Comparison — and all that comes with it

Last week I had strange dreams each night. I would wake up scared or sad or confused. I didn't once wake up rested. I felt stale instead of refreshed, as if all of my enthusiasm for the day had already been sucked out of me before I even lifted the covers.

For a while I blamed the winter blues. I ate a juicy orange, practiced yoga, and even went to a Zumba class. But then -- slowly, because my processing is a long, slow affair -- I started to realize that it wasn't just the end of January exhaustion I was feeling. It was the life-sucking death trap of comparison. Comparison commingled with relying on my own strength in lieu of God.

I didn't mean to compare.

I didn't mean to doubt God.

I just worried I wasn't good enough, or right enough, or well, frankly, enough all around. I have practiced these feelings for so long that they have inevitably become habitual. Instead of life, I carried around stale comparison, which was heavy and tiring. I spent my days worrying about this and that, and looking online to see what others were doing. What I saw was good. People in the world are doing good, lovely work. But immediately I felt like what they were doing would be far better and lovelier than anything I might possibly do.

I'm over at (in)courage today and would love for you to come along!

When your sister has a baby

When your sister is expecting a baby, she asks you to come and see her. It's the day after you get home from Africa and your eyes are tired and your mind is mushy with jet leg, but you've missed her dearly so you go to her house. She hands you a gift bag, which she says is your "welcome home" present, and she and her husband sit on their couch staring at you, waiting for you to open it. You do. It's a baby onesie that says I love my aunt, so of course you promptly burst into tears.

When your sister is expecting a baby, she sends you the ultrasound. You stare at the slope of his already defined nose, and the purse of his already puckered lips, and his head -- his beautiful head, and you think I can't believe I'm in love with someone I've never even met before. But you are. You're head over heels and he doesn't even know you exist.

When your sister is expecting a baby, you think of all the ways life is changing. You think about how next year at this time he'll be a few months old, and in October he'll be crawling, and at Christmas he'll almost be one! You wonder what colour his eyes will be, and if he'll have hair, and secretly hope he'll grow up to be a writer.

When your sister is expecting a baby, you write him love notes. You start with Dear baby nephew, you are already so desperately loved by me, people might think I'm pitiful. You make a vow to overlove and 0vervalue him all the days of your life. You go to the book store and read children's books that make you cry because he's growing up so fast -- and he hasn't even left the womb yet.

When your sister is expecting a baby, you buy him every tiny shirt and pants that you see at Old Navy. The baby part of the store is like a gravitational pull -- you can't say no even if you try. So you find miniature moccasins, and Roots sweatpants and then you buy yourself ones in adult size to match.

When your sister is expecting a baby, she texts you and says she's having contractions, and you can't do much of anything because he's coming (!!). You watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy to take your mind off what's happening a city away, but you can't stop thinking of your sister. This anticipation is far better than even Christmas. You wonder and pray and keep wondering and praying.

And hours later your phone rings.

And your sister tells you Noah Justice has arrived.

When your sister has a baby, you go to the hospital to see them. You see his face -- everything pronounced and tiny and beautiful. His eyes are wide and deep blue and staring up at you. You think how can I possibly feel this much love? Your capacity to love someone grows astronomically. You'll never love the same after this. Time goes fast and slow all at once. He stares at your sister and her husband, pure love radiating from his tiny body. You hold him and whisper promises into his downy hair, telling him how strong his momma is, and what a brave daddy he has.

When your sister has a baby, you start to understand God's love a fraction more. You think -- if God loves me half as much as I love this baby, he must love me very much --

...and yet you know deep inside he loves you infinitely more.

5 hand lettering tips and tricks

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1. Never underestimate the power of the basics.

I'm talking the basics of the basics. If hand lettering tools were people, your pencil is your favourite sister and your sharpie is your boyfriend (and he is fiiiiine). What I'm saying is, there's no need getting caught up in buying fancy markers or pens when the basics are what you'll always come back to.

2. Be a cheater.

I know there are a lot of hand letterers out there who don't sketch out their phrase in pencil first -- they've trained themselves to form their letters freehand, not needing a sketch. That's great for them! But most of the time I'm a cheater and I'm not ashamed to admit it. You shouldn't be ashamed either, particularly if you're just starting, and even more so if this is just supposed to be a fun release of your creativity.

So cheat. Sketch your phrase out in pencil first. And then dive in with that fine-sharpie-boyfriend of yours.

3. Down strokes thick, up strokes thin.

This is key to making your letters look rich and full. It'll take a little bit of time to get used to, but slowly start to draw out a letter and visualize: which part of your letter does your pencil stroke down? which part of your letter does your pencil stroke up? On those "down" strokes, fill it in with a little more thickness. Your letter will have so much more dimension!

