humble delight

i’ve been thinking a lot about humility in the past couple weeks. that is not the opening lines of my humble brag dissertation. and perhaps ‘thinking’ is putting it lightly, wrestling might be more appropriate. a kind of wrestling where progress is slippery and leaning in more only results in more sucker punches. a collection of musings here could therefore be read more accurately as an inventory of bruises, just ones i’m hoping to learn from.

sparked by a season of discernment and a changing of the tides, i began to realize that frustration and fragility felt closer at hand than normal. i had written this chapter of my story in my head - and proofread it many times - and oddly enough, it didn’t have some of these pieces. some of the new additions are great, real story hooks, while others i don’t quite know what to do with. so the rub continues - all because i am still trying to author my story. still trying to define what fits and what doesn’t, trying to define what good and bad are on my own terms.

here’s the humility poke.
what if i held my story in more humble hands?
how would i hold this differently if i truly believed in the fullness and goodness of god?

i’ll let you catch your breath.

now go with me back to the mountains...
up on a ridgeline. a pretty precarious, high alpine, narrow and technical path. uninhibited views for miles, to rolling seas of peaks and clear blue skies in all directions. incredible. yet also dangerous, exposed to the elements, one misstep could be scary if not deadly.

in the oddities of my brain, that was the visual metaphor that resonated for humility. i’d previously say the more natural visual would be a valley - after all the invitation of humility is to go low, right? but in a valley all things naturally fall to the bottom, it’s not hard to stay walking in the valley floor - the effort would be to climb out - so mindlessly cruising the geographically obvious path is easy. and visually it creates a natural tunnel vision, hard to have perspective down in the gully.

that doesn’t sound like humility in my world. i think it takes effort to stay on the humble path. i can’t move too fast because a misstep is a backslide. i don’t think humility is my automatic unfortunately. i have to keep my eyes up, perspective out, and intentionally take inventory of my path.

back to my humble ridgeline.

staying safe navigating the ridgeline takes intention. and enjoying the views means i’m not moving very fast, but instead requiring a focus to ensure each step is stable. proper placement of security, trust, base of support - on the rock. imagine the slope to the left, the temptation to put my value in myself, my efforts, my accolades, my status - pride. then the slope to the right, the natural propensity to put the weight of my value and esteem on others, people pleasing, seeking adoration and affirmation - insecurity and shame. both directions are slippery slopes, crumbly rocks and scree fields, and it escalates quickly, falling becomes far easier than standing upright. both directions i am asking, "am i enough?" both directions i am thinking, "surely not." both directions depend on me to carry the weight of my value and worth. both directions, i’ve placed me at the focal point, emphasized my own definitions of good and bad, success and failure, and sought to establishing my standing on my own efforts.

except in actuality, i’m not the main character of the story. a humble, firm-footed navigation of the ridgeline opens my eyes to how small i really am, how majestic creation is, and therefore how much bigger a creator must be. the low and slow of humility's invitation. low - establishing my base of support, grounded on the narrow mountain path, finding the only firm foundation. and the bigness and goodness, gratitude and abundance in and around me slows me to delight. there’s perspective and fragility in the same place. there’s a re-establishing of the truthfulness of my identity, but not via absorption in myself, only grounded in awe of the bigness and goodness around. it’s the bigness and majesty that brings me to - there’s no way I got up here on my own, and there’s no way I can stand here on my own power either. a receiving of something far greater that hits far deeper. an extra fullness to the delight. i’m not the perfect image, yet i’m not flawed and irrevocably broken either. i’m imaging another, so it’s not about me anyways.

so what does this look like? out and exposed to the elements, fragile yet awestruck, seeking to go low and slow. open-handed with narrative and expectations. grateful and watchful. well for now, humbly aware that i have less answers than questions, i’m venturing into the vulnerable endeavor of relinquishing the author's pen and asking better questions of god...

what are you up to, god?
how can I rethink this?
what assumptions am I making - negatively, positively - that may be inaccurate?
what am i really afraid of?
what would you have me see or know today?

and trusting that the ridgeline of delight is always where i’m invited to stand.

further reading: phil 2, james 4