Yesterday I wrote about The Hardest Thing I’ve had to do since my injury. One especially insightful commenter (Thanks Jen!) reminded me that humility is a two-way street.

Submission

In John 13, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. It’s a well-known story, a frequently referenced model for Christ’s attitude of humble service to others. But there’s another side to the story.

Foot-washing requires a foot to wash.

In the story, Peter initially refuses to allow his friend and teacher to perform such a menial, degrading task. Jesus replies that submission isn’t optional—it’s an essential element in the interaction.

I don’t think that’s an accident. You can’t force someone to receive an expression of intimacy. If it’s a true act of humble service, the one whose feet are washed must submit.

Accepting, allowing another to be blessed by serving, is itself an act of humility and love.

Jesus clearly shows that accepting and receiving are integral to authentic relationship. We demonstrate true humility by serving and by allowing others to serve.

The hardest part

We tend to celebrate the “humble servant,” but personally I think I mess it up. Most of the time, I serve because it makes me feel good. I retain control; I get to feel strong and wise and a tiny bit superior. My actions may benefit others, but my own motives usually aren’t quite so pure.

That’s why I resist asking for and accepting help. I don’t want to relinquish control, to admit that I can’t do it myself. And of course I usually do this badly as well; I let ‘em help if I must, but I make sure they know I don’t like it. My reluctant, grudging attitude robs others of joy.

It’s complicated, because Jesus is always about what’s in my heart. I serve, expecting to receive satisfaction in return. I receive, retaining a remnant of control through my un-generous spirit.

I know He sees the spiritual holes in my heart—thankfully, grace fills the voids.

Digging Deeper

As well as being an object lesson about worldly humility and service, Jesus’ tangible act of foot-washing symbolizes forgiveness. Jesus is clearly teaching us that we must forgive others as He has forgiven us.

But I think He’s also saying that we must be willing to accept forgiveness. And when you’ve messed up as much as I have, that’s much easier said than done.

That’s what new beginnings are all about.

We forgive, as best we can, even when it doesn’t feel good. We forgive as an expression of love and service, because it’s the attitude of the One we follow.

And we accept forgiveness. We don’t try to repay, because we can’t. We don’t try to justify, because we can’t. We accept a gift we don’t deserve as an expression of love and service.

It wasn’t easy for Jesus to humble Himself. It wasn’t easy for Peter to accept. Both required courage. They still do.

But that’s the model.

 Where do you have the most difficulty serving or being served?

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What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Have you ever wished you could gracefully get out of a situation? That’s how I felt when I arrived at my last speaking engagement.

The small church invited me to their men’s group, the sort of experience I usually anticipate and enjoy. I love the opportunity to connect and share in an intimate setting.

But that night I wanted to escape. The elevator was broken; ten imposing steps stood between me and the meeting room.

The man who invited me apologized profusely. He’d contacted me earlier to explain the situation and offer the opportunity to re-schedule. I replied that if they were willing to help me, we’d go ahead as planned.

Now, facing those ten steps, I regretted my false bravado.

I hate being carried; I especially hate being carried in public by strangers. I can’t adequately describe the horrible feeling of helplessness that arises when I’m hauled like a piece of baggage.

People stare—I know they’re only concerned for my welfare, that they don’t mean to be rude. And the guys carrying me—why do they get to be strong and helpful? Why do I have to experience this degrading dependence?

But it was too late now, so I leaned back and allowed four strangers to lift what felt like a useless, lifeless body up those ten steps.

As I tried to calm my heart and prepare for my presentation, I thought about this incident in Jesus’ early ministry.

A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. So many gathered that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralytic, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus and, after digging through it, lowered the mat the paralyzed man was lying on. [Mark 2:1-4]

I know exactly how that man felt—friends carting him around, creating a spectacle, calling even more attention to his pitiful plight.

What right did this guy and his buddies have to demand access? Why couldn’t he just accept his place on the edges? He was making everyone uncomfortable, interrupting their dinner as well as Jesus’ teaching.