If you look at this picture of how I lettered hosanna, you can see that my "down" strokes are thick, and my "up" strokes are thin.

4. Don't copy -- instead, make it your own.

There's no sense in blatantly copying someone -- where's the art in that? Inspiration is different than copying. I'm inspired by many artists, my most favourites being Ali Makes Things, Lindsay Letters, and Kal Barteski (a good old Canadian girl!). I never copy them, but instead become inspired by their lettering, which allows me to pour more of myself into my own art.

5. Quit worrying and have fun.

Stress isn't fun. Worry isn't fun. Becoming overwhelmed because your letters may not look like someone else's isn't fun.

Art is fun. Tapping into who you are is fun. Hand lettering because you want to try something new and exciting and creative is fun.

So don't get stressed. Just let loose and chill out, and dive into something you may fall completely in love with.

I accept

I begin a thirty day yoga practice eleven days late. I clear out a spot in the chaos of my room, patting myself on the back for undoing my mat on my hardwood floor. It's a start, I think. Showing up. I place my feet on the squishy purple, roll my body into myself and breathe.

Another breath.

The girl in the video congratulates me for arriving on my mat. "Thank you for showing up today," she says. I inhale slow, trying to remember the last time I thanked someone for showing up. If I ever have. I can't remember.

The girl's skinny, she's smiling -- she reminds me of all the things we seem to long for come January.

"I accept." She continues. "That's our mantra for today."

I accept, I say quietly, taking another long, slow breath. But I'm not sure if I actually do.

I cross my legs and close my eyes -- and I think I'm not supposed to be thinking, just breathing -- but I keep thinking anyway. Do I accept myself as I am?

Shauna Niequist said, "With people you can connect and you can compare, but you can't do both."

A cycle of comparison hurts me far more than it could ever heal me. Do I accept this life God has given me -- these hands, these gifts, these exhilarating adventures, these terrifying prospects, these boring days?

I stare at the girl on the video who is pretty and skinny and smiling  -- and do I accept myself as I am?

I think of my goals scratched down on paper -- dreams I desperately long for -- and do I accept myself as I am?

I think of a God of whom I'm called his beloved -- and do I accept myself as I am?

I would like to be tender and honest and a tiny bit gritty. I would like to congratulate someone on showing up because sometimes that's the bravest thing a person can do. I would like to connect instead of compare, and I would really like to accept myself as I am. Not in a few years, but now, in this moment.

I accept. I squeeze my eyes tighter and take another breath. I accept. Maybe not yet. But at least I'll keep trying.

A thousand ways we can change the world

I watercolour gardens because I've longed to plant flowers but never have. So I create them on paper instead: roses and tulips and lilies, because they're Sarah's favourite, and I keep thinking I want to paint sunflowers too. I'd paint them on my arms if I could, and then they'd sink into my veins, all yellow and dainty and fresh, and I'd be growing a garden deep inside of me. Would I feel brighter then? Would the world feel brighter too?

How can I change this world?

I wonder. Don't we all wonder on these January evenings? It feels like the Earth's been reset, but we know it's still spinning. Midnight strikes and the world is tinged sparkly and golden, but we see the news. We hear the stories.  Some of us go away for awhile, keeping the blinds drawn because the sun hurts our eyes as well as our insides.

The cynics say resolutions are pointless. The hopeful make lists of the things that they plan to do different. I'm not one nor the other, though I have a word dangling on a necklace that marks what I hold for this brand new year.

We'll screw up a few times -- look, I already have. We'll celebrate hard, and maybe buy bits of confetti to toss into friends hair. There's a time for everything, and sadness and celebration are among that everything.

I'd like to change the world, I think.

I lay in bed at one in the morning, dreaming up a million different things -- watercolour gardens, and kind words, a dozen lilies handed to a sad girl.

There's a thousand ways we can change the world each day. I think it begins inside -- that soft place right next to your beating heart. The resolutions are fine, and the one word is good, but if we're not looking out at the world and wondering how we might be a part of some change, then what is the point of this new, clean slate? Well, I'm not sure.

Changing the world might look different for you than me. I think that's beautiful. We're all capable of bringing more yellow to the grey, of adding brightness to the dreary dark. Whether that's through daisies, or paint, or a cup of tea. We all have ways of changing our world. The world in front of us, and the world far away.

There's a thousand ways we can change the world each day.

So I'm going to.

Well friends, it's a brand new year! If you want to make sure not to miss a post this year, subscribe below, and I'll drop them straight in your inbox. 

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