The Slap of Pride

My ugly heart showed up. And I felt the slap of pride swipe itself in a hundred ways across my soul yesterday. Now I never expected the first slapping attacks at my heart, let alone the dozens that followed.

It started when I saw an image on Facebook. This woman is a fellow author. She’s well known in circles that I don’t run. She’s signed with publishers I’ve longed to partner with, and I found myself comparing my walk with her walk.

I know better. I know it’s a waste of time. I know it only injures my heart and my outlook—yet, sometimes, I fall prey to selfishness and a desire to be the ‘somebody’ in the crowd. I fight me with me … as a part of me longs for attention, while the other part of me, she truly desires to give God glory. However, I often fail. I get so much wrong.

So when I saw her image, I decided to unfriend her. That’s right. If I don’t look at her. She won’t bother me. It’s not like I know how we became friends on Facebook anyway—but first, I was drawn to read her website. Which is something I’ve never done. I decided to see who she might be—the person I’ve never met.

My Image of Her Was Wrong!

And then it happened. Slap. Slap. I saw things in her story and in her words, and how she has fought a suffering-season which is lasting a lifetime—something I didn’t know about her. Because the image in my head was fabricated, and the real person behind that picture has suffered beyond measure—and she’s giving God glory in her pain.

As I went on, I read how her son grew up to murder someone in a calculated shooting in a parking lot. Slap. Slap. Slap. Oh, the sadness that jumped at me—for I have two boys and I sensed a sorrow that no mother wishes to endure.

And now, her son will spend his entire life behind bars with no option for parole, or so it seems. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. My crusty view of another person’s life became clearer, and I wiped the tears from my eyes.

This mother attended her son’s wedding. She watched as he excelled in areas of his life—only to watch his life fall apart, as his mental capacity spiraled to a place of torment. To a place where her son took a man’s life, based on things he thought were true—because he thought he was saving two little girls from abuse and torment—which no one knows if that’s true or not.

And the bullets would fly. The body would collapse. And her son would be arrested for murder. And she would weep and cry, and rise and speak of her pain— something she never intended to do with that horror. She would share her faith—anyway!

My Tainted View Gets Clearer!

Goodness, my view of life is tainted. It’s messier than I often admit. When I don’t have all the facts, I don’t think clearly. So, I repented, an ugly expelling of pride escaping from my heart once more. And I didn’t unfriend this woman. I now saw her image with new eyes.

Isn’t that how Christ sees us? He adores us. He watches over our coming and going—and He pours His grace into our lives. He daily gives us Himself, to remind us how wretched we are—how much we need Him.

In life, wake up calls come at us from strange encounters and sometimes from a photograph—when we go past that image—to see the person.

I pray to have more such encounters—where Christ pours Himself into my walk like ‘slaps’ of hope, like a call to my heart with a whisper of His love that is also wrapped in His discipline.