The Poison of Comparison

 Your Assigned Season: A Divine Mandate Against the Poison of Comparison

My friend, I want you to picture something with me. Imagine two South African farmers. One, on the sun-baked plains of the Free State, gazes longingly at his neighbour’s lush, green maize fields, irrigated by a generous river. His own land, he curses, is dry and stubborn. What he fails to see, as he stands there steeped in bitterness, is the heavy, life-giving dew that has settled on the veld grasses of his own farm—a daily, quiet miracle of moisture, perfectly suited for grazing livestock, if only he would shepherd them well.

This, in our very own context, is the insidious poison of comparison. It is a thief that does not steal your wallet, but your wonder. It does not rob your house, but your harvest. Today, as we navigate a world shouting at us to measure our worth by the curated highlight reels of others, we must sound the alarm against this spiritual malady and return to the liberating truth of our God-assigned portion.

The Anatomy of a Thief: How Comparison Steals Our South African Souls

Let us define our terms clearly. Comparison is the act of measuring one’s own God-given identity, gifts, and journey against another’s, leading either to the pride of perceived superiority or the despair of perceived lack. Its destination is never contentment; it is always captivity.

I see this thief at work everywhere. I see it in the young professional in Sandton, scrolling through LinkedIn, his own hard-won achievements turning to ashes as he measures them against a peer’s promotion. I see it in the mother in Soweto, weary from her faithful labour, feeling her love is insufficient when contrasted with the perfect family portraits on Instagram. I see it politically, as our nation is tempted to measure its identity and alliances not by principled, sovereign conviction, but by constantly looking over its shoulder at the approval or disapproval of global powers.

Is it not true that we all feel this? The ache of “why them?” and “why not me?” This poison finds fertile ground in our human nature, but it is watered by a world system—what Scripture calls “the course of this world” (Ephesians 2:2). It feeds on the lies of scarcity (that there is not enough blessing to go around) and the heresy of a generic God (that the Almighty has a one-size-fits-all blueprint for every life).

A common objection arises: “But isn’t aspiration good? Isn’t looking at a good example motivational?” Here, we must be philosophically precise. There is a categorical difference between inspiration and comparison. Inspiration says, “That person’s faithfulness encourages me to be faithful in my own assignment.” Comparison says, “I need that person’s assignment to be happy.” Inspiration is fueled by admiration; comparison is fueled by covetousness, which Scripture unequivocally identifies as idolatry (Colossians 3:5).

The Unshakable Foundation: Your Portion, Your Gifting, Your Season

We must now build our antidote on the rock of biblical truth, not the shifting sand of cultural feeling. The Scripture declares: “The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance” (Psalm 16:5-6, ESV)

Your portion is your divinely apportioned inheritance—your family, your nation, your physical location, your sphere of influence. It is not random; it is sovereignly placed. Your gifting (your charismata, as Paul says) is the suite of spiritual and natural abilities the Holy Spirit has woven into your being for a purpose beyond yourself. Your season is the God-ordained chapter of life you are in—preparation, planting, growth, or harvest—each with its own divine purpose and pace.

This is not a theory; it is the pattern of Scripture. David was anointed king but spent years in the fields and caves—his assigned season of preparation. Joseph was given dreams of leadership but was assigned the portion of a pit and a prison before the palace. To envy another’s season is to insult the divine Author of your story. The thirsty man in our analogy curses the distant river, a provision not meant for him, while the dew on his own grass—his specific, daily, sufficient provision—goes unused.

The South African context gives this profound texture. We are a nation of stunning diversity, where over 24% of our people speak isiZulu at home, and multilingual households are rising, nearly tripling since 1996. This is not a problem to be homogenized but a multifaceted portion to be stewarded. Our national journey—from the trauma of apartheid to the complex challenges of today—is our shared season. To constantly compare our democracy’s 30-year journey to nations with centuries of entrenched stability is to miss the unique dew God is giving us here: strengths in forgiveness, inner peace, and resilient hope, even amid material lack.

