I'm not a writer, but I have many friends who are and right or wrong, I have taken great pleasure in being able to tell others about the authors that are my friends (and probably a bit of pride...). Talking about confirmation--me, "Oh Jenifer and I are good friends; I can ask her what she meant by that." Passing on ideas for faith information at home, "Wendy and I have been friends for a long time; let me ask her for some more ideas." Asked for a suggestion about a book for seasons of the church year and family living, "Oh let me get you a copy of my friend Jerusalem's book. I'll even get her to sign it for you." Planning VBS, "Maybe I can get my friend Lisa down here. You know I've known her since 2002 and she and Chris taught confirmation together." "Sharon Ely Pearson? Oh yeah, I know her well." And the list goes on....
You get the picture...I took pride in knowing real life authors. Probably too much pride--but this is a blog about envy not pride...or maybe they're connected--who knows. I am, however, fairly certain neither are what God had in mind for healthy living. I also know that every time I was around them during a book signing I would have to leave the area. I told myself it was because I wanted to give room for other people--people who didn't know (that pride sin) them like I do. I not only told myself; I believed it--until today and that darn book!
Several weeks ago (more than several but I don't want to add the sin of sloth to my ever increasing list of sins), I was asked to read a book and blog my thoughts about it. (Perhaps you've read a few of them...) They even said they'd send me a copy of the book (see Chris I don't pay for every book). I was astonished that someone cared what I thought--that someone actually wanted me to write about someone else's book. I was so flattered I was like a senior in high school, long before email college acceptances, running to the mailbox every day to get my book.
It finally came; I began reading it, and then the real problems began. Not only did I love it, but I also hated it. It challenged me; it made me think about things I didn't want to think about; it made me feel.
And this morning was no different. I sat down on the beach to finish the book and gosh, darn, butter my butt and call me a biscuit I had to read about envy! My mind immediately went to thinking about all my friends who are authors, and I started thinking about my life long dream long ago buried. I realized I was indeed proud of my friends, but I was also incredibly envious a word I had never let myself utter about this. I wanted to be a part of the group.
In Horses Speak of God, Laurie Brock writes, "What might happen, however, if we let our feelings of envy inform us of a deep desire in our soul, something in another we ourselves want to cultivate or attain, not at the expense of another, but for our own growth?' (p. 121) Do I still desire to be an author? The simple answer is yes--kind of. I want to be an author, but what if I'm not? What if it's just that--a life long childhood dream that is unattainable--you know like being the first woman president. Oh wait, that would be a NIGHTMARE!! I want to be an author but am I willing to expose myself? (y'all only think I'm 100% transparent--there's lots more there.) And really, what would I write about?
Brock writes about envy and anger as bodyguards for sadness. I think they are also guarding fear. It's so much easier to leave the room, the arena, the stage when my friends are signing books because I'm envious than it is to actually attempt to write. What if I write and no one likes it? What if I try to write and no publisher pays attention to me? What if I write and people think I'm too simple, too dramatic, too, well too anything except relevant. Envy and fear, it seems to me, are dance partners with fear leading.
"Sometimes what we envy may be a desire, a need, a yearning that has helplessly been cast off in our souls and wants to be loved into recognition. If we let the dragon of envy lead us down deeply into ourselves, we may discover not only something we want, but something of ourselves that needs our love." (p. 122)
Perhaps giving something our love doesn't necessarily mean achieving it, but rather admitting it exists and then allowing it to RIP. Maybe it means recognizing our deepest desires and then being okay with not getting them. Or maybe it means kicking both envy and fear off the dance floor and circling around courage.
What do you envy? What do you desire? What needs your love?
I want to write; someday I might let the dragon out of the cage, will you?
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