And they destroyed the roof! I can only imagine the disruption, the mess, the mixture of pity and outrage.

So I began by referencing this story, thanking the men who helped me, and joking that at least they didn’t have to create a makeshift skylight in the church ceiling. Everyone chuckled

My prepared remarks went well, and then it was time for discussion and questions.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

I could have answered safely, offered an example of some trivial physical accomplishment. But that’s not what he was asking and this gathering wasn’t about being safe. So I answered honestly “The hardest thing I’ve had to do … was to let you carry me up the stairs.”

Men are supposed to be strong, independent, self-sufficient. We stand tall. We don’t watch things happen, we MAKE things happen.

That not how life feels in a wheelchair.

In a wheelchair you ask for help with simple tasks that everyone else takes for granted. The item you need at the grocery store is always just out of reach. The single step into a friend’s house is an insurmountable obstacle.

In a wheelchair you quite literally allow others to wash your feet—along with other, much more personal, acts of service.

In a wheelchair you learn that humble, humility, and humiliating all originate from the same root word.

I’m not thankful for being in a wheelchair, but I can be thankful in a wheelchair. I am not grateful for my injury, but I am grateful for the lessons it’s taught me. One of those lessons is the humility to allow others to help.

In a wheelchair, you get carried by strangers. It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do.

What’s the hardest thing you’ve had to do?

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus … [Philippians 2:5(a)]

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Forgiveness is giving up the possibility of a better past.

Is there someone you just can’t seem to forgive?

For some reason, forgiveness is on my mind lately. I’ve written a couple of posts (The Real Power Of Forgiveness and Forgiveness isn’t …) but it’s still poking at me. After some conversation with God (prayer) I realized that there’s one person I cannot quite seem to forgive.

This person has harmed me more than any other individual. He’s caused more hardship and failed to meet my expectations more than anyone else. He’s messed up my life at nearly every opportunity. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that his sole mission is to make me miserable.

Do you know someone like that—someone with a seemingly infinite capacity for making everything about your life harder and more painful than it ought to be? I’ll bet you do.

He’s called myself. Do you struggle with forgiving yourself?

Forgiving myself seems a lot harder than forgiving others. I carry back-breaking grudges against myself, stubbornly lugging around an unbearable weight of self-punishment.

I’m not exactly sure why myself is so difficult to forgive. But since I think lots of us struggle with this, here are some of my reasons. Perhaps you’ll consider leaving a comment with your personal thoughts.

It’s difficult to forgive myself because …

I really don’t want to accept responsibility. If I’m going to forgive myself, I first have to admit my mistakes and bad choices. I need to take an honest look in the mirror and acknowledge that I’ve hurt and disappointed people who trusted me. I’ve fallen short of my own standards. I’ve missed God’s mark.

As long as I’m deflecting responsibility and working hard to blame someone else, I’ll never be able to forgive.

In the hospital following my injury, I heard an obscure country song that resonated with my feelings of guilt and regret. The words stick with me more than twenty years later (you can listen to the song here).

Sometimes I laugh when I look way back to find out who stole all my dreams.

I wish it was easy to face the fact that there’s nobody there but me.

It’s an unpleasant reality; when I honestly seek the source of my failures, disappointments, and unrealized dreams, I often find that there’s nobody there but me. I’d rather avoid that reality.

It feels like taking the easy way out. Why should I get to forgive myself? Especially if others haven’t forgiven me, why should I be able to release myself from further punishment?

I don’t think I deserve it. I haven’t earned it. I need to do more and suffer more. But somehow it’s never quite enough.

Forgiveness isn’t deserved and can’t be earned. It’s a gift, given graciously because it’s the only path to healing.

I think forgiving myself is an event. I forgive, wave the magic wand, and suddenly it’s all supposed to be okay.

Of course, that doesn’t happen. That’s because forgiveness is a process rather than a one-time event. I forgive, the anger and resentment return, and I forgive again.

