Swallowing Pride

There’s an incident from my childhood that’s been talked about repeatedly and mercilessly among my family for years. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to live it down. I have only the faintest memory of it because I was so young when it happened, but I will retell it from my perspective and use words like “allegedly,” and “maybe,” because this is my blog. (So there.) My parents were painting a room in our house with bold, blue paint. They’d left the open paint can on the bathroom counter as they prepared the room nearby. Allegedly, I snuck into the bathroom when their backs were turned and dipped my hands into the paint, then proceeded to leave my handprints all along with the countertop and maybe even part of the wall. My parents quickly realized something was amiss (they were very astute), and immediately called my brother and me to the scene. They demanded to know which one of us had gotten into the paint, and of course, we both vehemently denied it. Next, they asked to see our hands. My older brother proudly whipped his hands out. Not a trace of paint. He was free to go. (He was never one to take one for the team.) I, allegedly, kept my hands intertwined tightly behind my back, refusing to be made a fool of. I told them it wasn’t me, and by God, my word should be good enough for them. Never mind that I was barely 5 and I already had quite the track record of lying to save face. Even with bright blue paint still dripping from my fingertips, I refused to admit any fault. Incidents like this one made my covert pride painfully obvious. Every year since, whenever my family questions my truthfulness or points out my pride, all they have to say is “blue paint.” I don’t love it.

The blue paint incident is just one of many, I’m sorry to say. I could share plenty more stories like that one, in which I stubbornly refused to admit wrongdoing. Humility has never come easy for me. My pride went unchecked for so many years, leading me down paths God never intended for me to be on. Owning up to others can never be done well until we learn first to own up to God. The times I have felt furthest from God are the times I’ve refused to accept His help, His intervention, and His discipline over my sin. My pride told me I could do it on my own; I knew better than Him. My pride told me if I surrendered that sin, I couldn’t hide behind it anymore; I’d have to face the ugliness of my heart. But, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall,” (Proverbs 16:18). The tighter I held on to my pride, the further I had to fall. Pride, I’ve learned, is meant to be swallowed.

I vividly remember the times in which God drew me to my knees, literally, in humility: the times when He refused to let me carry on in my stubbornness and He put me face to face with my sin. They are my “prodigal son” moments, in which I found myself in a field feeding pigs, coming to my senses, and deciding to turn back home (Luke 15:15-19). I reached points in which I had to admit I didn’t know better than my Father, that left to my own devices I would undoubtedly follow the inclination of my sin. It was a sobering truth. Why did it take me so long to realize it? Why did I hold out so long in showing my blue hands to my parents that day? I was embarrassed. I feared the consequences. That’s why anyone lies or refuses to admit their wrongs, isn’t it? We feel ashamed of the choice we’ve made. We want to avoid the inevitable rod of discipline. If you’re a parent I’m sure you’ve been known to tell your children that you’re disciplining them because you love them. (It offers zero comfort to them in the moment, but we pray someday they’ll understand.) We know that discipline is crucial in curbing the sinful nature of our kids, yet we kick and scream when God disciplines us. Hebrews 12:6 reminds us, “the Lord disciplines the one he loves.” God does not call out our sin SO that He can love us, but BECAUSE He loves us. His love is there, whether we repent or not, and His discipline is an act of love, not condemnation.

God, in His humor, has blessed me with a child so much like me it’s frightening. My 5-year-old son is stubborn as a mule and prideful as a peacock. He insists on having the last word in every discussion, and he’ll die on every hill, no matter how trivial. He may be adopted, but I swear my blood somehow runs through his veins. Like me, he has racked up quite the resume of “incidents” akin to the blue paint episode of 1986. Unfortunately for him, God gave him a mom who will outlast him in every battle of wills. Every. Single. One. I have sat with him outside his preschool for a full hour as he refused to issue an apology to his teacher. I have driven him across town to admit wrongdoing to a babysitter, then waited an uncomfortable amount of time for him to come out from behind my back and look her in the eyes. I have been known to tell him on more than one occasion, “You will NOT win this, no matter how hard you fight, or how long you hold out.” I discipline my son because I see sin in his heart that left unchecked, will ruin him. I know because that same sin has ruined me more times than I want to admit. I discipline him because I know his offenses are so much more than just admitting he colored on the floor, or lying about cleaning up his room; it’s a heart issue. I love my son, but I love him too much to leave him to his own devices. Repentance doesn’t come easy for him, but it does come. The turning point is always when I remind him of God’s unconditional love, and I lead him to pray to seek God’s forgiveness. That prayer of repentance is oh so hard, and it often brings tears to his face. I tell him no choice he makes, no sin he commits will ever keep him from God’s love or mine. When I hold my arms out to reassure him, the weight of sin is lifted and the freedom of humility releases his heart. Owning up to God first helps us own up to others because we can approach them with a heart that has been humbled by God’s great grace.

“God disciplines us for our good, so that we may share in his holiness,” (Hebrews 12:10). What an honor to be invited to share in anything of God’s. I’m humbled at the notion. When the prodigal son eventually returned to His father, he was met with an embrace and an invitation to come inside, join the family, and share in all that was His father’s. The father even placed his ring on his son’s finger, (Luke 15:20-23). He gave his child everything he didn’t deserve. We can’t experience this kind of mercy and grace without releasing our desire to be right. To be close to our Father we must admit He knows better. “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it,” (Hebrews 12:11). We can trust Him, as He pries our fingers from the grip of our sin, as He lowers us to our knees, and as He turns our feet toward home. We can trust Him to make good from our journey down the wrong path. Every day I pray my son will grow to be a man of humility, trusting the discipline I enforce in these early years will produce a harvest of righteousness down the road. And if I ever need to keep him in check, I have plenty of incidents to refer to. He won’t love it.