Pride In the Backseat

Have you seen my new car?
Well, not exactly "new", but new to me.
Have you seen it?  It's hot.  I mean sexy hot.  Shiny black, leather seats, kickin' stereo system, DVD player, automatic hatch.  You name it, yeah it's got it.

It's station wagon meets hot mom.
It's the kind of thing Swagger Wagon moms dream of.  I was that mom - and now look at me, I'm all that.  I'm so "all that" I catch people looking at me.  I mean, the other day, walking out of the gym two guys were behind me - they were the buff, too cool university type.  I didn't exactly witness it, but I know what they were thinking when they saw me use my automatic unlock button and hop in my sporty little coup.  They thought, "wow - we totally had her pegged for mini-van mom, were we ever wrong."  I pumped up the jam and peeled out.  


I got half-way through the parking lot.  Still high on a toxic cocktail of adrenaline and ego, I slammed on the brakes ....


For real?  Did I really just think that?  Did I for one minute think that college boys even glanced my way as I opened the door to my station wagon?  Did I just think of myself as "all-that"?
At a stand still in the middle of the parking lot I realized that for the past month I've been riding around with pride in my passenger's seat.  I am proud of this car.  It is a hot car, it's my hot car, and I want everyone to know that I have a hot car.

But wait.
Didn't we just go 7 months with one vehicle?, one hub-capless, tired, 12 year old minivan?  Didn't we used to drive a hand-me-down Ford Taurus?

Truth be told, we could never afford a vehicle this nice.  Heck, it's got butt warmers!  I never dreamed of having a car with butt warmers.
Were it not for the generous gift of a friend who offered to sell us the car at less than half it's value I'd still be in the mini-van club and George would be putting studded tires and fenders on his bike.

This was a gift.
It had nothing to do with me.
It was purchased on the sacrifice of another.
And here I am puffed up with pride.  Proud of something I had nothing to do with.

Still in the parking lot.
Sobered.
And it hits me, am I not just like this with my faith?
I grew up in a Christian home.  I went to Christian grade school, high school, college and grad school.  You start a verse from the bible, I can finish it.  You say a verse, I'll sing you a song to go with it.  I can whip up a Sunday school lesson in 10 minutes.  My dad, my husband, and my brother-in-law are all pastors.  You could almost say that in my extended family there are as many pastors as the Pope has predecessors (well, not really, but you get my point).  I know what my only comfort in life and in death is, I know the apostles creed, the Westminster confession, and I can tell you what number the doxology is in the blue hymnal.
Pride.
There it is again.  Pride.

My upbringing, my schooling, my family, my knowledge.  It's not about me.
Once again ...
This was a gift.
It had nothing to do with me.
It was purchased on the sacrifice of another.
I think of those who sacrificed - my parents, my family, my teachers, my husband.
I think of the ultimate sacrifice - Jesus Christ.

Deeply sobered I put the car into drive.
Pride in the backseat - the way back - where it belongs.

I am so thankful ...
Thankful for grace.
Thankful for sacrifices made on my behalf.
Thankful for gifts I so easily accept.
Thankful.
Deeply thankful.

Hebrews 12:1
¹ Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.