Most of the time, it starts with a glance. A sidelong look at a neighbor’s new car, a friend’s seemingly effortless marriage, a colleague’s rapid ascent. As humans, we love to measure our behind-the-scenes against their highlight reel, and the math always leaves us in the red. This isn’t just envy. It’s a deeper, quieter thing—a fundamental questioning of the distribution of grace. It’s the bitter whisper that the universe, or God, has been less generous with you.You start tallying your life like a ledger, and the columns never balance. Their health, your ailments. Their abundance, your lack. Their peace, your chaos. The focus shifts from what’s in your hand to what’s not. And a hand clenched tight around perceived lack can’t receive a thing. Can’t hold the simple, good things already there.It hits me how old Asaph, the psalmist, walked this exact ground. He saw the prosperity of the wicked and his feet nearly slipped. He felt plagued, punished, every single morning. It wasn’t until he entered the sanctuary—into a different kind of quiet—that he perceived their end. His perspective did a hard pivot from horizontal to vertical.Asaph stopped comparing his portion to the man beside him and remembered the One who held it. Psalm 73:24-26, “Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel,” he writes, that raw honesty just…pouring out. “and afterward receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth: but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”You see, he said, “My portion,” not theirs. Mine. The unique allotment of grace and grit is designed for my soul’s curriculum. So, when we believe our portion is smaller, we’re starving ourselves at a feast we’ve refused to see.Photo credit: ©Getty Images/franckreporter
Are These 5 Thoughts Stealing Your Joy?
