The lesson I learned? Pride truly comes before the fall.
I grew up in the Catholic Church; I was baptized as a baby, went through confirmation, said my Hail Mary and Our Father prayers, went to mass on Sunday, all of it. For majority of my life, I considered myself a good person. I raised my girls the same way, and as long as my family went to church, at least most Sundays, and they were “good” too, I was happy.
It took almost eight decades and the loss of a child to realize I was lying to myself. I grew up brushing issues under the rug and avoiding hard conversations, and I paid a steep price for my pride and for trying to be my kids’ non-confrontational friend.
The pride deeply rooted in my heart caused me to rationalize sin and blame shift. I am ashamed to say it took over twenty years after I lost my daughter for the scales to finally fall from my eyes. My knees hit the floor in honest confession to God, and I finally could see and admit what I had done.
When the Holy Spirit awakened me, my dead heart started beating. And while I still struggle with regret, God changed my destiny. I will live out the rest of my days sharing about his grace, praising God for the chance to reconcile, and making up for lost time.
