The Reclaimed Tree Stump in My Own Eye

I was in the waiting room of a doctor’s office when I picked up an issue of Better Homes and Gardens.  As I flipped through the colorful pages of recipes and what sort of origami can make your child’s birthday party table festive, I came across an article about how a woman had made use of a small space.

The woman had found a place for her desk by converting her kitchen pantry into a desk nook.

She sat poised in front of this desk in the picture.  She had lined the back of her pantry with vintage foil wallpaper.  It was striking. The paper had deep silvers and greens with an ornate black paisley pattern swirling over the top.  It looked like the walls of Sherlock Holmes’ house on Baker Street.  (The most recent BBC version. When it comes to Sherlock –go Cumberbatch or go home.)  In front of the wallpaper she had mounted crisp white shelves artfully arranged with books, supplies and decorative objects.   Under the shelves was her small desk: a clean surface with a closed laptop on top of it.

She sat in front of her desk and she looked perfect.

She had her dark blond hair pulled back in a tight low bun at the base of her tiny neck.  She had lovely features.  She was wearing a grey loose sweater that hung gracefully from her slender frame.  She had a lighter gray scarf all gauzy and airy draped around her neck.

She was sitting in jeans with her legs crossed in the slipknot sort of a way that only a very slim person can get away with.  This is the when a woman crosses her legs so that her calves lie side by side against each other.  A heavier person cannot achieve this effect.  When we cross our legs it always kind of makes the shape of a seven.

The whole picture was tasteful, elegant, lovely, but not showy.

And she was sitting on…a reclaimed tree stump, a nice hunk of wood with bark on the sides and everything.

I stared at this picture.  I wanted to hate her and love her.  I wanted her to be my best friend and I wanted to push her down a flight of stairs all at the same time.  All the sudden I had become the creepy roommate in every B list horror movie.

I mean, this woman had it all together.  I mean, you have to really have it all together if you’re hauling in tree parts and thinking, “This is a chair now.”  I mean, what kind of back support can a reclaimed tree stump give you?  None, that’s how much.  Maybe this lady does so much Pilates that she is her own back support.

I bet she does.  I bet she does Pilates every morning at dawn.  No, earlier.  Dawn is for those who sleep in, lazybones.  She is up before everyone, even Marines, doing Pilates and making a kale smoothie whilst packing organic lunches and sorting out her budget at her perfect, perfect desk!!

When I think about that freak out over this poor woman and her resourcefulness I just keep thinking, what’s the matter with me?  What is the matter with me that I only see someone else’s accomplishments as a light on my failings?

She just looked like what I should be, thin, organized and stylish.

This is the ugliest kind of thinking.  I reduce her to what I saw in that picture.  Do I really think she’s never hurt?  She’s never been frustrated?  She doesn’t feel like a failure at times?  She probably felt like a failure at some point on the same day she took that picture.

This kind of thinking falls under the same category of liking what I see in the mirror.

It’s that deceptive feeling like there’s some sort of magic equation.  When I am this weight I will feel this way.  When my house is always clean I will feel this way.  Just one more room to decorate.  It is the lie everyone chases.

I think this is a hard subject to wrap my head around because it’s tied to a much deeper question that I have a hard time expressing.

Worth.  When I compare, when I add myself against others, I am measuring to see what I am worth.

If I think I am better than someone else, a better parent, with a better outfit = 2 points.  If someone is better than me = lose a point.  A constant scale measuring to see how I add up. Worth.

And another woman’s worth I either want to assimilate (she is my best friend) or annihilate (push her down a flight of stairs).  I know this makes me sound like some strange Star Trek race of people, but I think this is what I am doing when I “love/hate” someone for their success.

This kind of thinking is so wrong I don’t really know where to begin.  So let’s start with what I know about God.

I ask myself what I am worth. I am worth Christ’s death on the cross.  But this, although important, does not give me any credit.  He died for me; he died for all.  This doesn’t make me special.

Wow. Ooff.  That last paragraph might have been one of the worst things ever uttered.

I am special and valuable to God, but not because of anything I did or how I dress or any of that.  I did not earn that invaluable worth; it was given.

So what is the matter with me? Everything and Nothing.

This is the beauty of the Gospel.  I have nothing to bring to the table, but I win the whole pot because someone else played for me.

Someone else has given my life value in redemption.

But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

So all of this.  Getting my house in order, good wife, good mom, good steward of my body, is not because this is how I will have value, but is because this is how I say thank you for the value given.

Boom.

So how does this play out practically?  I don’t like abstract solutions.  I want to know what do I do, step by step, when I am observing someone and I am intimidated and envious of their life.  I was discussing this with friends and the solution they suggested was pray.

Pray for them and whatever they are going through.  Paint them for who they really are: not a thorn in my side, but a person and a soul, hurt, scared, trying just like the rest of us. 

And pray and ask for forgiveness, because although I may talk about this playfully, this really boils down to good old fashioned jealousy.  The comparison game might actually be sin.

And maybe I might be able to see people for who they really are, and in the same breath see me for who I really am.  Forgiven.  Forgiven and free.  And maybe I can start to feel this way.