Shades of silverWith tears spilling over my steering wheel, I cried out, “Jesus, I am just SO inadequate!”

I knew it when we got out of the car and he raced in front of me, even as I asked him to hold my hand. I knew it when she pulled at the flower display despite my admonition to look, not touch. I knew it when he said, “Would it help if we took them to the kid’s play area first?”

I knew it when I left my water bottle in the lobby. I knew it when I couldn’t remember my password for my Groupon account. I knew it when I fumbled off the NuStep machine, nearly face planting on the floor.

I knew it when I went to pick up my darlings and he refused to get his shoes from the cubby. I knew it when he escaped down the hall and I hobbled after him. I knew it when I said, “Please don’t step in the water puddle on the floor,” and she sat down in it anyways.

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

And I especially knew it when we made it to the car and both refused to sit in the car seat they’d sat in a thousand times before.

It is why as the van doors closed and the screams got louder, my tears spilled out all over the steering wheel and I cried out, “Jesus, I am just so inadequate!”

Over and over and over again.

All the way home.  Into the house. Up the stairs.

Until I heard His answer come from somewhere deep within me.

“Sara, you may think that this is inadequacy but it isn’t, love. It is the pain of being humbled.”

Say what?!!?!!??

“Jesus, come on.  Remember me?  Miss “I’m a mess” Cormany? I really think I have “being humbled” sewn the hoot up.”





A realization.  A pause.  And then…

“Sara, humility is not a fly-by-night, “Yes, thank you, I have wonderful children, but it’s all Jesus.”  Nor is it “Thank you for saying I’m loving or grace-filled or merciful, but hey, all Jesus.”  Nor is it pain-free empty verbage.”

“Humility is leaving heaven for a manger.  Humility is leaving comfort for a cat-of-nine’s tail. Humility is putting down a crown and picking up a Cross.”

“Humility hurts, love.”

With tears spilling out of my eyes once more, it occurred to me that my definition of humility is so far away from its true meaning.  And I have yet to live under the weight of it.  Sure, I have my moments where I get glimpses or even stretches of abandoning my own self-importance.

But we are, in our first-world, all-about-me environment, slave to being the best.

The best parent.  The best body.  The best financial plan.

The best WHATEVER.

Humility is not edgy or trendy.  Humility is only a word we want to throw around in our spiritual back-and-forth banter of theology. So in its stead, we force ourselves and others to put on a cloak of inadequacy.

We believe that we are less than who Jesus calls us to be in any given moment.

We drink in humiliation rather than humility.

But before the foundation of the world, God saw this morning, this mess, this fumbling disaster. He knew it and yet, still chose me to be a mother of three beautiful and yes, spirited children.  He ordained my motherhood.

And yet, I doubt Him daily.

I doubt the God of the universe.

Talk about someone who needs a little humility.

So Jesus, humble me.

Build in me a desire to crave humility, abandon inadequacy and have the courage to say instead, “Jesus, I want you to bring me to a place where I cannot help but choose the Cross over a crown.”

Even if it hurts.  Even if I cry.  Even if I fall.

I want the Cross, Jesus.

Every single day, I want the Cross.

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