It is easier when I am on my knees. Nothing can knock me down when I am there, but when I stand up...the world hits, and it can hit hard. How do I stay, become, humble on my feet? Humility is not humiliation. I can't get this mixed up. Humility is quiet. Humiliation is loud and ugly and leaves you naked, a martyr to an unworthy cause. Humility covers you with a blanket of peace.
Maybe the basic ingredient of humility is thankfulness, being small enough to see what we've been given by the God who makes button noses, little toes, fingerprints on tiny fingers, turns death into life in each seed, restores minds, and heals shattered hearts. Humility must be to acknowledge the God who knit all of this together perfectly. Humility must be the act of stopping, looking, and asking to see so that a good can grow in the wounded human heart.
Maybe humility is an act that magnifies my need for Him. Without him, I would not be. Simple, organic, basic truth. If He knit me together in my mother's womb, watched me form cell by cell, had a purpose for ME before the foundation of the earth was even laid, then what am I ...original, valuable, significant?
I want to see more clearly the reflection of His goodness, of His gifts, of His ultimate act of humility. It is a reflection that while I was still lost, He hung, was crushed, became sin so that I could stand here today with the opportunity to be humble, thankful, without despair!
Oh God, don't let me miss your reflection. Take off the scales that keep me blind to who you are. Let me fall to my knees not out of desperation, but out of being small, safe, tucked away like a child under your greatness.