The Prophetic Confrontation: Dismantling the Error of “One Size Fits All”

Here, I must be boldly prophetic. The modern church, in its well-intentioned zeal, often peddles a subtle form of this poison. We preach a gospel of generic success: “If you have enough faith, you will have this business, this marriage, this ministry model.” We turn biblical principles into mechanical formulas. This is not the Gospel of the Kingdom; it is the gospel of the clone. It is syncretism—mixing the truth of God’s faithfulness with the world’s idolatry of uniform outcomes.

It fails because it replaces relationship with recipe. It turns God from a loving Father who knows each child’s needs (Matthew 6:32) into a celestial vending machine. It ignores the core of Christ’s message: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me” (Matthew 8:34). The cross is the ultimate symbol of a unique, God-assigned assignment that looked nothing like the world’s idea of success.

Consider the recent geopolitical tensions. South Africa, in its foreign policy, faces the immense pressure to compare its path to a prescribed “norm” and choose a clear side in a fragmented world. There is a lesson here for the individual soul: the cost of discipleship often means refusing to align with the world’s binary camps and remaining steadfast in the sometimes-lonely path of our God-given assignment, even amidst criticism.

The Liberating Antidote: Gratitude and Stewardship

So, what is the cure? The Apostle Paul, who learned the secret of contentment in any and every season, gives us the prescription: “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

Gratitude is the act of receiving your portion as a gift. It is the spiritual discipline of opening your eyes to the dew on your own grass. It is saying, “Father, thank you for this body, this mind, this family, this struggle, this opportunity—because it is the raw material you have given me to glorify you.” Gratitude dismantles the entitlement that fuels comparison.

From gratitude flows stewardship. Stewardship is the focused, faithful management of what is already in your hand. It is the farmer tending his veld, knowing the dew will come. It is the widow using her “mite,” not comparing it to the treasury of the wealthy. It is you, using your specific voice, in your specific neighbourhood, with your specific story.

Let me make this practical with a South African frame:

· Instead of envying another church’s growth, be grateful for the 12 people in your small group and shepherd them deeply.

· Instead of despairing over a friend’s new car, be a steward of your reliable taxi and use the commute to pray or listen to an audio Bible.

· Instead of complaining about our nation’s problems, be grateful for the right to vote, to speak, to worship freely, and steward that by being a principled, prayerful, and active citizen.

A Personal Word from My Portion

From my study here in Akasia, I look out on a uniquely South African mosaic. I hear the sounds of a nation in flux—a beautiful, complicated, challenging portion. And I have had to learn this lesson in my own writing ministry. When I see the brilliant works of other African authors being celebrated, like those honoured at the ACABA awards across our continent, the temptation to compare is real. But the Holy Spirit gently corrects: “Harold, I did not give you their voice. I gave you yours. Write for the one I have placed in front of you.”

That is our collective call. The African Christian Authors Book Award itself is not a platform for comparison, but a celebration of diverse, God-assigned voices—from South Africa to Kenya to Botswana—each stewarding their unique message.

The Invitation to Your Unique Race

Therefore, reason itself, illuminated by Scripture and confirmed in our deepest God-given longings, compels us to acknowledge this: The only life you are authorized and equipped to live is your own.

Your liberation begins the moment you lower the measuring stick. The moment you stop cursing the river you don’t have and thank God for the dew you do. The moment you believe the Creator’s report over the critic’s (or your own) assessment.

Today, I challenge you:

1. Repent of the idolatry of comparison. Confess it as the sin of distrusting God’s allocation for your life.

2. Receive your portion, your gifting, and your season with a prayer of gratitude. Write down three specific things about your current assignment you can thank God for.

3. Refocus your energy. Ask the Holy Spirit: “What is the one next step of faithful stewardship right in front of me?” Then do that.

The world will not stop its shouting. The highlight reels will keep scrolling. But you, child of God, can be free. You can run your race—the one marked out uniquely for you—with joy, with grit, and with the unwavering confidence that the One who assigned it will perfectly provide for it. You will lack nothing you are meant to have.

Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your unique faith. He is not just the Saviour of the world; He is the faithful steward of your soul and your story. In Him, your portion is secure, your gifting is empowered, and your season is in perfect hands.