Humbled beyond comfort

I was told from the beginning not to compare; it will either set me up for failure, or it will set my standards too low, and make me satisfied with a less of person than who God has made me to be. I've also been told that its not what I do that matters, but who I am.

But here I am, attempting to achieve all four matters at once and not succeeding at any one of them. It's easy not to compare when I'm quite satisfied with myself. But when I want to be something that I am not (nor can ever be?)... then the gate is opened, and I can't seem to resist.

Before, when I had a set back or failure I could always turn to one of my resources, and use it as a crutch until something else in me was able to shoulder the load. If I was not the smartest, then I could be the pretty one, the one who had a little "extra" that made people like me, even if I didn't quite make the cut; and if I was not the most attractive, then I could be the smart one, marking sweet "A's" on all my works; and if neither of those was working for me, then I would turn to my personality, my family, my hobbies... I could always find something that would make me worthwhile to the society that I lived in.

And now, I've exhausted each of my resources. I've compared myself with the least of them and have come up empty.

Perhaps now, God is able to use me. Perhaps it was Him who allowed me to run out; after all, anything that I did have was a gift from Him, to be on lease for just a bit, until He deemed that I no longer needed them.

I asked Him to break me, so that I could have as intimate relationship as possible with Him. And once again, He has remained faithful. How does it feel to realize that I have neither the things that I do, nor that which makes me who I am? It feels like the tears that refuse to break from the corner of my eyes -I can't even feel the relief of pitying myself.

Jesus says that His yoke is easy and His burden is light. I wonder, when I will be willing to trade my patched army sack, infested sleeping bag, and grocery cart with tin cans, for His cot under the Willow with a glass of lemon water.