Just a Little Proud

November 12, 2024 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“That trim board is just a little proud. We’ll have to hit it with the sandpaper to get it flush before we finish it.”

My brother-in-law was installing the new bookshelves in our living room. As he set them in place, he noticed the errant piece and was unhappy to see it.

I didn’t care about the piece of wood; but being a certifiable word nerd, I did want to know about the terminology he had used to describe it.

“Proud?”

Patiently, as he sanded the offending wood to match the surrounding cabinet, he explained that the word described the position of the wood in relationship to the rest of the bookshelf.

“It just needs to be flush with the rest of the edge. If we leave it standing out like that, you’ll catch on it every time you walk past and could actually damage the rest of the bookcase.”

With a flourish, he finished sanding. I looked to get a glimpse of this proud board, but it was now impossible to see what he had been working on.

Proud no more, the trim piece blended in with the entire unit.

Integrity. All the individual pieces working together achieved beauty and functionality, so our books were safe and protected.

But, I didn’t intend to write about books or even shelves today. I want to talk about something else that happened just this week.

It seems to me I should make this clear from the get-go; I won’t move your piano, even if you’re desperate to have it done.

I’m just saying…

Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, perhaps we can go ahead with the story that inspired this little essay. It does, in fact, involve moving a piano. And, I don’t do that anymore—right?

The Lovely Lady’s daughter and son-in-law (okay—mine, too) have moved into a larger house, one that will accommodate a grand piano. They were able to locate a good instrument at a fair price and asked if I could come along, “…purely in a consulting capacity, you understand?” (Because I don’t move pianos.)

We gathered up the equipment and, hooking the little trailer up behind my pickup truck, drove to the outskirts of town to collect the piano. There was plenty of help, with muscles galore—enough of them that I wouldn’t need to lift even a corner of the heavy instrument.

After disassembling the piano enough to stand it on edge, we put it on a dolly and rolled it outside and into the trailer we brought for the task. We covered it well with pads and strapped it against the side of the trailer.

We should have been ready to load the sundry pieces into the truck and drive away to deliver the piano to its new domicile. We weren’t.

I looked at it sitting there against the side of the trailer and thought that something was off. Gripping the side of the instrument, I pushed and pulled, first away and then back toward the trailer’s side. As I had suspected, it moved an excessive amount.

I wasn’t at all sure the weight of the piano wouldn’t make it tip over as we traveled down the road. Tipping over isn’t good for a piano. Not at all.

I discussed the problem with the moving crew and we agreed that more than half of the piano’s body was sitting above the side of the trailer.

It was just a little proud.

We traded ideas about how to remedy the problem. I was even ready to attach another strap to the opposite side of the trailer to counterbalance the weight.

Then my son-in-law had the bright idea.

“Why don’t we just take it off the dolly and make it sit down lower in the trailer?”

The man is a genius.

We tipped the piano up a bit and removed the moving dolly, letting the board under the piano sit back down on the trailer’s floor. Reattaching the straps, I shook the instrument again.

Rock solid. There would be no tipping.

The reader might be excused for thinking someone uttered the words, “That’s not going anywhere,” but no one did. I thought it but resisted saying it.

That piano had been proud. Sitting up where it was exposed to the vagaries of gravity and my erratic driving, it was a prime candidate for a fall.

But, there were no calamities in the piano move.

Because we cut it down to size. Okay—we didn’t actually use a saw blade; we just lowered its center of gravity. For safety and efficiency.

Is it the right time for this reminder?

“So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!“
(1 Corinthians 10:12, NIV)

It strikes me that standing proud has never been the way our Creator intended for us to approach life. While our culture differs dramatically, telling us to stand tall, to be proud, and to make sure we’re seen and honored above our peers, it seems clear that we were never designed to operate apart from the support of others.

A friend I was talking with this morning said it this way:

“We want to work from the top down. God actually works from the bottom up.”

His creation shows the principle again and again. A strong foundation supports the structure that rises from it. Take away the foundation—stone, roots, or terra firma—and the structure is headed for a rapid unscheduled disassembly (to borrow a term from today’s vernacular).

The Word of God describes pride as sinful, in addition to its pitfalls. In some ways, it seems the original sin of mankind was bound up in pride—contempt for obedience, along with a desire to show independence, driving the act. It is certain that pride drove Lucifer’s rebellion and casting down from heaven.

