How does pride get in your way? Jessie Minassian zooms in on her lessons that can help us all.
Elisa
On Pride, Close Calls, and a Peugeot Tweet 50
By Jessie Minassian
I needed some wheels. I still had four days left on the island of Mo’orea and had seen everything I could on my rented bicycle. I heard the must-see snorkeling spot was twenty-one kilometers away. Definitely farther than I could walk. Rental car? Too expensive for my budget. My singular attempt at hitchhiking had been hilariously difficult, so I ruled that out too.
For better or worse, I’m the kind of girl who lives by the adage where there’s a will, there’s a way. I remembered seeing some European-style scooters zipping around. What about one of those? After finding Mo’orea Scooter online, the price was reasonable, so I reserved one and faced hitchhiking a second time to get to the lot.
The “lot” consisted of a repurposed shipping container. The man behind the counter spoke mostly French—of which I know none—but with some pointing and smiling I managed to communicate that I was there to pick up one of the cute little scooters inside.
After fitting me with a helmet, he handed me some paperwork. In broken English he asked, “You know to drive scooter, yes?”
Let me pause here to say that there are very few rules governing scooter rental in Mo’orea. Mostly you just have to know how to drive one. I didn’t technically fit that description, but I had seen lots of tourists driving them. Average tourists. Old tourists. I figured if they could drive a scooter around, surely I—capable, smart, and oh-so-humble Jessie—could figure it out, no problem. How hard could it be? So when he asked, I decided that knowing how to drive a scooter and knowing I could learn to drive a scooter were basically the same thing.
“Yep,” I replied, nodding.
If he suspected my bluff, he didn’t let on.
“Okay, small refresher,” he began, and gave me the standard speech about the brake and gas levers, how to lock it up, and the location of the turn signals.
“And remind me,” I said, “how do you turn it on?”
He looked at me a little sideways, but kindly showed me how to turn the key while holding the brake. Then he sent me on my way.
I hopped on that Peugeot Tweet 50 like I was made for it, rolled up the kickstand, and took a deep breath. My first maneuver would be making a left hand turn onto a moderately busy, two-lane highway right across from a crosswalk where a dozen or so people were waiting. No problem, Jess. You’ve got this.
I revved the gas and the scooter lurched forward, fast. Too fast. Adrenaline shot through me as I sped across the first lane of traffic—I was headed straight for the crowd! Turn, Jess, turn! I yelled at myself, yanking the handlebar, but the scooter didn’t seem to be listening. Why wasn’t it turning? At the last moment, the crowd’s eyes widening in fear, I dropped my left foot to the pavement, which forced my body to lean hard left. The scooter swerved left too, narrowly missing the crowd and a metal pole.
I learned two important lessons that day. One, when on a scooter, you have to lean to turn. Second, and more importantly, my pride gets me in a lot of trouble. That day, pride almost literally came before the fall.
Ninety-nine percent of my sin can be traced to pride. Go ahead, fact-check it. When I’m selfish, unforgiving, judgmental, untruthful, arrogant, or self-loathing, it can all be traced to one thing: I think I’m the center of my world.
I’m also really good at playing down the danger of my pride. I mean, it’s not as bad as (enter harmless-sounding sin), right? But unchecked, pride can have huge consequences, especially in how it affects our relationship with God. For example,
if we think we know it all, we won’t follow the Shepherd.
if we can’t admit when we’re wrong, the Holy Spirit can’t help us grow.
if we believe we’re better than others, we set ourselves up for judgment.
if we think we can do it all, we’ll chase perfection instead of accepting God’s grace.
if we’re all about me, me, me, we’ll miss opportunities to be Jesus’s hands and feet to others.
if we undervalue our worth (an ironic form of pride), we undermine God’s creative genius in making us.
I have a feeling learning humility will be a lifelong lesson. Less of me, more of God’s glory. Less of me, more of others’ interests and well-being. I might not be the picture of humility yet, but at least I can now say I know how to drive a scooter (hashtag humblebrag).
*Adapted from Your Brightest Life: Tips for Relationships, Health, Faith, Mindset, and More, Jessie’s new book for teen and young adult girls. Used with permission.
Jessie Minassian is a popular speaker, blogger, and author of fifteen books, including Your Brightest Life, and her award-nominated fiction debut, A Gentle Tyranny (pseud. Jess Corban). As the "resident big sis" at Life, Love, and God—a Q&A website for teen- and college-age girls she founded in 2005—she keeps her finger on the pulse of each new generation of young adults. In addition to speaking across the country, Jessie’s work for girls and their parents has been featured internationally through outlets such as Focus on the Family, Parenting Today’s Teens, She Reads Truth, Axis, Revive Our Hearts, and YouthWorker Journal. She and her husband live on the central coast of California with their two teen daughters.
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