On Humility

I was bent over the sink, washing my face, staring at water sloshing down the bowl when I got a sudden case of Deja vu.

I’d been here before.

Except it wasn’t me leisurely washing a face mask off my face on a mundane Wednesday evening. 

It was me, running down our hallway, grasping the side of the doorframe as I quickly turned, pulled back my hair, and threw my face into the sink just in time to empty the contents of my stomach.

Much different.

While washing my face, though, what struck me was the uncomfortable way I had to bend over. I remembered feeling that way for 10 months. My upper shoulders aching. My lower back getting sore. 

Standing up to adjust, leaning back down,
standing up to stretch, leaning back down,
standing up to wipe my face, leaning back down.

And now I find myself doing this day in and day out.

Leaning down to feed my son
Standing up to get my own food
Leaning down to play with his toys
Standing up to answer a call
Leaning down to lay him in bed
Standing up to get ready for the day

Even before he was born, he was teaching me humility. From an airport bathroom to behind a tree on a golf course. From a crib in a darkened nursery to a toy filled car seat. 

Standing up, leaning back down. 

I didn’t know it yet, but the months before I was pregnant would likely be the last time I would stand up with selfish autonomy. With me-first pride. With spontaneous abandon.

Thus far, nothing has been more humbling then motherhood. 

It’s been the ultimate test in humility—zero knowledge, figure it out in the fly, ultimate responsibility kind of humbling. 

There’s no point of pride in bending over when it hurts. 

There’s no overt show of glory in this position.

But this is parenthood.

Sacred 

Holy

There’s joy and laughter and connection and intimacy.

In the leaning down.

The standing back up.