Maybe if we tried to see more of Jesus in each other, maybe if we turned to Jesus a little more often rather than pretending we have it all under control, we could create more community than comparisons.