And somehow, ages later, every one of us is just a little proud. Or, more than just a little.

Proud.

But, God’s plans for us are for our benefit and to build us up. Together.

In the big picture, humility builds all of us up taller and stronger than pride.

I have seen the result of pianos that were allowed to stand tall in their conveyance. The last one I saw was scattered across the farmer’s field that abutted the curve in the highway.

It couldn’t have been a proud moment. Despite any pride the owner might have felt as they loaded that piano.

Maybe it’s time to get our feet on the ground again.

He gives grace to the humble. (James 4:6)

And the sandpaper He uses on the proud doesn’t always feel that nice.

I’ve learned that from experience. And I’m not too proud to admit it.

Grace is better.

“A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:12, NLT)

“Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.”
(from Confessions by Augustine of Hippo)

I’m Not That! Whatever He Said, I’m Not!

October 1, 2023 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The mind is a funny thing.

One minute you’re sitting calmly, living in the present, enjoying God’s blessings, and the next, you’re thirty years in the past. Not only remembering conversations, but feeling the same emotions you felt in the moment—all those years ago!

Many of my friends know that, with the help of my kids and grandkids, we built an outside deck in the last few months. It’s a lovely space, leaving scope for the imagination, as Anne Shirley would have said. (You folks who read about Anne with an “e” as a child will remember.)

We built the deck from reclaimed lumber, having torn down a much larger deck at a neighbor’s house (at her request, of course!) and salvaged the still-usable boards.

The labor was free. Well, except for a few meals, prepared by the Lovely Lady and eaten around our old dining table, it was free. And, now that I consider, even those worked out to my advantage. What a joy, to achieve a shared goal with one’s extended family!

It is, as I mentioned, a lovely space.

A sister-in-law gave us wicker furniture which she no longer used. Our sweet neighbor snuck in a couple of pillows while we were at church one morning. Our generous-hearted son and his lovely wife even donated a beautiful fire pit, which we’ve enjoyed together several times.

I’ve spent many hours there lately, my mind and heart full, considering our Father’s blessings as I look out to the old barn behind us, past the overgrown fence, with its honeysuckle and poison-ivy vines intertwined.

And yes, just like the intermingling of beauty and danger those vines remind me of, my mind has often gone to the darker places as I’ve meditated on the bright, lovely ones.

Such was the case when, on this day, the whole process came to a screeching halt as the words of the old man came to my mind.

We were leaning against the bed of his old beat-up truck in the parking lot in front of my music store. I had just pointed out my latest purchase, a twelve-year-old Chevy conversion van. It was the perfect vehicle for my growing family. The paint was a little faded and it had lots of miles on the odometer, but I was so proud of it.

I might have laid it on a little thick. The shag carpet could have gone to my head. Or, was it the dark maroon crushed-velvet upholstery that was to blame?

I really don’t remember, but it could have sounded a little boastful. A little.

Soon, he had heard enough.

“You’re nothing but a plutocrat, Paul!” The old man was blunt and opinionated, yet I was surprised. I never expected to be the target of his sarcasm.

And truthfully, I didn’t know exactly what a plutocrat was, but I knew it wasn’t a compliment. Besides, I was sure I wasn’t that!

Whatever it was, I wasn’t that!

I told him so, lamely. He laughed and drove out of the parking lot. I was offended.

I know what a plutocrat is now. Funny thing; I’m still offended.

A plutocrat is a person whose power is derived from their wealth. The title is most often used to describe politicians, people who achieve status and authority because they are rich.

I’m not.

Rich. Or powerful.

How is it that those words, spoken in jest, reach out over the decades to rile me up again?

Perhaps, there was a grain of truth in the accusation. We were standing next to his old beater of a pickup truck, while I extolled the advantages of my plush, customized van.

I may have been proud of my purchase. He may have taken it as an indirect slight. A putdown, even.

Those of us who are not politicians have a different type of power. Don’t tell me we don’t.

We use our advantages, however slight, to pull ahead of our peers. We look down on them from our privileged position, all the while knowing that the next wind that blows may leave them in that elevated place and us standing beside the beater.

