A hummingbird flails against the open glass slider—inside the house.
Dare I usher this manic three-inch wonder outside?
Inching closer, newspaper in hand, I cradle and lift until—with a cranky chirk—it swivels midair, then rockets away.
I just reread this old journal entry because now, 19 years later, several Beija flors, or flower kissers, have converged on our new feeder. Iridescence shimmers, flushing copper to gold, then green.
The green arrests me.
Last night I read exceptionally good news about a fellow writer’s success. In a hummingbird heartbeat, I felt threatened. Territorial. Envious.
And here I am. Jealousy I don’t want to feel and fail to swallow constricts my throat. My soul.
O the tempers and vanities that beset me.
Ego vibrates, carping after the inaccessible, like a beak against glass.
Jealousy escalates. If I’m honest, I want to win. I want to impress.
Like hummingbirds at the feeder, my thoughts bicker and bully, sideswipe and joust for position.
My ego plunges an all-or-nothing beak into any bright opening, no matter how small.
Sometimes I struggle to discern truth in the world.
This feels like truth:
When feeling trapped by comparisons, these are words where my soul can hover.
God gently slips his newspaper beneath my beating thoughts, lifting me safely, cleanly, up and away.
How do you disarm envy?
*Galations 6, The Message