Month: April 2022

“The proud man may learn humility, but he will be proud of it.” — Mignon McLaughlin

That’s one of my all-time favorite quotes. I have always been fascinated by the concept of humility. What exactly is it? A state of mind? A lifestyle? Is humility something you have? Or is it something you are. Can a person be humble in some things, but not in others? Or do you have to be one hundred percent totally humble to have humility?

I once heard a preacher say that humility is the strangest virtue of all because the moment you think you finally have it, you’ve lost it! For my part, I can only paraphrase a famous saying. I can’t define true humility, but I know it when I see it. I used to think humility was living a life of service to others without caring if you received any credit or acknowledgement. But after having the privilege of a lifetime of observing some truly humble people, I have come to see it goes deeper than that.

Real humility is a mission of serving others without even realizing there is credit or acknowledgement to be had. The truly humble seem to just live right for the sheer joy that it brings. Most often I have found it connected to a person’s spiritual relationship. In the Bible, the book of James states “Humble yourselves before the Lord and He will lift you up.” Psalm 149 says “For the Lord takes delight in His people. He crowns the humble with victory.” Sure enough, that seems to work for the authentically humble folks that I know. They just live a life of unselfishness because they are secure the love will come back to them. You could, in fact, make the argument that the only way to achieve real humility is through faith in such a higher power.

If you’re lucky, you know people like this. You’ve seen it modeled. You recognize it right away, don’t you? It sticks out like car headlights on a dark street. People who do for others so consistently and quietly, that they might even be a bit surprised and puzzled by any notice or credit.

Here’s an example. United Ability, located off Lakeshore Drive in the Homewood area, provides programs for people who are genuinely disabled. The teachers in those classrooms work very hard and deal with a lot of adversity. But you probably knew that. What you may not know, is that there is a separate staff, whose full time job is to take the participants to the bathroom and, if necessary, help them to execute their bodily functions, clean them up and return them to the classroom. That’s what they do. Every day.

They are called PCA’s, which stands for personal care attendant. You would not expect these workers to be particularly happy campers. You would be wrong. Most of them go about their jobs with a smile on their face, a sweet disposition, and the offer of a helping hand wherever it is needed, while going largely unrecognized by the general public. They are angels of mercy not only to the special needs people they tend to, but to the teachers they assist. I know this to be true. For two years, I was one of the substitute teachers they ministered to.

Seeing humility like that modeled in real life brings home my distance from it. I still get offended when I open a door for someone and they don’t respond with a “thank you”. It’s not for lack of wanting to be humble. (Is it even okay to want to be humble?) I enjoy service to others, and I like to think I have done a bit of it. But alas, I must sheepishly confess that I enjoy, maybe even need, a little acknowledgement once in awhile. Just a little pat on the back. An occasional “attaboy”. I guess I want to be humble, but I want everyone to know that I’m humble.

Thomas Merton said “Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real”. I suppose that’s what makes true humility so easy to spot, but so hard to emulate. We only approach it when we are content to just be the real person we were created to be, instead of laboring hard to be someone admired by others.

So find the real people in your life. Watch them blush as you tell them how much you love and appreciate their humble walk. You don’t even have to mention you got the idea by reading this column.

See? I’m getting more humble already.

My daughter, son-in-law, and their three kids climbed into their minivan and drove off, bound for Disney World. Sharon and I stood waving in the doorway, Sharon holding the eight month old baby boy they were leaving with us. For the first time in thirty-six years, we were going to be the full time caretakers of an infant. This nine day assignment had been planned for months. But just because you know something is coming doesn’t mean you’re prepared for it.

To this point, we had the blessing of enjoying our grandchildren in smaller doses. We spent many days and evenings with them babysitting, taking them to the playground, going to watch their ballgames and dance recitals and such. Occasionally one of them would spend the night. But nine straight days? This was taking it to a whole new level.

Did we remember anything about taking care of a baby full time? Will we get any sleep? Did I still possess the ability to suspend breathing through my nose while changing a diaper?

We were told the little guy would wake up about 4am each morning. Sharon told me the schedule. It called for a feeding and nap at 9am, another feeding and nap at 2pm, and to bed for the night around 7pm. I replied that would work fine for me, but what about the baby? She failed to see the humor.

At least he wasn’t up and running yet. He had worked his way to doing that army crawl, where you pull with your arms and drag the rest of your body behind you. We spread a blanket out on the floor and scattered several of his toys around it, foolishly believing the blanket would contain him. It’s amazing how fast a tyke can slither across a room, especially when there’s a dachshund chewing a rubber bone on the other side of the floor. Poor Oscar had to endure getting his floppy ears yanked and his tail pulled. Being the gentlest dog on the planet, he merely responded by attempting to slurp the baby in the face. (If my daughter reads this, don’t panic. We managed to stop him before any of the slurps landed….. I think.)

Feedings were interesting. We would gently slide the spoon into his mouth, whereupon he would take great delight in motorboating his food back out, spraying us with it. Didn’t take long to realize I was the one needing the bib, not him. We took him for walks on Trussville’s greenway along the Cahaba. The soft spring breeze and gentle vibration of the stroller wheels would lull him to sleep, thereby throwing him off schedule. Oh well, a sleeping baby was a happy baby we figured. I know it makes for happy grandparents. Ultimately we realized trying to establish a schedule was futile. He was on his own schedule. It was quite clearly his world and we were just living in it.

At this point I should pause to emphasize that I have been using the word “we” loosely. Sharon did most of the work, most of the getting up overnight, most of the diaper changing, most of the feedings. Yet, somehow, I felt more exhausted than she did. Where do women get this capacity to care for loved ones 24/7, enduring the fatigue and frustration? The old saying is true. There’s nothing like a mother’s love. Or a grandmother’s love. I frequently offered to jump in and take over. She usually let me off the hook, saying “It’s okay dear. I’ve got this.” Man, I love that woman.

Mainly, I was in charge of play time with this little ball of energy, or rocking him to sleep while we watched sports on TV together, or an occasional feeding, or releasing his clutches from Oscar’s ear. We watched a lot of that satellite channel Baby TV. It’s educational, but a bit ambitious. I’m not sure our eight month old is ready to learn what a trapezoid is.

I was also appointed vice-president in charge of non-baby activities, such as walking dogs (ours and theirs) and making food runs. All in all, it actually was quite fun , and apparently the baby had a blast as well, judging by the glee in his face when he managed to strafe the glasses off my face, or pull my fingers into his mouth and chomp them with both of his teeth. I had always heard there are only two reasons a baby cries. Either he is hungry or dirty. I beg to differ. Sometimes they just feel like being cranky, for no apparent reason. I can relate.

And why is it that, when you’re taking care of a baby, you always seem to see pacifiers lying around all over the place. Until you need one. At which time they have all disappeared into thin air.

The first day or two seemed to last forever, but after we settled into a routine, the time went by quickly. Now that he’s back home, I miss the little guy. Our week together was much more of a joy than I had anticipated. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.

Just don’t tell Oscar. His ears and tail are still recovering.