The Cure for Pride
There is no better way to recognize the reality that you are awfully prideful than by motherhood.
I am convinced that every single politician out there should be forced to experience motherhood 24/7 for at least three months before assuming any position in public office. You want to see humble leadership? That would do it. No hiding little areas about yourself that would be best undetected. Not with little ones around to proclaim your failures and shine the light on your pride.
I can’t even remember the insane amount of times my kids have revealed my flaws. It’s uncanny, really. I’m not Catholic, but if I were, I would just send one of my kids to confess my sins to the priest because they sure do know them inside and out. Actually, there would probably be a long line of preschoolers and young elementary kids lined up to speak with the man of the cloth about the sins of their mothers. They know us pretty well, after all.[sws_pullquote_right]I am convinced that every single politician out there should be forced to experience motherhood 24/7 for at least three months before assuming any position in public office. You want to see humble leadership? That would do it. [/sws_pullquote_right]
One such instance of being humbled by my kids has, sadly enough, involved behavior at church recently. A friend told me just today how much fun it is to watch my girls as they sit in the pew each week. (Note to self: start sitting in the very back.)
At our church, the kids have a childrens’ bulletin each week where they are supposed to answer basic questions such as who preached, what the title of the message was, and they can draw a picture about something that was said. Pretty straightforward and is supposed to encourage them to listen. Sounds good, right?
Well, two weeks ago, as I was listening to the preached Word of God and kind of having a moment to tell you the truth, I got a little jab in the ribs. I looked over to see the angry expression on my middle child’s face. She looked pretty ticked.
Pointing at her big sister’s bulletin, I saw “MY SISTER IS A BIG GRUMP” written in bold letters in the very area she was supposed to be explaining the main idea of the sermon.
She was pleased as a peach with her cleverness at upsetting her sister without saying a word.
I quietly took the paper from her hands, placed it beside me on the pew, delivered an incognito dirty look to the offending child, and resumed listening to the preacher.
A couple days later, I received an email from one of the good folks at church who work with the children. “We sure got a kick out of your daughter’s sermon notes this week!” I was aghast. I had specifically instructed her to NOT turn in that bulletin! She must have swiped it when I wasn’t looking.
But really, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t so bad. I mean, there are FAR worse things she could have written, and we’ve been at the same church long enough now that it is not news to anybody that sometimes our family isn’t the model church going little clan.
The next week, the girls and I were sitting there again, dressed appropriately (you’d think this was a given but obviously you don’t know my youngest child) and looking, well, Christian-ly, for lack of a better term.
I began to hear a little snickering going on beside me. Quiet, trying-to-be-composed kind of snickering. The kind I’ve done myself many times during church moments when I was supposed to be respectful and quiet. The little girl next to me began shaking a little as she held in her giggles. I looked over to see what was so funny, and right there plain as day was written the word “SH*T”. Not once, but twice on her children’s bulletin!!
She looked at me with a little sheepish, guilty-as-sin kind of smile and immediately started erasing it.
For the love of all things. This is even worse than a couple of weeks ago when another of my children learned to write “butt” and I found it everywhere throughout the house for days! Why do bad words have to be so dadgum easy to spell, anyway?!
I was not about to let THIS bulletin makes its way to the table where they are to be turned in each week. I put it in my purse, carefully folding it so the erased but still legible profanity could not be seen. There was no way this little gem was escaping. I could just imagine the email I would receive for that one…what kind of mother lets her children write things like that at church of all places?!
Another friend told me today that her young son watches Veggie Tales on her ipad during the service. He just puts in his ear buds, settles in, and enjoys a 30-minute cartoon. Everybody wins.
I am thinking this is not an altogether bad idea. But I might have to make sure they aren’t watching Princess Leia when she’s wearing the gold bikini for Jaba. That would be just my luck.
Humility. Who knew it was synonymous with “motherhood”.
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