Humility
noun: a modest or low view of one’s own importance
Do you think it’s ironic that I used to live in a town called Humble and it’s by far my worst quality? I didn’t get the joke until just now. Back when I lived in Humble I was a middle school student. I loved writing PG-13 short stories about GI Joe-type paramilitary groups that saved America from the Russians (Imagine what I would have done with the current state of the Middle East?). My parents were going through their own issues, and I know I wasn’t much help. It was one house removed before they separated. My greatest challenge besides surviving the bus every afternoon was finding the time to hang out with Kevin Hebert down the street and being picked first for kickball at recess.
Lately I’ve felt this stagnancy about my life, my Christian walk most importantly. At other times when I’ve felt this Holy Spirit tug, I’ve asked God to intervene, to open doors. And when you ask God to open doors, you have to be prepared for what comes next.
One instance in my lesson on humility was having to say sorry. I’ve never been good at admitting my mistakes. My mom always seemed to know when I was up to something dastardly, and I always got caught when I least expected. My step-father used to tell me he “hated liars,” and I took it to mean he hated me. I was a liar. I lied about my intentions, I lied to others (sometimes willingly and purposefully and other times it was to keep them from the truth as I saw fit), I lied mainly to myself. My mom used to say, “You can lie to me but you can't lie to yourself.” I never had a comeback or sarcastic comment for that one. It abruptly ended all of my arguments. Being so far away from the first person who loves you enough to tell you the truth about yourself perhaps has had its effect on me. How many miles from Texas is Ohio?
These blogs have become therapeutic, however. It’s been a way to feel my way through this newfound Christian life of mine. Being this transparent also has its drawbacks. Some people, family included, have been unwitting pawns in my quest for righteousness. The more I share, the more someone else gets bombarded with my version of the truth. Sitting next to a friend and telling them you’re sorry, knowing that you hurt them--was my first lesson in humility. The apology stemmed from my people-pleasing personality. In order to get along with all walks of life, I’ve strived to be everyone’s best friend. I can chat up just about anyone, but it hasn’t always been authentic. Once authenticity was empowered by the Holy Spirit, I felt free. Still, the old self lingers. The old self likes the set patterns, the old drapes of the house, the chair with the wobbly leg.
The apology was barely uttered when my second lesson in humility began peering around the corner. While I won't go into specifics because it deals with work, let’s just say that I was knocked down a peg. I was put in my place. I’ve also begun to understand that God allows events to transpire to bring out the best in us, to challenge us, to help us grow. In essence, it was needed.
The last several years, I’ve had three different teaching partners. It has not felt cohesive since I came from Broadleigh. My partners there spurned one another on, child by child. one lesson plan at a time. I came into my wife’s school feeling that I had something to prove, and essentially have been on an island lifting the world up like some poor Atlas statue.
Before the year starts, every teacher receives their test scores from the previous year. This one was no different. Again, the scores weren’t indicative of the hard work or expectations I have for my class nor my students. For the past few years, the scores seem to be going down, each percentage an indictment on my teaching skills. It’s a stain on my career.
While I understand that scores aren't everything, I am intensely aware that the public and administration relies on those scores to evaluate my performance. It’s the nature of today’s educational minefield. Scores matter, even when I try to tell myself they don’t. So, along with those momentum-killing scores, I was dealt a professional blow. I was suddenly the teacher that couldn’t challenge my gifted students.
I drove home that afternoon with plenty of anger, but the biggest thing I felt was a quiet despair. I felt helpless. The rug had been pulled out from under me. God had allowed the door to open wide enough for the Holy Spirit to work. I needed it. Since then I’ve had other spiritual battles, and something tells me there’s more coming, but sure enough it’s brought me back to my knees. It has brought me back to my devotions, my daily time with God.
Humble, TX still has a place in my heart. My sister currently resides there. It’s grown so much from when I was a kid. The local movie theater is no longer there, but a mall houses the new one. The town of Humble has grown an identity on its own. Funny, a word that means to have a low opinion of one’s self is such a suburbanized city on its own, thriving to make a name for itself. For once, I feel like I know what it’s like to be the little indiscreet town you pass on the map to something greater, the dot on the GPS. Life lessons always bring me closer to God. Perhaps the destination is right on target. Finally.
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