When adventures humble you...

There I was: huddled underneath a blanket with a pain stricken face. I was supposed to be nannying, feeding, changing diapers, entertaining, and tidying, but all I could do was focus on not focusing on the pain and nausea that swept over me every five minutes. The day before I had been strong, energized, and capable. Now I was weak, tired, and incapable of anything but watching the kids and their shenanigans. 

My friend and her husband were gone for the weekend and asked me and my best friend, Holly, to nanny their three little kids for Sunday and Monday. Holly and I work very well together as we know just what the other can or cannot do and we anticipate each other's actions almost as if they were our own. We speak at the same time, or if one of us manages to say something before the other, it's almost word-for-word what the other would have said. Our labor division is close to equal; I will often be the one to prepare the food and she'll keep the kids occupied while it's getting ready, or she'll change the diaper while I watch the other two kiddos. We aren't perfect, but we make a fabulous team. At one point during our nannying adventure, we were getting dinner ready. Lucas (the oldest of the three), said he wanted his hot dog cut into an octopus. 

"An octopus?" I queried. 

"Yeah," he replied enthusiastically. 

"How?" 

"Um.." came his unsure response.

And then, so synchronized that I had thought it was simply my voice coming out with more volume than usual, we both said, "I have an idea..."(of how to do it) but got no further than that because we stared at one another dumbfounded. Lucas and Tessa were thrilled, 

"You guys speak at the exact same time!" It is not a stand-alone occurrence either, because it's happened several times before. 

Monday morning though, I was not pulling my part of the yoke. In fact, if we had been oxen pulling a plow, I was back at the farm collapsed in the field while she trudged on with the entire load. It was the oddest, most perplexing and peculiar illness that slowly manifested itself as I tried to get going with the day. However, I ended up sitting on the coach with Holly next to me asking if I was alright and all I could do was shake my head pathetically. I wondered to myself if this is what morning sickness is like...though often that involves vomiting, so I suppose the real thing is even worse. 

I tried to eat some rice but couldn't face more than five lonesome grains before noncommittally  pushing the food around with the fork. On top of the three ready-for-action kids to take care of, Holly was now caring for an invalid. The surprising (or perhaps not surprising) realization was that despite my incapacity to help, Holly was managing superbly. In fact, she took care of a leaking diaper, prevented dangerous strangling situations, entertained three energetic kids, and pacified upset attitudes all while I looked on or tried to sleep. It was a humbling experience as I realized that she was not only more than capable enough (not that I ever doubted it), but that she was also able to do all of that (and the dishes) and not be frenzied or upset at me for being a bum (though I know she never would be upset at me for that). 

Later that afternoon I rallied a little bit. However, I was still just about as helpful as a guitar without strings and could only do so much. We colored, cuddled with Lucas while the others were napping, and talked about what he wants to do when he grows up. The aspiring astronaut, treasure hunter, and solider contentedly sucked his thumb while we rested on the couch. We read poetry (and the kids listened) and more than that, it was T. S. Eliot. Tessa made a few remarks about the reading, which thoroughly impressed me (because honestly, how many 4 year olds pay attention to Eliot?).
Holly's voice spoke the rhythm of his words written decades ago: 

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

Huddled into the ball that I was, I began to understand what that means. Humility, and humility alone, enables us to appreciate the people around us for who they are, not what they do or look like or talk like, but who they are. Holly's actions of love and tenderness were amplified by her obvious attitude of love and tenderness. Actions, words, and attitudes must work together to love. You can not only love with actions, for then there would be the absence of loving words. You can not only love with words, for then there would be the absence of loving behavior. Both make an immoral relationship if ever there was one. And the attitude underscores it all. 

Looking to Holly with the humility that had come, I saw the heart within her that makes me love her so. When I face others with humility there is the same effect: you understand them for their heart and you see that you're not so much better than the rest of them. In fact, it can be frightening, but you'll understand that there's actually a lot of people "even better" than you. I say that carefully because we aren't created to compare and it's mostly relative because everyone has their own grace-filled struggles, but it is a good healing of the soul to see and understand that you're not that amazing. I'm not talking about self-pity, but humility. I know that I am valued, precious, and loved, but not because of anything I do. I'm just as wonderful as the next person, and we're all beautiful messes. 

Humility doesn't come often or stick around for long, because as soon as I've "mastered" it, it's gone. In fact, this blog post is probably an act of pride, but here I'll just have to sigh and pray that despite my sin and failings, grace will still shine through and make broken fragments whole. 

By the time that evening came I was tired, but the illness had left as oddly and suddenly as it had come. I was once again able to help prepare the meal, balance the atmosphere of craziness, and clean up the various messes. Yet what I had learned throughout the day taught me that I was not grand or fantastic because of doing those things, I was just serving, and that is what I am to do. 

Serving shouldn't be an act of pride (though I confess I don't think that I approach serving with pride...it's only once I can no longer serve that I realize, "Hm, was I proud about that?"), but an act of humility. The servant's heart is humbled by the grace that has been extended to him or her, a lowly person, and is truly amazed that they would be deemed worthy enough to serve. Serving is an honor, a humble honor, if that's possible. It's this quality of humility, servitude, and compassion that I see so clearly in my dearest Holly's heart.