I think forgiveness is a feeling. When I forgive, I somehow think I should feel something different. When that doesn’t happen, I conclude that forgiveness didn’t really happen.

Forgiveness isn’t a feeling. It’s a tough, intentional choice. I don’t forgive because I feel like it; I forgive because it’s the only way to move forward in love.

Forgiving myself

I think forgiveness is a gift of healing. It heals the giver when it’s offered freely and graciously. It heals the recipient when it’s accepted humbly and gratefully.

Forgiving is never easy, but forgiving myself is especially difficult because I must occupy both roles. Generosity and grace, humility and gratitude, all at once—that’s almost too much for a broken-down old bald guy.

Fortunately, I don’t have to do it alone, because forgiveness is a spiritual issue. It’s the reason Jesus lived and died. If I want to forgive, I believe He’ll help me find the strength and courage I need.

Do you struggle to forgive yourself? Why do you think it’s so difficult?

Many people are afraid to forgive because they feel they must remember the wrong or they will not learn from it. The opposite is true. Through forgiveness, the wrong is released from its emotional stranglehold on us so that we can learn from it. Through the power and intelligence of the heart, the release of forgiveness brings expanded intelligence to work with the situation more effectively. David McArthur & Bruce McArthur

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Forgiveness isn’t …

A Reflection Of God

The Light Of The World

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.” … On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold and of incense and of myrrh. [Matthew 2:1-2,11]

What are you giving for Christmas?

Any kid will tell you that’s the wrong question. As they tear into the wrapping paper around the tree, the questions will most likely be some variation of, “Whatja get?”

But the familiar account of the wise men records the giving, not the getting. The Magi offered gifts that held both immediate and prophetic significance.

Gold had obvious value to a poor family with a new baby. Gold was also a common gift for royalty and signified Jesus’ kingship.

Frankincense (incense) was a highly valuable substance that burned with a sweet fragrance and provided the added benefit of repelling pests and therefore protecting the tiny baby. Frankincense was also part of the holy anointing oil used by priests in the temple. This gift signified Jesus’ role as high priest.

Myrrh was another ingredient of the holy anointing that also served as an effective deodorant and preservative. Because of its preservative qualities, myrrh was also used in the ritual anointing of bodies following death. It pointed toward Jesus’ death and resurrection.

The Magi carried their gifts on a long, dangerous journey. Their one thousand mile camel trip would have required several weeks of difficult travel, all so they could lay treasures at a baby’s feet in an attitude of humility and worship.

So what should we give Jesus for Christmas?

We don’t have to climb aboard an uncomfortable camel and follow a star to a distant, unknown destination. He certainly doesn’t need our insignificant earthly treasures. What can we possibly offer the King of the universe as an appropriate Christmas gift?

He asks us to make our own journey, not to Bethlehem but to the foot of the cross. He asks us to leave there the gifts of our sorrows, burdens, worries, and regrets. And he asks us, like those Magi in an obscure house more than two thousand years ago, to bow down and worship Him.

What are you giving Jesus for Christmas?

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What’s The Cost?

Never wrestle in the mud with a pig. You’ll both get dirty, and the pig likes it.

I think there’s a big difference between feedback and criticism.

Earlier this week I wrote about Criticism vs. Feedback. Since feedback can be useful and criticism can’t always be ignored, I thought it might be worthwhile to examine how we respond to feedback and criticism.

Criticism isn’t helpful, and generally I believe that the best response is to dismiss it. When you pay attention to something, you tend to get more of it. Since a critic’s primary motive is to find fault, blame, or complain, there’s not much reason to reward it.

I don’t acknowledge so-called “constructive criticism” because criticism, as I’m thinking about the term, is inherently destructive. However, sometimes it can’t be avoided. Bosses, colleagues, and other associates may be critical; it’s not always possible, and it’s certainly not easy, to ignore their opinions.