How easy it is to forget, as we sit on our lovely deck looking down on the passersby, that nothing we have is ours to keep. Nothing.

Job knew it. He, having lost all he had amassed over a lifetime, told his friends that he had come into this world naked and that he would depart into eternity in the same condition.

It’s not mine!

This deck is not mine. The house beside the deck is not mine. The clothes I wear are not mine. The property, the cars, the art, the musical instruments? Not mine.

None of it.

How could I ever achieve any real power using borrowed wealth?

Pride is a falsehood. It will ultimately lead to desolation.

The Preacher knew it—he who was considered the wisest of the wise.

“Everything is meaningless,” says the Teacher. “Completely meaningless.” (Proverbs 1:2, NLT)

We work for more than wealth or power. We must!

As it turns out, I have been a plutocrat. Just not in the way the world around us understands it. They’ve never recognized any power, nor any wealth in my hands.

Not much of what is really important will ever make sense to anyone else. And that’s how it goes on this walk we’re taking with our Savior and each other.

We’re not the blind following the blind. But, only because of His gift of sight.

I don’t always get it right. Sometimes, I’m confused by what I’m supposed to do and why I don’t do that.

And still, He gives grace for the journey. No matter how many times I have to be reminded.

You, too?

Maybe you could come by and sit on the deck sometime to talk about it with me.

It’s not mine anyway. And, that’s okay with me.

We could even roast a marshmallow or two over the firepit and share some s’mores.

Now—does that sound like something a plutocrat would do?

It ain’t the heat; It’s the humility.
(Yogi Berra)

Before a downfall the heart is haughty, but humility comes before honor. (Proverbs 18:12, NIV)

Good for the Soul

January 31, 2017January 31, 2017 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 3 Comments

I wrote about this the other night. Really, I did.

Paragraph after paragraph to explain how I’m still a man of my word, in spite of my circumstances. I even included scripture verses to encourage the reader to do the same.

It was good. Do you remember?

What! You never read that article?

Well, yeah. I knew that.

It’s not true anyway.

The part about me being a man of my word isn’t, that is. I did write it. I just couldn’t bring myself to publish it. It still sits as a draft in my computer program.

Tonight though, I sat at my desk and, almost angrily, said the words to the ceiling in my office.

You’re going to make me write about this instead, aren’t you?

The circumstances of the two events are nearly identical; the actors in the little stageplay are the only real difference. Oh. Then, there’s my failure to live up to the claim this time.

The details aren’t all that important. An email arrived both times. I had sold products, back when I ran a music store, and made promises about the products. Both of the email writers wanted me to live up to my promise.

The first time, I passed. With flying colors, I passed the test. I wanted to boast about that. I wanted to make sure my readers knew how important it was to me to be a man of my word. Even when it wasn’t convenient to do that.

Tonight? It wasn’t such a rousing success. When called on to make good on my promise, I simply made an excuse and said I couldn’t.

Well?

I don’t operate the music store anymore. Money is tight. Bills have to be paid. No one could expect me to stand behind promises—now that the business is defunct. No one.

Except the One who called me. The One who sustains me with His own hand.

He expects it.

David, the psalmist knew it. He suggested that those who want to live in God’s presence needed, among other things, to do what they had promised, even when it hurts. (Psalm 15:4)

This was going to hurt. So, I said sorry, I won’t.

I don’t want to tell you this. I want you to think I’m a man of my word. I do.

But then, I guess I should actually be a man of my word. Shouldn’t I?

The red-headed lady who raised me had a saying for this (you knew she would): Confession is good for the soul.

Her sayings weren’t always right. This one is.

James said it in a little more round-about way. Confess your sins to each other and you will be healed. (James 5:16)

I suppose you might say that being healed is good for the soul.

I suppose you might say that being healed is good for the soul. Share on X

I’m confessing.

The realization has grown in me more and more in these last days that we have become an arrogant people.

More inclined to boast than to confess, our spiritual leaders and teachers tussle and vie for the places of honor, only to be shocked when they are showered with disrespect and hateful words from other leaders and teachers.

We follow their example. I have seen more vile speech from believers, aimed at other believers, in the last short period of time than I have in my lifetime.

