Tuesday, August 30, 2016

A Confession

The blank screen before me flashes as if trying to stay awake. It grows bored in my inactivity. For too long I have stared at it trying to force something to say. My fingers are not easily fooled. They refuse to budge on the keyboard until they know I have something more than a succession of ramblings to offer.

I have been battling an inner demon the past few weeks. It is called PRIDE. It is an ugly thing to carry about. It weighs me down and yet I am having a difficult time shaking it. I would call what I'm battling my fight for independence. And yet as I convince myself of this, the Holy Spirit gently taps on the doors of my heart to remind me what it is really called: pride.

I get it naturally. Both parents fought it too. I especially remember my teen years when my brothers were out of the house and it was just mom and dad and me. Dad spent hours teaching me things: how to change my own tire, how to change the oil in my car, how to operate the riding mower, how to operate the tractor and how to fill its diesel tank from the reserve in the barn, how to unhook and hook up various pieces of equipment to the tractor. By the end of one summer Mom was so proud of me because I finally knew the difference between what were weeds and what were flowers or vegetables growing. (My apologies to the flowers and vegetables that I did mistake as weeds.)

I remember being so proud of the fact my parents were proud of me. Dad told me he loved knowing his daughter was a knowledgeable, independent woman.

Education was of extreme importance in our home. Years later after I had accomplished a Masters in Religious Studies and then a Master's in Divinity, Dad liked to remind me of that. It was as if it became his favorite tag line for me: "Anyone who can accomplish two Master's Degrees can certainly accomplish ..."

But I digress (perhaps intentionally).

There is this ugly thing I have to rely on. It is called a wheelchair. I am forced to use it so as to do no weight-bearing on one leg. That means I must swallow my pride and allow others to help me and I cannot stand that.

It got in my way these past few weeks. I'm not sure if "IT" is the wheelchair or pride or a combination of the two. I was only able to go to the hospital to see Dad when someone could take me. That was not good -- I wanted to be able to come and go as I please and stay by his bedside as much as I wanted. I had to rely on help for someone to push me around the sanctuary for Dad's service. It was so frustrating that I was unable to stand and walk to the podium to speak. It was maddening that I was unable to go to the grave with other family and friends. Many offered but I knew better -- the ground was too rough, not a place fit for a wheelchair.

At a time when all attention should be on celebrating my Dad's life, it felt as if there were neon signs flashing in my direction. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole -- wheelchair and all.

I had a rip-roaring pity party for myself.
Poor pitiful me -- I was not able to join my family for prayer before the service.
Poor pitiful me -- I had to be wheeled to the back of the church to join in the family processional -- and everyone was watching.

Poor pitiful me -- I had to sit on the sidewalk while I watched my loved ones go to where Dad would be buried.

Wow -- what a horrific pattern going on:
      Poor
      Pitiful
      Me

There isn't a thing about me that is POOR. If anything I am one of the wealthiest persons around for I have been rich in love of family and friends. My cup overflows and I am grateful.

Pitiful? Pitiful? Seriously? This is a temporary thing in my journey. Ok, so it happened at a horrible time but do these things ever happen when it's convenient? No -- so get over it.

Me. That's all I'm hearing as I type: me, me, me, me, me, me, me
I'm sick of me. That's enough of me.

Good grief!
It is embarrassing to share such a personal struggle and yet I do because I realize I'm not alone.

There is someone out there who -- like me -- has been thrown a curve ball. You've gone on a detour from your path. Things aren't as you think they should be. You have no sense of control -- and your pride gets in the way.

The world tells us to put on the "everything's OK" expression and make it on our own.
God tells us that community is for the very thing I - we - resist. Pride is a sin because it distances us from God's grace reaching out to us.

I'm swallowing my pride.
I'm trying to rid myself of it.

Perhaps rather than this ongoing litany of "poor pitiful me" I should rejoice, instead, in the love and kindness of others. Dang -- that makes sense and I don't like it.

It's time to take another big gulp and call my neighbor ...
    ... for I need help ...
        ... and it is a good thing to allow others to help when we need it ...

Have you ever met him? Pride, that is. If so, I suggest we empower and enable one another to throw it out with the trash. Enough, pride! No more!

Today we - I - rejoice in the gifts God provides, including those who want to extend a helping hand.


Still enjoying the journey,
Debra
bebprov356.blogspot.com

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight.
-- Proverbs 3:5-6 --

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