I keep having these experiences at church, and at home, of all the small humiliations. When you’re trying your hardest, really, and it’s just still not enough, or you have no control. Yesterday, for example, my husband and I were trading services because of course someone is ill, and I took the older boys. We arrived, and are sitting in this solemn service and both of my children, for totally inexplicable reasons had the most noxious fumes that just kept coming. My eyes were watering and I’m thinking of the people directly around us wanting to die a little. And I had to just get over myself. All these little tiny humiliations are nothing! Do I think Jesus went through what he did so that I could look good in church?
I keep thinking of the last line of the Litany of Humility:
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should.
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
It stings my pride when the holiness asked of me is changing diapers and cleaning up messes at home, when even my efforts at good things turn sideways. But “a broken and contrite spirit he will not despise”
You get it, Annelise! Pride is so sneaky and choking. I keep thinking of water—He was poured out like water. How could He do that? By being completely humble and letting all the burdens fall on him. Our puny efforts are so small in comparison. (And heh, noxious fumes and tiny humiliations—so, so true.) And yet we are called to the same. This is a responsibility and a joy! Thank God He is the Way that we cling to. May He keep teaching us.
I think of labor, in those final hours, or minutes, depending on the mother, wondering: Can I really keep doing this? How much longer? And it really isn’t just the physical pain and exhaustion. It hits a spiritual level, too, I think. It really was an awful load Christ bore, and it really was ours. It still is our load that He takes.
Thank you for reminding me of our Lord’s endurance under the spiritual weight of sin and wrath. It heartens me in what He asks me to bear today.
It's interesting, Leah--I was thinking of the same thing as I wrote this and almost added it in. With our firstborn, I felt a very stark despair at a late point. "I can't keep doing this. I think I'm going to die." And I realized in that moment that this labor, and all others, was why Christ came. He came to do it (I hear the end of Psalm 22 here: "They shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn, that he has done it"). He came, in fact, to die. You are so right; it is still our load that He takes.
I keep having these experiences at church, and at home, of all the small humiliations. When you’re trying your hardest, really, and it’s just still not enough, or you have no control. Yesterday, for example, my husband and I were trading services because of course someone is ill, and I took the older boys. We arrived, and are sitting in this solemn service and both of my children, for totally inexplicable reasons had the most noxious fumes that just kept coming. My eyes were watering and I’m thinking of the people directly around us wanting to die a little. And I had to just get over myself. All these little tiny humiliations are nothing! Do I think Jesus went through what he did so that I could look good in church?
I keep thinking of the last line of the Litany of Humility:
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should.
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
It stings my pride when the holiness asked of me is changing diapers and cleaning up messes at home, when even my efforts at good things turn sideways. But “a broken and contrite spirit he will not despise”
You get it, Annelise! Pride is so sneaky and choking. I keep thinking of water—He was poured out like water. How could He do that? By being completely humble and letting all the burdens fall on him. Our puny efforts are so small in comparison. (And heh, noxious fumes and tiny humiliations—so, so true.) And yet we are called to the same. This is a responsibility and a joy! Thank God He is the Way that we cling to. May He keep teaching us.
Have a blessed Easter, my friend.
I think of labor, in those final hours, or minutes, depending on the mother, wondering: Can I really keep doing this? How much longer? And it really isn’t just the physical pain and exhaustion. It hits a spiritual level, too, I think. It really was an awful load Christ bore, and it really was ours. It still is our load that He takes.
Thank you for reminding me of our Lord’s endurance under the spiritual weight of sin and wrath. It heartens me in what He asks me to bear today.
It's interesting, Leah--I was thinking of the same thing as I wrote this and almost added it in. With our firstborn, I felt a very stark despair at a late point. "I can't keep doing this. I think I'm going to die." And I realized in that moment that this labor, and all others, was why Christ came. He came to do it (I hear the end of Psalm 22 here: "They shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn, that he has done it"). He came, in fact, to die. You are so right; it is still our load that He takes.
Thank you for posting.