| Sunny Side Up August 20, 2003 �2003, Kathleen Gibson Clambering off the Pedestal Folk often in the public eye-writers included-are well acquainted with pedestals. They're the loneliest and most dangerous places in the world. Occasionally someone hoists me up on one, and I claw tooth and nail to climb down. So lest you think more highly of me than you ought, let me tell you about the real me. I'll start with the easiest stuff: Dust collects like fur on my piano sometimes. Clean laundry may remain in the basket till it's permanently cubed. My bed doesn't always get made. I'd rather paint walls than wash them. I only clean windows when the outdoors appears in danger of extinction. (Don't blame my mother; she didn't raise me that way. If Jesus had come back when I was growing up on Murray Street in Port Moody B.C., my mother would have told him (albeit politely) to hold his apocalyptic horses until she finished sweeping the floor. Once upon a time, you see, I was taught above all to keep an immaculate house. I chose different priorities.) There's more: I eat too much sugar. I'm crabby sometimes. I regularly forget to give the Preacher his messages. It gets worse. I'm often selfish. I get depressed. And I've had my battles with p-r-i-d-e. See, I can't even say it. The pride manifested itself when as a child I realized I could do things my friends couldn't. Sing. Make speeches. But I could also wiggle my ears, flare my nostrils, make my neck grow at will, or speak in tongues on command. (Now I can do all four at the same time and I'm not even a Charismatic.) God hates pride. I know this. And every time I'm tempted to the sin of pride he sits back and waits. "Give her time," I imagine him saying to the angels, "the humble pie'll fly to her face all by itself. And it always does. I gulped a slice the other day, when I was forced to admit that I was wrong about something I'd said I was dead sure of. I ate another one when I had to swallow hard and tell a friend who thanked me for praying that I'd clean forgotten. And I practically have to eat a whole pie whenever one of my articles appears in print with a spelling error I can't blame on anyone but me. Me, once the champion speller of my elementary school! Oi-vey, that stings God has taught me things about pride. As good as it feels to have the admiration of others, the pedestal they place me on soon becomes too narrow to stay upright. I've tumbled down too many times, and when pride is involved, there's no safety net. It's a free fall right to the bottom, and the bottom is not cushioned. So as I said in the beginning, I fight to stay on the ground. Occasional humble pie is preferable to deep bruises, lost face, and God's displeasure. Especially God's displeasure. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
 |