The Best of the Best
This week I’m in the throes of a family vacation. There is something so wonderful about getting out of my own house, where there are fourteen million things that I could/should be doing, and recharging at my mom’s house (it helps that my mom is a super-grandma who helps a ton, spoils the kids, and has a pool in her backyard). We road tripped down over the weekend, and we’ve been spending our days relaxing and relishing not waking up to an alarm.
I’m still relatively new with this whole “weekly blogger” thing, so I didn’t have one written before vacation, thinking that I would have plenty of time to get one done before the end of the week. I fooled myself into thinking that without the demands of everyday life, I’d be swimming with time (and motivation) to get some writing done. Here we are at the end of the week, and I’ve spent hours in the pool, played countless board games, watched a few movies, and completed zero writing.
So first thing this morning I opened my computer and stared at a blank document. The blinking black cursor taunted me as I flipped through blog ideas in my mind. I dismissed each thought that arose, telling myself that it isn’t clever enough, original enough, good enough.
At this, I stopped. How many times a day do I tell myself that I’m not good enough? My body isn’t perfect. My kids definitely don’t behave like other, properly-behaved kids. My house resembles a junkyard and only really gets cleaned when people come to visit. My thoughts and ideas are subpar, and my writing will never be the best.
I have this deep desire (maybe even need?) to be the best. I don’t think I’m alone in this one. If I pause and really think about it, I know how absurd this desire is. There is no best. It’s not possible. Even if someone becomes the best at one thing, they sacrifice other areas of their life. The best runner isn’t also the best basketball player. The best brain surgeon isn’t also the best podiatrist. The best pianist isn’t also the best violinist. Frankly, I’m not the best at anything.
I thank God for that. The people who are the best in their fields have to spend their entire lives dedicated to that one thing. Some spend exorbitant amounts of money on schools and coaches, tools and instruments. They spend hours and hours every day practicing and perfecting their craft, knowing that everyday, someone else is studying and training to dethrone them. The best have a target on their back, with the second best constantly adjusting their scope and perfecting their aim. How exhausting!
The only best that I (want to) strive for is the best I can do today. I know that God is not calling me to be the best mom in the world, just a good mom to the four girls he has entrusted to my care. God doesn’t expect an immaculate house from me, just a loving home where his presence is welcome. God doesn’t need me to be a perfect writer, just an honest disciple, sharing what he puts on my heart. I can do that.
I know all of this, yet week after week, I sit down at my computer and put unrealistic expectations on myself, which in turn makes this wonderful, God-given gift into a chore. I get swept up in the expectations of this world and the comparison game. If I’m comparing myself to other people in this world, the only outcome can be failure. I’ll never measure up to someone else’s best. If I’m spending my time comparing myself to other people who have a different set of gifts from God, life experiences, circumstances, and free hours in the day, the only conclusion I’ll draw is that I’m a failure.
The solution is to change my comparison chart. The only one I should judge myself against is me. Am I doing today what God wants of me? Am I offering my best? Feeling that I have to write something amazing every week feels like a heavy lift. Everything can’t be extraordinary because if it were, nothing would be extraordinary.
I can’t be the best, but I can do my best. I can try. I can push through my doubts and insecurities that are of this world, and pray that in God’s eyes, my best is exactly what he wants from me.
Copyright 2023 Maria Riley
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