I wonder. We refuse to let anyone see our weakness for fear that they will respect us less, and then when the facade falls (as it surely will) our weaknesses and sins are exposed anyway, to the chagrin of some and the glee of others.

If we exalt ourselves, it is inevitable that we will be humbled. Inevitable.

Among all the shouting and self-promotion, somehow, I think our Lord would propose only seven words for us to say.

They are words of humility and penitence. Words that remind us who we really are.

I’m saying them tonight.

God be merciful to me, a sinner.

A proud man is always looking down on things and people, and of course, as long as you’re looking down, you can’t see something that’s above you.
(C.S. Lewis ~ British scholar/novelist ~ 1898-1963)

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector.The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like other people—cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that tax collector!I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’
“But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
(Luke 18:9-14 ~ NLT)

Winding Paths

January 18, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I’ve believed it for a long time. I’ve even used the illustration myself before.

I’m not so sure anymore.

The boy learning to plow tries his hand at running the tractor. Completing his first row, he turns back proudly to view the result of his effort only to see a wobbly, wandering furrow.

You’ve heard it before, of course. If you’ve read enough of my writing, you know how much I love a moral. There’s definitely a moral to this one.

Eyes on the prize.

Somehow, I’m not sure this one is as clear-cut as it used to be.

The old farmer takes the wheel of the tractor and turns it around, suggesting to the lad that he needs to keep his eye on the goal. Pick a landmark far ahead and steer a course straight toward that. Don’t look at the ground; focus on the target. He plows a straight furrow every time.

Long term goals.

We revere men of straight paths. Focused on their destination, they move steadily in the same direction, never faltering, ever resolute.

Is there such a man? Perhaps. I have thought I knew some, but I’ve been disappointed before. We live in a world of distractions. Even the most focused human is bound to falter, maybe even to veer off the path, given the right diversion.

We make idols of men, believing a lie.

Only one Man lived a faithful life of purpose, never faltering from His purpose.

True, He’s the one we follow. Still, we take wrong turns. We misplace our resolve.

I spoke with a friend today, sadly relating my experience of watching a life lived in a straight line for many years, only to see it veer off on a incredible tangent just as the person neared the goal. So close—close and yet so very far.

A long obedience in the same direction, only to disappoint as the prize was within their grasp.

I wonder. Is there something wrong with the assumption that a straight line is the only way this following thing works?

When the Teacher told them to follow Him, was He asking those men to pick a target way out in the future, at the very end of their life and aim for that? I somehow don’t think that was what He had in mind. He didn’t ask them to pledge their lifelong service

He just said, “Follow me.”

That’s it. Follow.

I don’t have to know where the end of the road is. I don’t have to worry about interchanges and alternate routes before I get there. I’m not a navigator.

A follower, that’s what I am. I’m not that good at it, but it’s all I’ve ever claimed to be.

It seems that we want to set our sights on the straight-liners, the ones who stride along, head held high, secure in the knowledge they are on the right road. If we do, we’ll be disappointed nearly every time.

We weren’t called to follow them.

We’re only called to follow the One who faithfully followed His Father. Every step. (John 15:10)

Probably, the furrow He plowed would not have appeared to be a straight one to any onlookers. Certainly, it wasn’t to the religious leaders of that day. They knew the right path. Knew it.

But, they didn’t recognize the one He walked. He stopped in at too many parties, got caught in too many storms at sea, and touched too many lepers. Surely, this one couldn’t be following God!

We can’t be sure how straight the road will be from here on out. I don’t think we need to be worried about it.

If we stick close, we’ll be able to make the sharp turns when He does.

We may not stride in with head held high. But stumbling in with head hanging, knowing we followed all the way will be enough.

Oh. We should probably be ready to make a detour or two to visit a sick friend—or check on that fellow in jail.

The path is not all that straight, after all.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
(Matthew 16:24 ~ NASB)

All the way my Savior leads me,
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial,
Feeds me with the living bread.
(Fanny J Crosby ~ American hymn-writer ~ 1820-1915)

In My Shoes

September 4, 2015September 4, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I walk around like everything is fine, but deep down, inside my shoe, my sock is sliding off.

Kind of warms the heart, doesn’t it? No. Perhaps that’s not the right way to put it. I saw the little photo of a pair of shoes the other day and stopped to read the text. Heartwarming isn’t the way I would describe my reaction.

