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I was a member of a prestigious professional association for all of two weeks when I showed up at their national convention in Atlanta. My name badge—unlike most others—didn't sport a single special ribbon or honorary designation. I was—horrors!--unknown. Unimportant.
My heart cried out, I'm nobody here, Lord!
People squinted at my barren name tag, then kept walking, looking through me like so much clear glass. I sat through one presentation after another, sinking lower and lower in my seat. Then, alone in my hotel room, I reviewed the day's notes and ended up weeping, feeling frustrated, inadequate, and overwhelmed. How could I ever hope to reach their level of expertise?
I kept telling myself I wasn't so much jealous as I was discouraged. It's not envy, Lord, I'm simply feeling left out . …
As the years passed, doors began to swing open. Soon I found myself dealing with a new set of unfamiliar, unpleasant feelings: How come she's moving along faster than I am, Lord? Why did they honor her instead of me?
I wasn't jealous, of course. Merely, uh … competitive.
The awful truth revealed itself one gray morning when I received an announcement from a colleague who'd been blessed with an opportunity I was convinced should have been mine. I tossed the letter across the room in an angry huff, whining, "It's not fair, Lord!"
He chose that moment to get my attention. Was the cross of Calvary fair, Liz? Have I called you to succeed—or surrender?
I was undone. Jealousy, envy, and strife were alive and well in my jade-green heart. After a time of weeping and confession, I knew what needed to happen next. I sent a heartfelt memo to more than sixty peers in writing and speaking, women who love and serve the Lord and who—here's the ugly truth in a nutshell—push my jealousy buttons without even knowing it. Included with my note was a brief survey that encouraged my sisters to help me—help all of us—deal with the seldom—discussed reality of professional jealousy.
Their candid answers began pouring in anonymously, as requested. I was especially touched by one role model who wrote, "I could be really spiritual, but I'll be truthful instead."
Just as I'd hoped, my anonymous contributors offered several specific suggestions for experiencing victory over Ol' Green Eyes.
Confess and pray. The business world uses phrases like "friendly competition" and "may the best person win." In Christian circles, we declare we're "working for the Lord"--but sometimes the truth is less honorable. Although I've sung "To God Be the Glory" for fifteen years, I'm finally realizing it's "easier sung than done."
Once a week, someone calls me to say, "All my friends think I'm as funny as you. How do I get started in writing and speaking?" The "outside" Liz used to smile and say, "Isn't that wonderful?" while the "inside" Liz gritted her teeth, thinking, Oh, perfect. Another competitor.
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