It’s interesting to notice the ways we are not always fully accepting of ourselves. And even more interesting to notice how quickly comparison can disguise itself as self-awareness.

I’ve been gently dismantling this in myself.

I was raised in a traditional (or old-fashioned) Southern Baptist environment, where faith often went hand in hand with structure and reverence. There was comfort in having clear expectations and an understanding of what faithful living was supposed to look like.

But looking back, I see how little space that left for becoming- for confusion, mistakes, and the slow unfolding that comes with adolescent growth.

Now, being married into a charismatic church environment, I have experienced faith and worship in a very different way.

My husband and I joke about being “unequally yoked”, but it’s simply a reflection of the contrast in our upbringings.

In this environment, expression is more outward- more visible, more expressive. Loud and emotionally open in ways that are unfamiliar and uncomfortable to me at times.

As someone who leans toward being quiet and restrained, I initially found this overwhelming.

Not because anything was wrong, but because I didn’t recognize myself in it.

And somewhere beneath this discomfort I noticed a quiet voice beginning to form a comparison I wasn’t fully aware of.

As if the depth of my faith could be measured by the intensity of my expression. As if stillness meant being less engaged. Or quietness meant distance.

But I see this was never actually true.

There is no comparison in how we relate to God.

No hierarchy of expression that determines closeness.

My quietness is not a lack of faith- it is simply the way I naturally meet Him.

There is something deeply freeing in releasing the idea that I have to become more like what I see around me in order for my faith to be real.

I don’t feel the need to pursue an explosive moment with God in order to validate my connection to Him.

Because I have experienced Him in quiet places.

He has met me in the car as I sing songs of surrender.

He has met me alone, sitting on the floor with nothing but tears.

He has met me in the ordinary act of taking a shower, when my mind feels empty and I’m not trying to produce anything at all.

None of these moments were less than. They were just different expressions of presence. There is no need for comparison- because relationship with God is deeply personal.

He is my Father, and He is with me always.

I don’t have to become something different to force proximity.

And in that I find comfort and peace.