Humility

Kaleb, my son, my only child, has contributed more to keeping me humble than anyone else I know.  When he wasn’t even a year old, his favorite word to say was, “Mama.”  It could have been a good thing, almost an ego-boosting thing, if it hadn’t been so overused.  To hear him say, “Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama,” non-stop, was just flat out irritating. 

I thought I’d make the best of a bad situation and play with his little repetitive chant, so when he was going off one day with his “Mama. Mama. Mama,” routine, I looked right at him and said, “Who loves ya baby?”  Fully expecting to have a good laugh at his predictable answer, he just stopped, looked at me, gave it some serious thought, and then said, “Papa.”  Ouch.

When he was just over two years old, he was walking around with a twelve-inch tape measure, measuring everything in sight.  My husband is a carpenter, so this was an almost expected behavior.  As I was leaning over the bed, changing the sheets, Kaleb asked to measure how tall I was.  Not knowing how to explain to a two-year-old that his little tape measure wasn’t going to reach that high, I took the easy way out and told him to just measure my butt, since it was already sticking out at a handy angle for him to reach.  He held up that tape measure, pulled it all the way out of its retractable container and stretched it across my behind.  He then declared, “I need more numbers.”  Double ouch.

Just after turning three, Kaleb was talking to himself one day saying, “Mama, Papa, Mom and Dad.”  We had only ever referred to ourselves as “Mama” and “Papa” so it was clear to me that he was making the connection that other kids called their parents something else.  I butted in and said, “Yes, some kids call their parents ‘Mom and Dad’.”  Using an under-the-breath kind of tone, he then replied, “And some kids call them difficult.”  I didn’t have to think too hard to know to whom he was referring.

I sometimes catch myself thinking I’m greater than I am.  When a toddler can bring me to my knees with just a few words, I realize I have a long way to go before I’d be considered a humble person.  So often I want to do big things, but I never want to make dinner.  Lately I’ve realized that just by having a joyful heart while doing life’s daily chores makes me feel almost triumphant. Like I rose above the muck and mire and still enjoyed the process.

Life sometimes is very mundane, but each day truly is a gift.  Time flies by as the days roll into years.  That wise cracking preschooler of mine has turned into a very respectable teenager, but he continues to bring me to my knees and keeps me humble. Lucky me.