Pride Stinks

For years now, as a part of my spiritual development, I've been trying to shrink ME.

I don’t mean a diet.  Obviously, with my donut issues, I am not dieting.  That would be one heck of a diet, now wouldn't it?

I mean shrink my pride.

So, I figure, if I am forgetting about me, I should try to call A LOT less attention to me.  This will certainly take care of any nasty pride issues I might have.

I am not saying I am AFRAID to call attention to myself. 

That’s the problem – I am NOT afraid to do that at all, and – for that reason – I have to keep myself in check. 

I don’t like when I take an ordinary day and create a stage out of it.  I don’t think Jesus would have done that.  I don’t picture Jesus pushing open doors, clearing his throat, whipping his hair around, and saying, “Oh…THIS silly robe?  I just threw this on.”

NO.

But…I dunno if Jesus is down with my methodology.

I think He is trying to beat something out…oops…I mean smooth something out of me.  I don’t know if he is going to let me do it MY way.

Cuz…He sent me enough children that not only can I not sneak into a room without calling attention to myself, but we cannot enter a room without totally SILENCING it,

without causing senior citizen men to turn and look at us in complete disorientation and exasperation, and saying loudly to their wife, sitting right beside them, “Who the *$%# kids are THOSE?”

We get to the threshold of any indoor space, and despite my shuffling behind my kids reminding them,

Lower your voices.

Quiet your feet.

Keep your hands to your side.

Watch where you are going...

despite ANY of that,

my kids get INSIDE a room and they don’t right away understand that there are other people there. 

It takes them a while. 

They are still swatting at each other,

and whining about hunger,

and getting dressed,

and the room is completely silenced,

and just when the last person in the room is brought to speechlessness,

and a pin drops...

one of my kids, still with their back to the room, will invariably yell out something as erudite as  

“Who FARTED?”

replete with waving of the hand in front of the nose, shaking of the head to prevent the stench from entering the brain, and – don’t forget – the smelling of a few of the closest butts.

Then, that child turns around to see the room of people,

and that child shushes ME.  

Thank you.

And THAT takes care of whatever last speck of pride I had hiding in a secret compartment deep in my soul – you know, like my “reserve pride.”

Jesus knew I had that there. 

And, I am worried that I have other stashes.