Humility

Humility is strange.

The minute you announce you have it…

you don’t.

At least that’s how it feels.

It’s one of those qualities that everybody admires in other people and almost nobody claims for themselves.

Which raises a question:

How would you know?

How would you know if you’re humble?

Can you know?

I have three nieces.

We call them “the littles.”

The oldest is in kindergarten.

The other two are preschool age.

And one thing I have noticed about them is that they spend almost no time pretending they know everything.

They ask questions.

Lots of questions.

Questions about bugs.

Questions about clouds.

Questions about why things float.

Questions about why things sink.

Questions about why dogs bark.

Questions about why birds fly.

Questions about why adults do strange things.

Which, honestly, is a pretty good question.

They’re curious.

Endlessly curious.

Because they know there is a world out there they don’t understand yet.

And they are thrilled about it.

Have you ever noticed that people who think they know everything rarely ask questions?

They make statements.

Declarations.

Pronouncements.

They have answers for everything.

And usually before you’ve finished talking.

But curious people…

they lean in.

They listen.

They wonder.

They ask another question.

And another.

And another.

Maybe humility has less to do with thinking lowly of yourself and more to do with understanding how much there still is to learn.

Maybe humility is the awareness that no matter how much you’ve seen, there is still more to see.

No matter how much you’ve learned, there is still more to learn.

No matter how much you’ve experienced, there is still more to experience.

Maybe humility sounds less like:

“I know.”

And more like:

“Tell me more.”

I found myself asking some questions recently.

Do I ask questions more than I make statements?

Am I still exploring?

Still learning?

Still discovering?

Do I seek out ideas that challenge me?

Do I wake up expecting the day to teach me something?

Or have I quietly settled into the belief that I’ve already figured most of it out?

Because that may be the danger.

Not being wrong.

Being done.

Being finished.

Being convinced there is nothing left to discover.

The littles don’t have that problem.

They wake up every morning assuming there is something they haven’t seen yet.

Something they haven’t learned yet.

Something they haven’t experienced yet.

And maybe that’s why Jesus talked so much about children.

Not because children know everything.

But because they know they don’t.

And they’re perfectly okay with that.

They’re still exploring.

Still learning.

Still growing.

Still curious.

Maybe humility begins there.

Not with having fewer answers.

EXTRA

In In thinking about this, I found myself asking a series of questions. Some of them, admittedly, I am making up as I write this.

Do I find myself asking questions more than making statements?

Am I still exploring—new ideas, new hobbies, new subjects?

Am I looking for better ways to do what I am already doing?

Am I willing to listen to perspectives different from my own?

What level of creativity am I bringing to each day?

When was the last time I changed my mind about something?

Am I waking up ready to explore a new day and learn from it?