Thief of Joy
We arrived at the shelter for abused women. The girls were finally in front of us: their hands within reach, their eyes hesitantly waiting to be met. Suddenly, it wasn’t a feeling of discontentment that threatened me, because I was finally where I expected we would be…it wasn’t that I felt inadequate or confused about God’s will, because this is what I had pictured doing all along.The last thing that was keeping me from victory in this instance was the life-stealing little habit of comparison.
I knew the “right” things that I could say and do, but I also...