Mostly the Ugly

So I was just wonderin'...when exactly did I become a jealous person?

I know there have been times that I've been jealous of something here or there.  But this seems different.  More systemic.  I'm not sure if facebook makes it worse, or just holds a mirror up to what was already there.  Here are some of things I find myself envying these days...

-people who are married
-people who are engaged
-people who are dating
-people who have children
-people who are pregnant
-people who are adopting
-people with money
-people who are being poor together with someone they love
-people with friends that live in the same area
-people who get to be with family a lot
-people whose family vacations together
-people who don't live alone
-people who get to travel
-people who live overseas
-people who get to go on vacation; any vacation; even a crappy, cheap, overnighter; as long as they get to do it with someone they like
-people who have their moms around (even if they're complaining about said mom)
-people who are part of a church
-people who wish they had more alone time
-people who wish they didn't have to wash so many diapers
-people who are dealing with the stress of wedding planning
-people who have someone to sit with at church

Did I mention the systemic thing?

So I'm this weird combination of emotional and logical.  You would think these two things would balance themselves out, but they don't.  At least not in my head.

Anyway, in my head I know that jealousy is an emotion and emotions don't necessarily correspond with truth.  I know that the truth is that I am blessed.  I know that jealousy usually stems from a lack of thankfulness.  I also know that I have a LOT to be thankful for.  Really.  I'm not just trying to sound spiritual.  God has blessed me.

So I think, yes.  I shall be more thankful.  But then this sort of thing happens:  "God, thank you for this cute little house you've given me to rent.  I'm so thankful that I'm not sharing walls with strangers...of course, it's always so quiet and lonely.  I wish I had a family to fill it up..."

That didn't go so well.  I try again.

"Lord, I really appreciate this new job.  It's so so so great.  If only I had someone to tell about my day when I come home.  Someone to share my life with.  Someone who wants to hear from me as often as I want to be heard."

What the what?!?

So then I'm like, "Ok, I suck at being thankful.  If I can be thankful better, I should be less jealous.  So I need to be better at thankfulness...now how to do that?"

Ask God to show me people who have it worse than me.

Right?!?  You're sitting there on the other side of your computer nodding in encouragement.  I can almost see you.

Yah.  I thought that was a good idea, too.  Here's how that went...

"God, look at that person.  Her husband is battling cancer.  She's probably going to be a widow in less than a year.  She's got two kids.  God, would you bless that woman?  And not to seem harsh, but thanks that my husband isn't dying of cancer.  I really hate cancer."  And then I think of that saying, "It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."  And I think, at least she'll have her memories.  She'll always know that once there was a man who loved her and chose her.  At least she'll have her children.  Then I feel like a total jerk.  And I still don't feel thankful.  Guilty and frustrated.  Not thankful.

Is this too real for you?  Have you stopped nodding encouragingly and started backing away from the computer?  If so, I wouldn't really blame you.  I'm not especially impressed with myself, either.

Anyway, there it is.  I've become a jealous person.  I hate it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I am open to (and hoping for) godly counsel here.  If you've successfully overcome this problem, do me a favor and tell me about it!  Thanks.

Thirst

I’ve been trying to figure out a way to explain it.  Feelings can be hard to capture.  Challenging to explain.  Impossible to justify.

It’s like I’m thirsty.  Not just, “I could use a drink.”  But the kind of thirsty that makes a person willing- no, thrilled; DESPERATE to put their face into a warm, stagnant brown puddle and suck up as much water as possible.  This is how I feel socially.  I’m so VERY thirsty, and I’ve been thirsty for so long that I can’t really remember how it feels to be fully hydrated.

So this is me- real thirsty, to summarize, and I see water everywhere around me.  I know it’s in every house, at every restaurant, in every mini-mart, but I can’t seem to get at it.  If I want the water, I have to ask for it.  Which is fine.   I don’t mind asking, but when you ask for water, people give you just a little bit.  Like a thimbleful, or maybe a shot-glass worth.  And I am so thankful for that little bit of water, but it doesn't meet my need.  Before I’m even done swallowing my body is crying out for more.

Like those last weeks each year in elementary school, before school let out and you had just come in from the sweltering blacktop of recess.  You waiting impatiently in the raggedy line for your turn at the drinking fountain, thinking you could drink a whole gallon of water right now.  Your turn finally arrives and you slurp up every single drop.  You don’t even worry about your ponytail, lying forgotten in the puddle of the basin.  You drink with the fervor of a castaway who’s finally found a stream of sweet water, and then suddenly your teacher announces that your turn is over.  The kid behind you is on your heels and though you’re nowhere near done, you’re forced to move on. 

You’re not going to die.  You will survive until your next chance to snatch a drink.  But you’re still thirsty.  Forever thirsty.

People visit me.  I visit people.  Sometimes someone stays the night, or I get a few visits in a row.  This is good.  I appreciate those gulps of social-water.  But then they leave.  I drive back to my little house.  Alone.  I go to work alone.  I come home alone.  I spend my evenings alone.  I go to bed.  Alone.  There is so very much alone in my life; alone-ness that soaks up the social-moisture like a giant, dry sponge.  Ruthless and uncaring of my constant social-dehydration headache.

Why am I like this?  Am I the only one?  I try to do what I can to fix it.  I try to be friendly.  I make myself vulnerable over and over, to meet people; to make friends; to try a new Bible study or church.  I go where the water is, but I’m still so thirsty.  

I know I’m needy.  And I wish that I could change that but I don’t know what to do about it.  How to fix it.  How to get the water I need.

Just so thirsty.