Humility: A (painful) blessing

A few years ago, when my boys started getting a little meat on their bones, I got a dose of reality: this is not quite what I was expecting. I went from having "babies" and “toddlers” to "four boys" – a crew, a foursome, a handful. In a really marvelous way of course.

In my mind, when they were very little, I saw a family of boys as meaning lots of organized sports and a basket in the laundry room for ball caps and soccer cleats. In between trips to ball games, we would sit together and read books about chivalry. And we’d pray.

My expectations, I am finding, were partially correct -- there is sports and there is a hat basket, there are errands and prayers. There are also books, but mostly about weapons and pirates and large boats loaded with weapons and pirates.

Unfortunately, when I predicted my future it was skirmish-free, and it was on mute.

One of my first tastes of the reality of Life with Boys was a few years ago, when Augie suddenly became mobile and able to keep up with his three older brothers. We were borrowing Paul's dad's truck for the day and the four boys were outside playing. Sometime in the afternoon, I got a call from a friend, a father of four girls. When I picked up the phone I heard him laughing.

He explained that he had just driven by our house and saw the boys on their grandfather’s truck, swarming the vehicle like flies at a picnic. Two of the boys were in the truck bed, one was on the hood and the fourth little boy was standing on the roof of the cab. He was perched on the top whacking it frantically with a plastic baseball bat.

I looked out the window to verify the scene. It was like monkeys on speed, but somehow worse.

I tried to explain that we had never discussed not attacking a truck, but we soon would have a rule about that very thing. And I didn’t realize this at the time, but we as a family would soon have rules for a whole host of random issues that I could never have imagined.

Upon being asked what was the greatest virtue, St Augustine replied, "The three greatest virtues are first, humility, second, humility, and third, humility." The thing about my boys, I’m finding, is that they desperately want to get me into heaven. They love me that much. And they’re going to use the gift of humility to help me along the way.

I have taken these words of St. Augustine to heart. It’s not that I necessarily enjoy working on humility, but as a mother I am offered so many opportunities to cultivate that virtue in my life. I have to grow in humility as a parent whether I like it or not. And it's a lot less painful when I like it, or at least work to embrace it.

Meetings with teachers, dealing with playground tiffs, relationships with friends and other parents -- these are all opportunities to grow in humility. As parents we certainly need to stand up for our children when we should, but we also have to consider that they might need correction or direction or perhaps a loving chide.

With boys, I can’t even hide under the façade of “perfection.” They let it all hang out – good behavior and bad. And I’m finding that being willing to admit I don’t have it all together (as a mom and as a human being) is an important facet of my happiness. I want to admit when I’m wrong, and then redirect my focus to spiritual perfection and a closer union with God.