You know those moments?

You know those moments when you realize you've said or done something completely ridiculous, ignorant, arrogant, unfair, shallow, unintelligent, basically the very last thing you would ever want to say or do in that situation? They always seem to occur just as I think I have completely conquered an area of my life and am living a life free from susceptibility to that sin. My confidence is high, my pride-plank has taken over my vision, and I'm ready and willing to call everyone else out on their specks, the flaw that I have overcome.

Today I had one of those.

My Sociology teacher made a comment about Paul as someone of poor character. I asked her where her opinion was coming from, and she elaborated, explaining that she meant more specifically Saul, before his conversion. Then, a classmate of mine spoke up--and not just any classmate.

This classmate is that guy. You know the one. He's the most hilarious guy in the class, but has no idea. He's that guy that everyone would be laughing with, not at, if only he knew that he was so amusing. That guy who makes comparisons of everyday objects by likening them to "a battle axe and a reaper." That guy who refers to the Anglo-Saxons as "the ang-el-os." That guy who describes his encounter with Elvis at the mall last weekend, ending his monologue with "and then, we just had a moment." That guy who means well, but never quite catches on--who is by all means as intelligent as anyone else, but in a very different way. Even describing him I feel slightly negative or judgemental, but in all truth my laughter has been in good humor and out of love for who he is, at least until today.

So that guy says to me, as a follow up to my teacher's very self-explanatory, legitimate answer, "Well, you see, he used to stone the CHRISTIANS."

"Thank you, sir, this I realize. I'm not an idiot as you seem to either 1. think me to be or 2. are yourself," is what I was thinking, and to my own surprise is almost exactly what I said.

I think my words were something along the lines of "I know, I read the BIBLE."

Self-righteous, pretentious words with a matching tone was my response, and I could not feel worse.

I am the hypocrite that gives faith in Christ a shallow, self-absorbed facade. My words weren't even particularly clever or biting, and still the moment I closed my mouth I felt horrible.

It was one of those moments that no one else even much noticed or will ever remember, but it was all I could think about all day. His words hardly attacked my literacy or familiarity with scripture and definitely weren't the funniest thing he'd said this semester, and yet I seemed to think it critical to defend myself so cynically. I don't think it even phased the guy, but it revealed a part of my heart and attitudes that I didn't want to believe existed anymore.

I am prideful. So prideful. Especially and ironically most about my humility, about loving others before myself.

I feel broken, but I know it's brokenness over failing, not sinning. It's a blow to that pride ruling my life to know that I messed up today, instead of a blow to my heart to know that I could have hurt someone else and definitely hurt my Savior.

I don't know how to overcome this, and that's just it I'm seeing only now that I'm typing this. I can't overcome it. I think I must have learned this lesson at least once every day of my life for the past few months if not more often. I can't do it. He has to do it. I have to ask Him to do it, come to Him for even the desire to ask Him to do it.

I'm so sorry. Not just because I didn't have enough self-control to hold my tongue, but because of my mindset and of my heart. I'm so sorry for relying on myself, for glorying in myself.

Thank you Abba that I can't do anything on my own.