Humility has a tail

Humility.
Not something we talk about too much in the U.S.
Not something we celebrate too much.
I had previously only thought of humility as an antidote to pride. Not something to pursue for its own sake.
Since moving to Nicaragua, I have met several people who have taught me a lot about the loveliness of humility. In fact, if you had secretly peeked into my heart around August of last year you would have seen an entire section dedicated to feeling quite proud of how much I had learned about humility. Accepting a new role that isn't dependent upon my "awesome skill set as a professional educator".  Realizing my worth as a servant doesn't depend on my abilities or knowledge. Oh, yeah. I'm getting good at this humility thing.

I listened today to an electrician and a dentist discussing solutions to problems and kept thinking; "Everyone is a professional until the power is turned on." We can all see solutions to problems that cost us nothing. The real professionalism is knowing what to do when things go wrong. Anyone can "be" a doctor, as long as no one is hurting. Everyone is confident of their solutions to a plumbing problem until the water is turned on.

And I left the U.S. as a skilled professional. I was the one who people called when a problem wasn't easy to solve. By giving up that part of myself for this new role-- I thought that meant I had learned what I needed to about humility.

But I was wrong. Real humility has a tail.

These last few weeks I have been completely knocked off my feet by teeny, tiny, powerless, terrifying mice.

Mice live all over the building where I live and work. As we go through a period of construction, these mice are particularly disrupted and run around through my living room/office, kitchen and bedroom. If I leave my "house" and go out into the rest of the building, they are still there--dashing to a less busy corner or cupboard.

Now, in my old life another thing I took pride in was my practicality. Need a deer dressed out? Got some nasty stuff that needs cleaning? Got a snake you need removed? I'm your brave, logical, practical gal. I can do those jobs for you! Sure, I may not be your most fashionable friend, or the most hip--but practical? That's me.

Only now I am not. Now I'm irrational, emotional, and powerless. Now, a teeny, tiny, tail dashing across the living room sends me running (well, walking quickly at least) into the street trying to catch my breath. Night time scratching noises behind the wardrobe start the tears flowing.

I know.

I KNOW it is illogical and ridiculous. I can hear in my own ears the self-righteous speeches I made over and over about "not teaching fear" and "subjugating emotion to reason". I was the girl with pet snakes and tarantulas and every other odd critter you could name. How am I now controlled by the shadow of something scurrying behind a shelf?

Oh, humility. I have much to learn.
With your tiny, scurrying, mouse-y tail, you are teaching me anew about how weak and frail I am.

There is no version of this story that isn't embarrassing. There's no way to explain my sudden dash into the street that lets me maintain an illusion of power, control, and independence.

Being driven to tears by an itty-bitty brown mammal that has lived among humans in every country in every epoch requires me to admit my frailty. Requires me to humble myself in front of family, co-workers, and even strangers.

Yep. Humility has a tail.

I wish I wasn't learning this particular lesson right now. I confess: I hate these mice. I jump. I run. I cry. I am embarrassed as my rational mind argues with this new fear rushing through my body. I am humbled.

Like many things in Nicaragua--it is hard. And it makes me better.
Colossians 3:12