I didn’t intend to include this in my series, but this morning I found it needed to be here.
Confession: The more I look at yesterday’s post, the more I can see that there is pride in the way I wrote about humility.
There is pride in having a life that looks good, a life that is put together. There is pride in being looked to as an example: the family who advises and prays for other families, the family whose children sit in a nice row in church and open the hymn books to the right page. There is pride in being the poster child of Christian parenting.
Humility is born only of incredible pain. But I have come to see that it is Mercy when you face your unraveling early in life instead of late.
Maybe that was me poking at the put-together families, the ones who can hold it together and ace it and look good. I can see some bitterness in my soul about that. There is nothing wrong with being a good family, with raising your children successfully in holiness. That is our goal. And if you are raising children who are turning out as you imagined, I want to bless your family, not undermine it. Forgive me.
The back story is that I grew up in a family that was looked to as an example. We faced our grief and unraveling late, and as a daughter and a mother (simultaneously) I was devastated when I came to grips with the fact that I could not prevent the same pain from repeating itself in the family I was raising. I love the family I was born into and have great respect for how my parents raised us. Like them, I have had to discover that no amount of my best parenting will protect my children from the dangerous, exhilarating, abusable, God-given power to choose.
My children’s virtue is a good aim. When my children’s virtue is about making me look good, I am in the wrong. From this posture I wrote, but with mixed and confusing motives. I could feel but not pinpoint them.
I see there can be a heart that is proud of being broken, a heart that looks at the proud people and is so glad it is not like them.
About this I am talking to Jesus, and for it I am so sorry.