Not every glass is filled the same. Comparison steals joy from both abundance and scarcity.

I have done enough blinds and tastings now to know that pours are not always perfectly even. You try to make them the same. You eyeball the line. You do your best. But every now and then, one glass gets a little more than another.

In a tasting, that can matter. If one pour is bigger than the rest, it can throw off the balance. It can make one sample last longer. It can give one whiskey a little more time to open up. It can even make the person with the smaller pour feel slightly cheated, especially if that person is me and the whiskey is good.

But the uneven fill is not just about what is in the glass. In the bourbon world, the uneven fill is often on the shelf. Someone else has more resources. Someone else has better access. Someone else’s shelf has the bottles I have only seen behind locked glass. They have the limited releases, the dusties, the birthday bottles, the unicorns. They have the kind of bottles people whisper about as if saying the name too loudly will cause the price to go up another hundred dollars.

Would I like a 23-year Pappy Van Winkle sitting on my shelf? Of course I would. Would I also like my wife not to hit me with the bottle after she found out how much I spent on it? Also yes.

That is where wisdom comes in. Desire is not always the problem. Wanting something good is not automatically sinful. It is not wrong to appreciate beauty, craftsmanship, rarity, flavor, or the thrill of finding something special. I would be lying if I said I never looked at someone else’s shelf and thought, “Well, that must be nice.”

But comparison is dangerous because it does not stop with desire. It teaches us to despise what we already have. That may be the ugliest trick comparison plays. It does not simply make me want what someone else has. It makes me stop enjoying what God has already placed in front of me.

A good bottle starts to look ordinary because someone else has a better one. A decent shelf starts to look empty because someone else’s is fuller. A gift starts to look like an insult because someone else received something different. That is not gratitude. That is poison.

Jesus addressed this kind of thinking more than once. In the parable of the laborers in the vineyard, the workers who came early received exactly what they had agreed to receive. They were not cheated. They were not mistreated. But when they saw the latecomers receive the same amount, their fair wage suddenly felt unfair. Nothing about their portion changed except the fact that they looked sideways.

But since I just wrote about that parable recently, I will only nod toward it here and move to another moment that may be even more personal.

After the resurrection, Jesus restored Peter. Peter had denied Him three times. Then, beside a charcoal fire, Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved Him. Each time, Peter answered. Each time, Jesus gave him work to do: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”

Peter had been forgiven. He had been restored. He had been given purpose again. And then Jesus told him the road ahead would not be easy. Peter would follow Him, but that following would come at a cost.

Then Peter turned and saw John. And Peter asked the question we all know too well: “Lord, what about this man?”

There it is. The uneven fill.

What about him? What about her? What about their road, their blessing, their portion, their glass?

Jesus did not give Peter a detailed explanation of John’s future. He did not satisfy Peter’s curiosity. He did not hand him a comparison chart. He simply said, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!”

That can sound harsh until I realize how merciful it is. Jesus was pulling Peter’s eyes back to the only calling Peter could faithfully live. Peter was not responsible for John’s portion. He was not responsible for John’s timeline. He was not responsible for John’s suffering, blessing, ministry, or end. Peter’s job was not to audit the table. Peter’s job was to follow Jesus.

That is hard for me. I like to know why. I like to understand the math. I like to see how the pours are being measured. I like to know why one person seems to receive more opportunity, more money, more recognition, more health, more ease, more second chances, or more bottles that make the rest of us stare at our shelves and sigh.

But Jesus does not owe me an explanation for someone else’s glass. He calls me to faithfulness with mine.

That does not mean I cannot pray for more. It does not mean I cannot work toward more. It does not mean I cannot hope the good Lord blesses me with better resources down the road. I do pray for that. I pray for wisdom to use what I have well. I pray for discernment, contentment, discipline, and enough open doors to keep walking forward.

But I do not have to wait for someday to be grateful. I can be grateful here, now, with this glass, this shelf, these resources, and this life.

David wrote in Psalm 23, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” He did not say, “My cup is filled higher than everyone else’s.” He did not say, “My cup finally matches the cup of the man next to me.” He did not say, “My cup overflows only after I get every bottle, every blessing, every resource, and every answer I ever wanted.”

He simply said, “My cup overflows.”

That is not comparison language. That is gratitude language. It is the language of someone who has stopped measuring the table and started receiving the mercy in front of him.

Maybe someone else has more in their glass. Maybe someone else has a better shelf. Maybe someone else has bottles I will never own, resources I will never control, and opportunities I will never touch. That may be true.

But my glass is not empty. My shelf is not bare. My life is not forgotten. And if I stop staring at everyone else’s pour long enough to taste what I have been given, I may discover that the uneven fill was never the real problem.

The real problem was that I had stopped seeing my own cup as overflowing.

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Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.