Pastor John Van Sloten

Two weeks ago my back went out in a very debilitating and humbling way. While crawling to the washroom one day I agonizingly thought, this is a very real experience, I should write about it.

This is what I wrote…

I preached a sermon on the deadly sin of Pride the day before my fall.

“It’s the self filled with self,” I said, “and when your life is filled with yourself there’s often no room for others. Pride’s self-fullness destroys community and it lurks deep within each of our souls; veiled in a blind spot.

Most of us deny its power; the overly fierce independence it evokes, how it leads us to try and control everything, and how it inhibits our capacity to let others in. Often we see pride as someone else’s problem. But to those with proud hearts and minds, the great writer C.S. Lewis warns, ‘If you think you are not conceited then you are very conceited indeed.’(Mere Christianity)”

I had no idea.

Lying on my living room floor I cried out at the top of my lungs. My wife and children had just left the house. I’d asked them to leave so that they wouldn’t have to watch me suffer.

All I did was turn my body a few degrees in an attempt to get up off my mattress. The pain was so excruciating; a muscle ripping, shock-like jolt from my spine to my hip bone. Never have I felt that kind of agonizing jab before. “This,” I thought, “is why human beings have the capacity to scream.” I fell back onto the mattress – the one that I had slept on the previous night, on the main floor, because I couldn’t make it up the stairs to the bedroom – and trembled.

I had to try again because I needed to get to the washroom, and lying there was just too pathetic; too helpless. So I came up with another plan. Slide over to the edge of the mattress, position both arms on the coffee table, lift with all your might, let your torso turn beneath you and then flip yourself onto your knees.

It worked. And I was on all fours.

But then I had to crawl to the main floor bathroom. The task seemed daunting; it was over three metres away.

Every time I moved a hand or leg, my back would piercingly twinge. By then most of my muscles were in spasm, and my quadriceps were shaking uncontrollably. It took me close to five minutes to traverse my foyer. “How feeble is this?” I thought. And then, once I’d cleared the bathroom threshold the real challenge presented itself. I just knelt there, looking up at this small vanity, wondering if and how I was ever going to get myself up there, so that I could get over there.

At this point I started to lose what little composure I had left. The thought of inducing another spasm paralyzed me. But I had no choice; either stand up and get there or else! So I reached up with one hand and clasped the vanity door handle, and then quickly, while shifting my weight, grabbed the faux marble counter top with my other arm. Pulling with all my remaining energy I was soon standing, and then finally… sitting.

How could something so simple be so difficult? Every step seemed like a struggle.

And then, a few moments later, I made a fateful error.

I stood up without having pulled my underwear past my knees.

Looking down I realized I was stuck. There was no way I could start over and sit down and stand up again. So for the next five minutes I awkwardly tried to resolve my problem – half standing, leaning on the countertop, trying to reach down while shaking uncontrollably – but I couldn’t do it.

I tried with all my might and I could not do it.

So there I was; a supposedly self-sufficient adult male and I couldn’t even dress myself. I was at a total loss. I did not know what to do.

Just then I heard my wife come back into the house wanting to check on me. Through the bathroom door she asked, “Are you OK?”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want her to walk in on me in that abysmal situation. But I had no choice. I was at the end of myself.

Finally through tears I reluctantly responded, “I need help… I can’t do it.” So she stepped in, and moving through my embarrassment, gently helped me. There I was, this half-naked quivering mess, and she graciously saved me.

And in that very child-like moment I felt a strange beauty. I wasn’t being judged or laughed at for my weakness. For just a few seconds I was completely vulnerable; totally in the hands and mind of another. And for those few seconds that helplessness was okay.

It was a very profound and moving experience as I now recall it.

With my pride fully exposed, at my weakest moment, I received the humble gift of dependence.

The following comments are owned by whomever posted them. This site is not responsible for what they say.
back breaking pride
Authored by: Anonymous on Wednesday, March 11 2009 @ 04:02 PM PDT
Beautiful.

Perhaps the reason we have pride is that in our weakest moments we HAVE been
laughed at instead of cared for. We need to re-learn to be vulnerable again. To
learn to trust in love instead of fear the pain of rejection. This was a good
modern day parable, thanks for sharing!

K

back breaking pride
Authored by: Anonymous on Saturday, March 14 2009 @ 08:49 PM PDT
Ahhhh Laddie…that’s why real men wear kilts! No worries about your drawers
around your knees! We did have a laugh at your expense reading your detailed
account….. although you were not!

Wishing you well on your publishing journey!

You are always in our thoughts….we are on our way back from Mexico!

The Crook’s