We see it everywhere- in offices, schools and in the media. We see backs so straight and arched so far back with pride and pretense that one wonders how their spines have not snapped. Culture teaches us to appear as what we are not, in the name of survival, of appearing better than we really are.
Have you walked through an endless field of lallang, and noticed how, like the stems of wheat which are full of grain and ready for harvest, the arches of their slender stems are curved gently downwards, their spirits bowed low in broken contrition?
When we bear fruit in our lives, do we, too, like the humble grain, have it inside of us to bend down low in gentle humility, or do we arch our backs with our chins held high to parade the full grain of our harvest?
Each and every day since the illness, God has been teaching me a little about Pride and Humility, about my too-high chin and over-arched back.
Perhaps what is deadlier than having no faith at all, is having presumptuous faith- being proud that you had your prayers answered, that you realised your dreams, that God's power and success was manifest through you.
I was too busy battling depression when Kitesong was published, so Pride took a back seat then. Later, however, as good news about the funds raised trickled in, and people gave me pats on the back, Pride crept in through the back door. A kind lady passed me a book over a birthday lunch she bought me- "Here, this is for you. I just want you to know the boys were thoroughly inspired by Kitesong." It was a collection of poetry written by some secondary school boys, inspired by artists with disabilities from the same charity organisation, VSA (Very Special Arts), which I and a team of friends had organised a Charity Run for just over a year ago.
I was genuinely happy at first, but it didn't take long before a wave of pride welled up.
What was a sweet thing became cloyingly sickening. Pride ruins goodness.
One can be too proud for too many things, and yet be painfully unaware of it. We can be proud of our studies, our physique, our attitude, our character, and even more sinisterly, our goodness. Yes, one can be proud of one's goodness, and tragedy befalls the man on the day it happens. When one starts to become proud of helping the poor, righteous of his own standards, proud of the risks he took, challenges he overcame to do the sacrificial things he did, and worse, indulges in false humility ( Oh no, it's nothing really...) he forgets the great privilege he was given to do all those things, and falls to his own demise.
God can take away that privilege from us anytime. A bout of illness, a or just a simple turn of events could be all it takes to be displaced from that beautiful postion of helping someone else. What fools we are to place ourselves on pedestals.
I've been guilty of that- and the lesson has been excruciatingly painful to learn. Have you, too, been guilty... of vanity of your own goodness?
In some ways, I am thankful and relieved that my intended second book, A Taste of Rainbow, didn't come through immediately. God made me wait, I am still waiting, and the waiting could be indefinite. Yet, it was through the delay that Patience and Humility was birthed. And I am thankful. I am thankful.
Waiting for the reply from the crisis relief team going to Sichuan to help with the post-earthquake efforts was a humbling experience in itself. After all the trauma of anticipating, praying and finally taking the step of faith forward to avail myself, I learnt that the relief team may not have a space for me. That news crushed me. It crushed me like a steamroller over an empty metal can. On my knees in my bedroom I started to ask God why. And in between my sobs I heard Him say to let go. To let go because Pride still had a hold on me. Deep down inside, I never realised just how proud I was to travel to an earthquake zone to serve people, and this prolonged period of delay was just God's way of sanctifying the intents and purposes of my heart.
God's delay and timing is always for a purpose.
It took me days to let go completely. To bow my head low and to admit that there is no disaster, no crisis, nothing in this world which needs me so bad that makes me indispensable. To admit that God is in control of all things, not me. To put my trust in God's infinite goodness and wisdom that He knows what He's doing, including His decision of sending me there or not, even it it runs contrary to my own agenda.
When I wiped my tears away, I thrust both my arms in the air, smiled and said out loud, in a half-crazy way I would only do in the privacy of my own room, "I trust you God! And it doesn't matter if I go or not, because I want to learn Humility- I've availed myself already, but I'm just going to trust you!"
A huge burden lifted. It was as if the huge boulder which had weighed my back down and caused it to arch in a backbreaking manner had suddenly disappeared.
And just in line with the theatrical way God so often likes to use, I received confirmation of my acceptance into the team that very evening.
Indeed, God cares far less about our actual acts than our hearts from which the acts were birthed from.
Are we too proud to admit that for all our goodness and availability, we may not always be needed? Are we too proud to admit that our goodness without redemption is largely vanity?
That evening, I learnt an important lesson- that for everything in life which we undertake, we can choose to see, myopically, our own goodness, or choose to see our position to help others as the highest privilege in the world.
They say that wheat fields are one of the most beautiful sights on this earth. When their heads are full with fruit, they bow down in lowly humility instead of proudly displaying themselves.
I was reminded today- that as long as the wheat plant stands proudly straight, it is not ripe for harvest. And as long as we remain proud, God cannot use us, no matter how much potential for goodness we have.
Because goodness without humility will almost always only be vanity.
The only way to solve this humanistic dilemma is to kill that part within us which rots our hearts. For only when Pride dies, truly, can we serve, help, and love with the fullness of God's generous spirit. It is only when the wheat plant ripens, bends low, and dies, that its grain falls to the ground and gives birth to new life.
Are we humble enough to feel privileged?
Photo by OY
"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."
-John 12:24
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