Confused, maybe…

My first thought was that I was going to feel sympathy for the person who wrote the sentence. But the gotcha phrase at the end made me laugh.

Ha! Just another touchy-feely sentimental moment turned into a joke.

I shared the picture with my friends, and went about my day. But, something made me go back to the photo again. And again.

Somehow, I wasn’t laughing anymore. Sad. That’s the way I began to feel inside.

The simple fact is, the event described is exactly the kind of thing that usually ruins my day. Oh, I don’t necessarily mean that I’ve got bad socks, but I’m saying that minor inconveniences visible to no one but me are the catalysts for more bad moods than anyone will ever know.

Minor inconveniences.

They’re kind of a big thing. For me, anyway. Maybe for you, too.

All day long, the slightly too-small shirt I put on this morning keeps pulling out at the waist. Each time I reach for something on my work bench, or stretch overhead to put in a light bulb, or bend over to pick up that penny I dropped while making change, the shirt tail, without any warning at all is hanging over my belt.

I hate that!

And, nobody cared. In fact, none of you knew it was happening. Not even the Lovely Lady.

I feel bad mentioning this at all. Sort of. It pales beside other issues.

One of my new author friends mentioned some serious personal life events in a note she wrote to me today. Beyond serious, they have been catastrophic. After that, it seems awfully silly for me to focus on the trivial and the mundane.

But, we live life as it happens. The catastrophic events come. For some, they last for many years—perhaps never to pass from our experience. Dealing with and responding to them is paramount.

Still, the minuscule events come too, annoying and chipping away at our patience. I wonder if they will also someday be a part of the record of how we responded and carried on in our walk here on this sphere of water and dirt.

The world keeps spinning. We keep walking with the socks bunched up in our shoes. Discomfort, inconveniences, and annoyances pile up.

You know I’m not really thinking about cheap socks now, right?

Who are we—really—when the trivial, the mundane, problems of life begin to wear on us? How do we treat our fellow travelers?

When I have big problems—the kind everyone can see—it’s not all that hard to keep my footing, relationally speaking. Folks treat me with deference, the kid glove treatment we’ve all heard of. All the warning signs are obvious and even I can remember to exercise self-control in dealing with others.

But, what about when my shoe comes untied?

Walking along the trail, side by side with the Lovely Lady, I don’t even notice it for awhile. Oh, I know something is not quite right, but it really doesn’t matter.

I keep walking. We keep talking.

Little by little, the brain becomes aware of the problem. Finally, in a moment of epiphany, I realize my foot is sliding around in my shoe.

And just like that, I am angry.

Well, who wouldn’t be? The person by my side, the woman who stood beside me at an altar all those years ago and promised to love and help me, won’t slow down. My shoe is untied and she keeps striding along like there is nothing wrong.

My shoe is untied!

“Slow down!” I snap.

She looks at me in surprise. Just a moment ago, we were enjoying our outing in the beauty of God’s creation. Nothing has changed, to her mind. There is no reason she would have seen my predicament.

My world, on the other hand, is turned upside down. Of course, she instantly slows to a stop and waits while I kneel down and make the necessary adjustments.

But the damage has been done.

I’ve spent a lot of words on feet, haven’t I? Perhaps you already realize the feet aren’t the problem. The heart is.

The heart.

We’re a self-centered lot, aren’t we? Oh, we talk a good game, pretending to care more about others than ourselves, but let just one little personal issue flare up and no one matters in the world besides ourselves. Nothing is more important in that moment than our comfort.

God is working on my heart problem. I’m trying to let Him. You see, the Apostle who loved letter-writing passed on the words God had for me long ago:

You can’t be looking at your own problems, but need to be focusing on what those around you need. Think like He did, the God-man who gave up everything so you could have everything.

As He’s working on my heart problem, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind waiting up while I tie my shoe.

I’d like to walk beside you for awhile.

You can pull up your socks if you need to.

I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.
(Jane Austen ~ British novelist ~ 1775-1817)

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you the interests of the others.
(Philippians 2: 3,4)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

humility

Just a Little Proud

I’m Not That! Whatever He Said, I’m Not!

Good for the Soul

Winding Paths

In My Shoes