My small group is currently reading through Jill Savage’s No More Perfect Moms, and it’s really, really good.  Except Chapter Two.  Chapter Two kicked me in the gut.

Chapter Two is where God showed me that I am a prideful parent.

My kids wouldn’t get away with acting like that.
I would handle that situation differently.
I would handle that situation better.

I know, you’re probably wondering what took me so long to realize I have an issue with pride.  I’m also stubborn.

It kicked me in the gut, and I think God let me marinate in that feeling for a while to make sure I didn’t shrug it off.  I couldn’t.  I felt so sick.  How could I think these thoughts?  I was so ashamed.  “Pride is comparing ourselves, knowingly or unknowingly, to others with the result that we come out looking better than they do. … Pride raises its ugly self in our relationships with other moms.  Most of the time these comparisons stay in our heads, but they consistently put distance between us and another person,” (pp. 27-28).  And that, dear friends, is what I was doing.  I was comparing myself, and installing an ever-increasing distance between myself and other women in my life.

I decided I needed to take off pride.  Pride doesn’t come off easily like a pair of flip flops.  It’s more like a wet swimming suit that has suddenly and inexplicably melded with your skin.  Or like taking a bandaid off of a toddler.  I don’t even think it wants to come off.  But it MUST.

If I’m going to love others well, love God well, love my family well, it must.

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