DEFINING TERMS

Feedback and criticism may sound similar, so it’s important to differentiate them. Even when identical words are employed, the heart beneath those words and their impact on the listener are substantially different.

Feedback is educational, intended to help me grow by offering an outside view of my behavior. Criticism focuses on fault finding and blaming. Instead of entering a process to improve it, the critic stands outside the process and throws stones.

Feedback comes from service and humility. Criticism is essentially a passive-aggressive form of bragging that aims to demean and diminish me. The critic seeks attention by casting himself as the expert.

So here are some thoughts about responding to feedback and criticism.

INTERACTION

I want feedback to be interactive, because it’s a conversation in the context of a relationship. I want to ask clarifying questions and determine specifics that help me replicate positive results and improve less desirable outcomes.

Criticism is generally one-way, so it’s sometimes best received in writing. This allows for some emotional distance and prevents an endless, on-and-on barrage.

Written criticism has another advantage—it’s easy to wad up the page and deposit it appropriately in the circular file (or hit DELETE).

INTROSPECTION

Feedback encourages self-examination, an essential aspect of living life on-purpose. Personally, I want to be accountable, so I want feedback. I want people in my circle who reinforce positive behavior, but I also want them to help me see into my blind spots and tell me when I’m getting off course. Feedback, whether congratulation or correction, may be difficult to receive, but it’s an essential part of living life on purpose.

Since I generally wish to dismiss criticism, it’s difficult to learn much from it. However, I need to be open and realize that criticism may contain some nuggets of truth. If I’m confident within my own skin, I can sift through the junk and seek areas that might require attention.

ACTION

For me, living on-purpose involves a desire to learn and grow. When I perceive an area where I’ve missed the mark, I need to acknowledge it and seek ways to improve. I may need to apologize, seek information, or ask for help.

If a critic tells me I failed, that’s not a call-to-action. If I can discern a specific area in which I can do better, I need to address it. Otherwise, there’s that round file and the DELETE key.

EMOTION

I think it’s appropriate to allow emotion in a feedback environment. Genuine joy and sorrow fit within a relationship. Of course this must be tempered by the setting, but authentic feedback involves an emotional investment from the giver, so it’s difficult to deny an emotional response from the receiver.

Criticism is designed to provoke negative emotions so it’s best, though certainly not easy, to avoid an emotional reaction. I’m reminded of another of my favorite admonitions:

Never argue with an idiot. Observers may not be able to tell the difference.

The only thing that results from arguing, crying, or becoming angry with a critic is additional criticism, because the emotion gives the critic the attention he craves. Scripture advises: “Don’t have anything to do with foolish and stupid arguments, because you know they produce quarrels.” [2 Tim 2:23]

Those are some of my thoughts. What’s your take?

How do you respond to feedback and criticism? What would you like to do better?

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Substance Or Style

Heroes And Critics

I’m learning that an important part of releasing a book is accepting feedback. It’s a great lesson in humility.

Every sentence of the story obviously means a great deal to me. Those fifty thousand words were written, revised, edited, and revised again in an attempt to clearly communicate my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Now those words are on the page, and I sit back and wait to observe their impact. 

As readers offer their thoughts, I seek to avoid two responses: pride and defensiveness. Since most readers initially are friends or associates who have been very generous, I haven’t yet received many negative comments. I suspect that an expanding circle of readers will yield a broader spectrum of reactions.

I am happy with the book’s final appearance, and I certainly enjoy positive comments. I’m still somewhat amazed that an old broken-down math teacher could actually produce and publish a book. But praise carries its own challenges.

I sincerely want to avoid pride. I want to listen to, and learn from, those who honor me by reading my story. I hope my experience inspires and encourages, but I never wish to be proud of the effects of a tale that’s really not about me at all.

If you’d like to learn more about the story of Relentless Grace, please visit my website: www.relentlessgrace.com

Question: What’s the difference between being proud of an accomplishment and becoming “prideful?”

Please leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net. 

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