Pride and the Broken Heart
Last week I prayed a prayer. I had been noticing a concerning pattern, but kept brushing aside the nagging realization, always thinking, I need to deal with that someday. And then it hit me squarely in the face: I have become proud. Not proud of accomplishments, proud of who I am. Proud, in my heart. I've somehow led myself to believe I don't need others' wisdom, that the advice and help they may have to offer isn't applicable to my life. I've somehow trusted the lie that others who have gone before and learned the hard way couldn't possibly have anything to teach me that I couldn't teach myself.
It's a lie. It's sin.
I prayed a very difficult prayer last week. Lord, humble me. I can't parent in a vacuum, and you've put wise women in my life from whom I should be learning. Break this spirit of pride; it's sin. Make me humble, please.
The problem with praying a prayer like that, and meaning it, is that there's no easy way to break a prideful spirit. I'm sure there's someone out there who's been removed of sin like that instantaneously. In my experience, though, that kind of prayer always ends in tears and a broken heart. It has to. Pride means that I've become too full of myself, too self-sufficient. The only way to become less full of myself is to come to the startling realization that I'm not enough on my own. The only way to become less self-sufficient is to be faced with the reality that I can't do it by myself.
I told Micah when I prayed the prayer that I had hard days ahead, that the end result would be tears. By Wednesday I was slouched on my stairs, sobbing before God. I can't do this. I can't do anything on my own. I'm a terrible wife. I can't parent my own children, let alone care for the child we're babysitting. My house is a mess, my relationships are out of sorts. What good am I, Lord?
All around me was mayhem. Loud, grouchy kids who fought over everything. A tense phone conversation with my husband. A baby who needed extra attention. Piles of laundry. Dishes in the sink. Responsibilities and bills and to-do lists. It all came crashing down around me that day. I was a whimpering mess, confused and frustrated that the bottom had fallen out so suddenly. And then I remembered my prayer.
Ah, yes, Lord. Didn't I know this was coming? Didn't I ask for this? You are always faithful to refine me, to burn away the sin that's become entangled.
I smiled, just a little, through the tears. God's refining fire is painful. It's uncomfortable. But even in the flames, even in the hurt, there's peace. This pain is not without a purpose. This pain is allowed for a reason, to purify me and make my heart more like his. This pain is not lonely, but filled with his presence, with the comfort of his rod and his staff, guiding and shaping me.
The truth is pain was inevitable. Pride always ends in tears. We are not all that we think we are. No matter how hard I try, I will never be able to hold it all together perfectly. It would have all come crashing down around me eventually. But pain that results from my pride is a lonely, senseless kind of pain. There is no redemption in it. There is no purpose. I have dug my own grave, caused my own hurt. When I give my pride over to Christ, when I surrender my sin to him, there may still be pain. It will be uncomfortable to disentangle myself from it. But he is there through it, guiding, shaping, comforting, and changing me. Oh, the difference!
I have miles and miles still to go on this road. There will be more tears ahead--perhaps even today--but there is comfort in the tears. The God who hears our prayers to save us from our sinful selves is faithful. He will not leave the prayer unanswered, and he will not leave us alone as we undergo the change. Only a broken heart can be rebuilt into his image.
It's a lie. It's sin.
I prayed a very difficult prayer last week. Lord, humble me. I can't parent in a vacuum, and you've put wise women in my life from whom I should be learning. Break this spirit of pride; it's sin. Make me humble, please.
The problem with praying a prayer like that, and meaning it, is that there's no easy way to break a prideful spirit. I'm sure there's someone out there who's been removed of sin like that instantaneously. In my experience, though, that kind of prayer always ends in tears and a broken heart. It has to. Pride means that I've become too full of myself, too self-sufficient. The only way to become less full of myself is to come to the startling realization that I'm not enough on my own. The only way to become less self-sufficient is to be faced with the reality that I can't do it by myself.
I told Micah when I prayed the prayer that I had hard days ahead, that the end result would be tears. By Wednesday I was slouched on my stairs, sobbing before God. I can't do this. I can't do anything on my own. I'm a terrible wife. I can't parent my own children, let alone care for the child we're babysitting. My house is a mess, my relationships are out of sorts. What good am I, Lord?
All around me was mayhem. Loud, grouchy kids who fought over everything. A tense phone conversation with my husband. A baby who needed extra attention. Piles of laundry. Dishes in the sink. Responsibilities and bills and to-do lists. It all came crashing down around me that day. I was a whimpering mess, confused and frustrated that the bottom had fallen out so suddenly. And then I remembered my prayer.
Ah, yes, Lord. Didn't I know this was coming? Didn't I ask for this? You are always faithful to refine me, to burn away the sin that's become entangled.
I smiled, just a little, through the tears. God's refining fire is painful. It's uncomfortable. But even in the flames, even in the hurt, there's peace. This pain is not without a purpose. This pain is allowed for a reason, to purify me and make my heart more like his. This pain is not lonely, but filled with his presence, with the comfort of his rod and his staff, guiding and shaping me.
The truth is pain was inevitable. Pride always ends in tears. We are not all that we think we are. No matter how hard I try, I will never be able to hold it all together perfectly. It would have all come crashing down around me eventually. But pain that results from my pride is a lonely, senseless kind of pain. There is no redemption in it. There is no purpose. I have dug my own grave, caused my own hurt. When I give my pride over to Christ, when I surrender my sin to him, there may still be pain. It will be uncomfortable to disentangle myself from it. But he is there through it, guiding, shaping, comforting, and changing me. Oh, the difference!
I have miles and miles still to go on this road. There will be more tears ahead--perhaps even today--but there is comfort in the tears. The God who hears our prayers to save us from our sinful selves is faithful. He will not leave the prayer unanswered, and he will not leave us alone as we undergo the change. Only a broken heart can be rebuilt into his image.
