Lois Flowers

Inside: A passage from The Chronicles of Narnia gave me a way to fight this contentment-stealing habit. I think it might help you too. ~

Have you ever gotten stuck in the comparison trap?

This contentment-stealing tendency to focus on what other people have that we lack has popped up here and there throughout my life, but it was especially pervasive when I was struggling with infertility.

Then I stumbled across something in my favorite book series that made me look at pregnant women differently. And that made all the difference—with those comparisons as well as in other situations where this insidious hazard threatens to snag me.

Transformational Words

The life-changing passage I’m talking about is from The Horse and His Boy, the third book in The Chronicles of Narnia. It traces the adventures of a little orphan named Shasta, an aristocratic runaway named Aravis and two talking horses as they attempt to travel back to Narnia.

Eventually, Shasta encounters Aslan on a foggy mountain path. He can’t see the lion so he doesn’t know what he is. But when he feels Aslan’s warm breath on his hand and face, he relaxes a bit and begins to share his litany of sorrows.

He tells how he had been orphaned at a young age and raised by a stern fisherman. How he had then escaped. How he and his companions had been pursued by lions at least twice, and how one lion had actually gotten to Aravis and wounded her. He also tells about all the other dangers they have faced on their journey, and how terribly hungry and thirsty and exhausted he is.

We pick up the story there:

“I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice.

“Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.

“There was only one lion,” said the Voice.

“What on earth do you mean? I’ve just told you there were at least two the first night, and—”

“There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”

“How do you know?”

“I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. … And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”

“Then it was you who wounded Aravis?”

“It was I.”

“But what for?”

“Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your own story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”

This conversation—especially the part about the lion pushing the boat—took on even greater meaning after Randy and I adopted our daughters in 2002 and 2006. Even now, I can’t get through those words without choking up.

Two Powerful Sentences

Back in our pre-adoption days, though, it was the last two sentences that grabbed our attention and wouldn’t let go.

“I am telling you your own story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”

The message was clear. The things that happen in the lives of other people are part of “their story,” and it is neither our responsibility nor our business to know why God allows them to happen.

Ouch.

And yet, what a relief!

The Pressure is Gone

We’re off the hook. We really can live our lives and trust that God is directing our steps, without continually getting bent out of shape by comparing ourselves to others.

Of course, it takes a lot of discipline to do this. Somehow, we must mentally separate ourselves from what’s going on in other people’s lives and recognize that what is happening to them has nothing to do with us.

The fact that our friends, neighbors or the stranger at the grocery store has a new job (or a fancy car, great health, a zillion social media followers, perfectly behaved children, no mortgage or whatever) and we don’t does not mean that she has God’s blessing on her life and we don’t. It simply means that God’s plan for her right now includes that thing, and His plan for us right now does not.

That’s her story, not ours.

All These Years Later …

It’s a mantra I still repeat over and again when the comparison trap threatens. (In case I forget, the words hang over my kitchen sink in a sign Randy carved for me.)

It’s also helpful to remember that just because other people sometimes seem to get what we want so easily, it doesn’t necessarily mean that their lives are perfect. We don’t see other people’s lives through their eyes; we only see them from the outside.

There’s always more to any given situation than meets the eye. And when we compare ourselves to someone else without having all the facts, we’re only hurting ourselves.

That’s their story, not ours.

I’ll Be Honest

Thinking like this is much easier said than done. But when we’re able to do it, it’s a very effective way to stay (or get) out of the comparison trap.

It keeps us from becoming (or remaining) bitter, jealous, resentful or depressed when someone else has what we want. Even better, it enables us to be able to rejoice with those who rejoice—and truly mean it.

• • •

In Case You Missed It:

I’m starting a subscriber-only email newsletter that will replace my third blog post each month, and I would love for you to sign up. As my way of saying thanks, you will receive a seven-day devotional called Faith, Fear, and the God Who Goes Before Us once you subscribe.

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I’ll send out the first edition of Courage, Dear Heart in October.

♥ Lois

P.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.