Eating Humble Pie

When I was young and dumb, in my twenties, I knew everything. There were countless people and situations that I observed with a shaking head and a judgmental eye. How could they be so obtuse? How could they miss what was so blatantly obvious to me?

I don’t know exactly when it turned for me, maybe it was when I started “adulting” and stepping into positions where I needed to do more than follow. At some point though, I began to assess what was behind me and realize the gracious people that God had put in my path to help shape and form me to be who I am today.

The biggest pieces of humble pie that I have had to eat as I’ve gotten older are the ones that contained those judgmental glances at people whose story I didn’t fully know and whose abilities I questioned. What seemed so easy to me back then has been revealed to be much more difficult than my immature eye could see at that moment.

The innocent example is the newly married couple who looks with disgust at the young parents whose kid is having a meltdown in the middle of a very public place. “How come they can’t control that kid?” Or better yet, “When I’m a parent, my kids will NEVER act like that.” If I had a dollar for every time that phrase was uttered and then served up cold for that couple to eat just a few years later, I’d be rich.

It took a major career change and being well into my fifth decade of life for me to realize that I didn’t have all the answers. In fact, I barely had some of them. As much as I thought I knew, as harshly as I judged, time had revealed to me that there was far more than met the eye to both the situations and the leaders that I saw in those situations.

I continue to eat that humble pie. There are times when I still slip back into my old ways, the ways of thinking how much better I am than everyone else, the ways of believing that my approach is the only one and all others must comply and get in line.

If I have any regret in life, it’s that I didn’t learn this sooner. I wish I could have had conversations with my parents about this, to encourage and affirm them. I wish I could tell them just how right they were. I wish I could transmit the wisdom and experience of today back to that know-it-all decades ago.

Just a few years ago, before I planted the church that I currently lead, I sat down with some relatives who had planted churches. That youthful idealism rose up within me and I told them that I wasn’t necessarily concerned about hearing their success stories as much as their missteps and mistakes. They looked at me with a smile, a smile that had years of experience and wisdom behind it, and they said, “You might not make our mistakes, but you’ll make plenty of your own.”

Yup, I’m still eating humble pie, and I probably will be until the day God calls me home.

Nothing Is Wasted

My mom was the queen of making things last. As a child of the Depression, I think it was just the way she grew up and a way of life that she got used to in those earlier years that she never would or could shake.

At some point during my youth, I realized that my mom kept things for a really, really long time, much longer than most people did. While aesthetics were important to her, functionality was equally important and she would use things and preserve them until they no longer worked. She kept the boxes things came in and waste didn’t seem to be part of her vocabulary.

I’m not saying that she kept a lot of junk around the house, because she didn’t, but she prided herself in making things last for much longer than the average person. Appliances. Furniture. Clothing. You name it, she would find a way to keep these things as nice as possible and I’m guessing that if someone inquired as to the age of things, they would be surprised at just how long she made things last.

Nothing was wasted in my house.

There’s something to be said about not letting things go to waste. You use things until they can’t be used any longer and there’s no question at all whether or not you feel like you’ve gotten your money’s worth. When you’re doing your best to not let things go to waste, you are always looking for a purpose and another way that you might find use for something, even if it seems useless to others, past its prime, ready to be expended, there may still be use there.

I’ve thought a lot about this whole idea that nothing is wasted, primarily in losing my good friend and other losses that I’ve experienced in my life, particularly my mom and dad. As the shock wears off and the sting remains of this recent loss, I’ve had to do an inventory of sorts in my life. How can I reassess everything? How can I evaluate who I am and what I’m doing in the wake of such a loss?

I’m reminded of the early Native Americans who would never waste the animals that they killed. They would use every part so that nothing was wasted, nothing was thrown away. Meat. Skin. Bones. Hair. It was all used and given purpose, no matter how big or small.

I wonder if our pain and grief can find the same purpose. I wonder if we can walk through these things and say, “I can use everything, good or bad.” As Tim Challies wrote, that grief has become a part of my story which, “has equipped them for more and better service to God.” Grief is part of my story and my past griefs have equipped me to help myself and others walk through this latest iteration of grief.

Nothing’s wasted, but I kind of wish it was. Well, more accurately I might say, I almost wish that there was nothing to have to waste to begin with. I’ve often hoped that I might learn the lessons that I’m currently learning through a different method, through different circumstances. I’ve wished and wondered what it would be like to have my mom and dad here, to have my friend here. I’ve wished and wondered that I had been a better steward of the relationships that were given to me as I realize that, maybe, I was more selfish than I realized and didn’t see the gift as vividly as I do now.

Nothing’s wasted. I have to believe that. I have to believe in purpose. I have to believe in hope.

My friend’s wife told me that she was grateful for me, that she was grateful to have me by their side to walk through this. As great of a compliment that is for me, I still wished that it was not part of my story.

And yet…

It is…

Nothing’s wasted…and that has about as much to do with my reaction and response as it does with God’s plan and purpose. While God may have purposed me for that, what would happen if I simply said, “No. I don’t want this.” Jesus himself prayed a prayer in the garden before his sacrificial death with a similar sentiment. “If it be possible, take this cup from me. Yet not my will but yours be done.”

And so remains my prayer, trying to follow in the steps of Jesus as best I can. Not my will but yours be done. Can I take every step with the intent and purpose to not waste what is behind me but to use it for what is ahead? Can I trust that there is purpose there, even when I can’t see it? Can I teach others that facing this giant of grief head on is possible, difficult and suffocating at times, but possible nonetheless?

No, nothing is wasted, but I’ve got to do my part to ensure that’s the case. So I carry this pain with me, I carry this grief, knowing that purpose may not even be found on this side of eternity. Understanding may elude me until I see Jesus face to face. But hope that is seen is no hope at all, as the Apostle Paul wrote. We wait for what we hope for, and so I will hope and wait to know and one day understand just how this won’t be wasted.