No one usually considers himself or herself to be arrogant. Most of the time, we are the last ones to see it. On full display for those around us, our pride is often hidden to us. It makes us blind, I suppose. And if we’re honest, we just don’t want to see it.
With pride comes a sense of control, that the world goes the way we want it because, well, that’s how we want it.
With pride comes a resentment for anything and anyone who does not yield to our control because, well, we are in control.
With pride comes a desire to have all the answers and the assumption that everyone needs to know our answers to everything because, well, we have all the answers.
With pride comes an unwillingness to admit that there is something we can’t do because, well, there is nothing we can’t do.
And then 2020 happens and our sense of control is gone, no one yields to our control, we don’t have answers, and there is so much we can’t do.
Anger might result, but for many the underlying feeling is disappointment.
We are disappointed that the world is anything but what we want it to be.
We are disappointed that we can’t find an answer.
We are disappointed that we can’t figure this thing out yet.
So we wait.
We wait to have our control back.
We wait for people to finally listen to us again.
We wait for a vaccine to let us do what we want to do again.
But what if we aren’t meant to have control?
What if we aren’t meant to have everyone listen to our answers?
What if we aren’t meant to be able to do everything we want to do?
What if disappointment is meant in some way to push us toward humility?
With humility comes a dependence that removes our need for control.
With humility comes a trust that doesn’t need all the answers and an ability to stop assuming everyone needs ours anyway.
With humility comes an admission that we can do everything, solve everything, be everything.
We face disappointment perhaps like never before, on and off the field. We wait perhaps like never before, on and off the field. We are humbled perhaps like never before, on and off the field.
And maybe God wants to meet us there. Maybe (he does).
Lord, I come humbly to you, knowing I am not in control, I have no answers, and I am unable to do what is next. But you are, you do, and you can. Draw me close. Lead the way.