Pride is a fickle friend. It’s no friend at all. Last night I confessed to my wife the sin of pride that had simply been making it difficult for me to exercise well my vocation as husband.
I was being a prick. She forgave me.
It was subtle–both my pride and my behavior–but there was no getting around it. I was holding on to my own image of myself and my self-importance instead of doing what I have been called to do according to my Lord who has put me into this marriage with her. It was one of the hardest conversations of my life. It wasn’t a tear-jerker; the music didn’t swell and we didn’t fall into each other’s arms in a fit of emotion. But there I was: laid bare as I ought to have been in the first place. Whether it was an issue of id or ego, I had been in the wrong for some time. Plainly, it was difficult.
And today it doesn’t feel much different. I rarely feel as though a weight has come off, and this is no exception. Yet there is something of a hopefulness here that wasn’t there before. I don’t know that I’ll go into much more detail here.
Pride continues to be a struggle for me–either when I manifest it or when I perceive it in others. Too often I am confronted, in one or the other, the need for the last word; the subtle acknowledgement of wrong without going all the way and personally admitting wrong; holding on to sin because letting go means a release of perceived power.
Pride is a poor solution to anxiety. In the end we’re left either with our own pride–the sham of self-sufficiency–or Jesus Christ and his all-sufficiency.
Confession. Absolution. In Christ there is freedom–freedom to be weak and not to hold on to my own feeble sense of importance. Thank God.