Pride

If you'd have visited my house yesterday afternoon this is what you would have found: My son eating his dinner with relish and managing to keep most of it off the floor.  The kitchen perfectly tidy: washing up done, roast chicken ready to be put in the oven, potatoes peeled and the floor swept.  Later you would have seen my son and I engaged in fun, educational play with a hand made toy.  Then you would have observed my son happily playing by himself whilst I sent some emails and generally got organised with my life.

And I hope, on seeing all those things, you would have been Impressed.  I was. I confess that the thought even popped into my head, 'If only someone would call round now.  Just so they can see how competent and together I am.'

However, yesterday morning was a different story.  If you'd have come round then you'd have found my son standing up in his cot screaming and refusing to have his nap.  You would have seen me still in my pyjamas sobbing that it was all too difficult and that I'd had enough.  The sitting room covered in toys and Weetabix.  Mountains of washing up to be done.  And I suspect that you would have been Concerned (especially if you don't have children of your own).

It can be hard allowing people to see that we don't have it all together all the time.  One of the biggest hindrances to me going up to get prayer at the end of a church service is the thought, 'What if people think I have a porn addiction or a problem with self-harming or am just really struggling with life?'  Basically what I'm worried is that they'll move me from the category of 'strong and got it together' to 'weak and vulnerable and (heaven forbid) needy'.  And at the root of that is pride.

It's humbling to let people see your struggles.  It's humbling to admit, 'I don't have it altogether'.  But whilst the process of learning humility can be painful, it can have incredible consequences.  I've read many different definitions of humility but the one I like most is 'Humility means to think less about yourself and more about others'.  When we have the humility to admit that we are far from perfect - no matter how things might appear - it creates a safe space for others to take off their masks and admit that there are areas that they too find hard.  As C S Lewis wrote, 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What? You too?  I thought I was the only one!"

Demonstrating humility can be costly, but it becomes easier when our identity is sorted.  Jesus demonstrated extraordinary humility.  In Philippians 2 Paul describes the depths that Jesus was willing to go for others.  He put aside all vestiges of his glory and power and became a human in a remote, enemy-occupied, poverty-stricken part of the world.  He died an excruciating death.  And he left himself vulnerable to misunderstanding, abuse and wrongful judgement - and still does.  But the reason he that he could take the menial job of foot-washing - as well as the vast job of human salvation - is because he was certain of his identity.  He knew what God thought about him, 'This is my Son, whom I love' - and that left him free to demonstrate humility.

I am God's child.  He loves me irrespective of whether my house is perpetually in chaos or whether I raise the next Einstein.  And that means I can stop trying to be perfect, start showing humility and hopefully allow others the chance to be free from the stifling expectations that they carry - whether placed there by society or themselves.