“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of others.” (Phil. 2:3-4)
My Dearest Daughters,
From the moment we make Jesus the Lord of our lives, we’re saying that we will no longer be lord. We step off the throne of our own hearts, our minds, our desires; we remove our crown, and place it upon His head.
And when we say that He is Lord, we’re choosing to live now for His kingdom, for His glory—that His desires may come to pass, that His dreams for our lives, and for the lives of many, might be fulfilled through us.
So whenever something becomes all about me, I know that I’ve somehow slipped back onto that throne, and Jesus has been displaced.
In my previous letter, I spoke to you about relationships between women. In my experience, this is one of the most common places where the lordship of Jesus begins to break down and we slip back into ruling over our own ambitions and desires. I want to speak a little further into this with you.
In Philippians 2 we are told:
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of others.”
This is a challenging command—to stop living with our own advancement at the center, and instead begin to make room for others to flourish.
I recognize, as I’ve shared with you before, that much of my early life was spent simply growing up. Then, in my twenties, I was trying to figure out who I was. And during that process, ambition was a constant struggle, and competition a persistent adversary.
But as I moved through each decade of my life, I began to notice that the deepest joy and fulfillment I’ve ever known has come not from establishing my own place but from helping others step into theirs.
I think often of my father. He founded the church community that we’re now part of, a community that has grown and spread far beyond what any of us could have imagined. And yet, he never built his life around himself. He could have remained a single, prominent pastor, earning a large salary with a large congregation. He could have held tightly to influence, but he didn’t. He lived simply, even in a mobile home until just a few years before he passed.
He believed that all the saints were called to the work of the ministry, and he shared what he’d been given.
But even more than that, there was something in his heart that marked him. I remember coming home from a service while he was ill and telling him how another brother had brought a powerful word, a word that brought victory and life to many. My father lifted his hands, weeping, rejoicing that the Word of God had come so powerfully through someone else. And this was not unusual for him.
It was only later in life that I realized that this is not common.
We must learn to rejoice when others take their place.
One of the clearest ways to know whether the Lord is on the throne or we are sitting on the throne of our own hearts is to ask yourself this: Can I rejoice when someone else does something better than I did or steps into a place I once held?
In recent years, I’ve experienced this myself. I have watched some of you begin to fill places I once filled—for example, Helen, in music. I see younger midwives rising up, and I know that one day I will step aside and no longer fill that role. And to my own surprise and delight, this brings me joy, because it means that what was sown was not planted into myself—but into the kingdom.
When we plant the seeds of our calling only into the soil of our own ambitions, they become like annual plants—springing up quickly, blooming for a moment, and then passing away with us.
But when we plant into others, into our children, whether natural or spiritual, into the lives entrusted to us, those seeds become perennial, sustainable. They endure and carry on long after we’re gone.
This is the nature of the Body of Christ. It is vast, interconnected, and full of many parts. And when someone greater comes along, we must, like John the Baptist, say:
“I must decrease, that He might increase.”
I’ve seen this in music ministry. I’ve seen it in ministry of the word. Those who are truly used by God must be willing to make room for even greater expressions than their own so that the kingdom advances, not their personal story.
Does this mean we stop growing? Stop trying? Stop offering what we have? No, not at all! We continue to learn. We continue to give. We continue to become faithful with what is ours to carry.
But we must also learn to rejoice, deeply and sincerely, when others succeed, because His kingdom is coming!
Women, especially, can be tempted toward comparison and competition. We may feel threatened when another woman shines. But this is simply a clear sign that something in us has stepped back onto the throne, that we have begun, again, to live for ourselves and think, it’s all about me.
But when you can truly rejoice in the success of your sisters, your children, and the people of God—when their victories bring you as much joy, or even more, than your own—then He is reigning!
Then you’re no longer building your own kingdom. You are participating in His.
So rejoice—always.
Rejoice when others succeed.
Rejoice even when they succeed in the very thing you once did or longed to do—because it was never about you. It was always about His kingdom.
With all my love,
Mom
Thank you!
This is a great reminder!