The High Dive

I loved going to the pool growing up. I'd slather the coconutty goodness of Coppertone all over my white, freckled legs and lay out with my girlfriends, munching on Bugles and sipping that new drink, Diet Coke. Everyone spent their summers there, and we had the aching lungs and green hair to prove it. Most days we laid out and walked around, or we'd sit at the picnic tables to share a popsicle. We'd dip in and play a little Marco Polo with the boys and giggle as they grabbed our ankles. Life was good at the pool . . . until (the inevitable) my friends wanted to jump off the diving boards.

TRULY. HUMBLING. MEMORIES. I was so puny and nearly translucent and stick-skinny. (Picture Olive Oyle mounting the ladder--but with green hair.)  Not an athletic bone in my body, I was all twirls and no cartwheels.  But my cute, tan, non-freckly, gymnastics friends--who were sporty and shorter than I--could fly up the high dive and back-flip their way down for hours.

I could pencil on the short board.
{Splash.}

I've been asking God to humble me because He keeps telling me how proud I am. And I don't want to be proud (or ignore God).  So, He and I have been at work. And it feels a lot like I'm climbing up the high dive.  I am filled with dread and insecurity and fear and I can't stop looking around to see who's watching. It feels hard and humbling; and, truth is, I don't want to do it. Can't we just lay out and sip Diet Coke?

Overcoming pride is no small feat, and we simply can't do it in our own strength.  But a life surrendered to Jesus is freeing. Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty! With all that resurrection power He exerts in my life, I'm pretty sure He can free me from my pride. And, yep, maybe it will be a little humbling (But that's OK, right?) because losing pride can be a funny, freeing, messy, self-deprecating, eye-ball-rolling, really good look at oneself (ahem)--like last Thursday was for me . . .

When I went to lunch with my friends--and with my very obvious period. I scampered out of the restaurant like a little weasel with my bag covering my shamed bottom in those light jeans. (And is it just me, or are our periods really weird in our forties?)  I hopped in my rental van--picture early 90s dilapidated goodness with BO freshener, an obvious devotion to Marlboro Lights, and bright, bright yellow, New York license plates--and I rushed home to change my clothes. Because I needed to go to Walmart even though I am a Target girl. (And where is the A/C in this van? It's 90 degrees outside.) And I was wearing cut-offs. (Because Walmart.) And I got dirty from the pumpkin bin.  And my hair was all smoky.  And I got a pumpkin patch of zits on my chin. (Thank you, adult acne.) And I was frump. And hot. And I felt like a New Yorker with a chain-smoking addiction and a van I'm going to live in down by the river.  And I see everyone I know. (Every. One. I. Know.) And there is traffic and meanie drivers; and maybe, God, I will shoot them the bird because I'm in an anonymous van.  From New York. So, technically, is it even a sin--like when a tree falls in the forest and no one hears, does it make a sound?  Just, please Lord, no more humbling.

Yes, my humbling is on a small scale. It's silly, really.  Like getting a "run" in my yoga pants and Starbucks giving me a half-caf, non-fat when I wanted a decaf, half-fat or whatever. I am aware of horrific struggles worldwide and know there are children in countries who don't have access to clean drinking water.  I know about ISIS and sex-trafficking and betrayal, bankruptcy, addiction, pain and suffering.  Ebola is in Dallas. I get there are bigger things, and I care about them. Deeply, I do.

But see, how pride turns the lens to me?

As my dear friend, Stephanie, said at bible study last week, "Pride is insidious."  She's right; it's pervasive and it spreads like a terrible disease, infecting every area. It blinds me to my own faults and amplifies others'. It whispers, "You're fine. Keep doing it in your own strength" and it lies, "Your way is the right/best/only way." It's self-inflating and crippling all at once--and just a dash of it will ruin utter trust in and dependency on God.

"Your flip and callous arrogance in these things bothers me. You pass it off as a small thing, but it’s anything but that. Yeast, too, is a 'small thing,' but it works its way through a whole batch of bread dough pretty fast. So get rid of this 'yeast' . . . Let’s live out our part in the Feast, not as raised bread swollen with the yeast of evil, but as flat bread—simple, genuine, unpretentious" (1 Corinthians 5:6-8 MSG).

Simple. Genuine. Unpretentious.

Want to join me on the high dive? Let's jump into the freedom we have in Jesus. (You can back flip if you want to.)  Let's big splash together and enjoy the abundant life God gives His children. (And also, want to get a Diet Coke?)

Jesus, show us our pride. Forgive us of our pride. Deliver us from our pride. Lord God, let us live simple, genuine, unpretentious lives that reflect your glory. Give us strength to mount the high dive as many times as it takes, Lord. We want to be free; Jesus, set us free. Amen.