How DARE you. 

That is the feeling I get in my gut when I’m ten and my mom asks me to fold the laundry. 

Or when I’m a teenager and they want to change our Christmas traditions. 

Or when it’s a month ago in the middle of an argument when I realize I’m wrong about something. 

And when she tells me through a voice message about the results of her tests–and how they will change her life–I sense no anger. No bitterness. It simply is.

Her acceptance is not only too brave for me, it’s too humble. 

“See,” I want to tell her. This is exactly why I am scared to be here. I wish she’d make a big fat deal about it. Stir up some drama.

“Sometimes in working through things with God,” she says, “you can feel a lot better about a situation even if the situation hasn’t changed.” 

But I’d prefer to change the situation. Or work at changing the problem and the other person. 

That is how I waste Christmas Eve and Tuesday nights and perfectly good relationships. 

“Will you ever be okay depending on anyone?” He asks me. 

I get that feeling in my gut. Even if I could do the whole thing by myself–the growing, the learning, the loving–would I want to? 

“I don’t want to miss out on something good because of my pride,” I tell her. 

But I am half-afraid it’s already too late. And I’ve missed the sweetness in our friendship because I’ve failed to forgive the past. I’ve failed to notice the ways she’s changed because I’ve written off the possibility. I’ve missed deeper connections because I’ve refused to be vulnerable. I’ve dodged peace in unplanned situations because I’ve resisted acceptance. 

What if humility gives you more than you give up? 

From How DARE You to Here Am I. 

“Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee.” (Frances R. Havergal)

The way my Saviour did.

Think of all the good things one might see.

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.” 1 Peter 5:6