A Night to Be Humbled

I don’t normally feel hypocritical. I especially don’t feel hypocritical when I’m praising God. Even when I’m not feeling it, I can still push the words out of my mouth, carry a (mostly) pretty tune, and somehow feel good about myself. Not tonight. Tonight I was too humbled to sing. I’m pretty sure that’s a first.

I was sitting in a women’s event at church alongside many who are the mothers of special needs kids. When I saw the ad in our church bulletin for this particular topic, raising disabled kids, I thought, “There’s one I don’t need to go to.” Then I found out my dear friend was speaking. Jill could speak on eyeball dissections and I would go.

It’s not like I haven’t heard her story of having a baby with Down Syndrome before, but somehow it was different this time. Maybe it was the context. The uncomfortable, random cries that came from the back of the room (this was a place these mothers could bring their special needs kids, after all). The dad cradling his 11-year-old—smaller than my 4-year-old and a child I would be scared to even touch—and calling her his princess. The woman who’s cared for more than 200 foster kids, many of them with special needs, and is now tending to her husband with Alzheimer’s. I was humbled by their stories. Leveled, actually. To the point where I couldn’t even sing the words, “Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus” without feeling unworthy, hypocritical.

I consider myself a person of strong faith. Driving to the meeting tonight, I would have given myself a 9 out of 10 on the faith scale. I intentionally try to live each day with open hands, praying that God’s will and not mine be done. I don’t live in fear. I don’t feel an urgent need to control things. I have called this faith. But driving home, my number dropped to a 1. I didn’t lose faith this evening; I just realized how little faith my life has required. I’ve had losses and grief, but they’ve come and gone. I can’t think of anything I’ve had to trust God for over the course of a lifetime. I can picture all of my birdies not only flying out of my little nest some day, but soaring to heights I’ve never reached. I’m not wondering who will care for one of them when I die. I’m not wondering how we’ll ever have the money to fill in the gaps insurance won’t cover. Yes, I am humbled.

And then of course the mind goes to all sorts of dark places. “Why didn’t you choose this road for me, God? Was I too weak? Did I lack the faith? Could I not have handled it?” And then a step further: “Maybe this is our path. What if we’re just one freak rollerblading accident away from a life like this?”

But that is not where my mind stays. I won’t let it. Those thoughts, along with a false sense of unworthiness, only keep me focused on myself and distract me from what God's trying to teach me. All I can know is what He has chosen for me today, and all I can do is love the people who are walking that road, give thanks for what He has chosen for me, and have the good sense not to resist this lesson in humility.