Lord have mercy and bring the tub of ice cream, we females cycle throughout our lives in the area of confidence. While some days we are luxurious and oblivious know-it-alls, the very next day our superhero, hormonal abilities assist us to morph into insecure, judgy messes. I will be the first to admit that I can go "glum" and downright short-sighted in my vision when I believe that my performance has fallen short of expectations.
It begins as soon as we are old enough to sense it. We were just wee little things when the observations and comparisons began. Do any of these take you back?
"CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I'm so excited, I just can't believe it"
So, the resonance of feminine voices continue as the list goes on and on. We have to grin a little bit in remembrance. After all, women are wired to forge relationships through the use of our social skills. We feel connected to share personal details as we draw close together in empathy. Plainly speaking, we just like to talk. We're storytellers.
There's a line though, isn't there? There is a delicate, intricate dance between our confidence in who God made us to be, and our understanding of how we fit into this world. We compare ourselves to others, as though we are in negotiation with God; deciding whether we are good enough to accept the skills and talents freely given. He calls them gifts. Some days we are thrilled by them, thankful even...others we worry that they are not enough.
There was somebody else who felt that his power, influence, and attraction were not enough. He has a lot of names, but for ease, we'll call him plain 'ole Satan. I like to think of him as the original green-eyed monster. "And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light," Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 11:14.
Isaiah tells us what happened to that guy a long time ago:
"How you have fallen from heaven,
morning star, son of the dawn!
You have been cast down to the earth,
you who once laid low the nations!"
He lost sight of God and focused on himself. He lost everything. In other words, now he slithers around this world with all of his baggage, knowing and hating that he is not nearly as marvelous and wonderful, powerful and holy as the One True God and encourages all of us living here to do the same. Everything about him is fake. And so, residing in this earthly zip code and falling into human nature, we become ensnared as well.
Fake. Faux. Fabricated. Different than we are. Smarter. More beautiful. Gaining likability. Fake.
Comparison is the catalyst of things fake. In succumbing to the pressure of "good enough", we are in danger of our social presentation on the outside not matching the wonder of His likeness on the inside. His very Holy Spirit living in us.
We were made in His image, ladies. If that's not enough, nothing on this blue spinning ball will ever be enough. Our eyes are open now! In this season of New Year's resolutions, promises to change, and increased expectations, we can morph and compare like that slimy, unsatisfied guy, Satan.
Or we can dance in the acceptance of God's love, casting that acceptance onto others as we work gracefully and diligently toward our goals, confidently even, embracing our uniqueness. In doing that, on relying on Him, we give others permission to do the same.
If you want to be changed...if you need to be changed...let Him show you what needs changing through His word!
In love, acceptance, and in recognition of the beautiful Holy Spirit living in you,
"For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." (Galatians 1:10)
"I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength". (Philippians 4:13)
And if that didn't convince you...here are two inspiring guys who, under no circumstances, wonder whether or not God has made them superheroes...
Photo Credits: David Olkarny and Ondrej Supitar, Unsplash
M.S. in Marriage and Family Therapy. Earns Crossfit participation trophies. Disaster cook. Enthusiastic wife. #Boymom. Clutches her faith, not her pearls.