Humility. I do not have it. I may think that I want it, but today I was afraid to pray for it. Why? Because God is a loving Father, and He will surely give it to me.

I need to be humbled if I am to be holy. Selfishly my soul rebels against humiliation. Something’s gotta give. I can’t seem to stop my incessant self-seeking, and so I must be humbled by the Lord. Holiness demands this, and holiness I am made for.

Some of my faults scream and shout in demand of my attention. I cannot help but be aware of their existence. These too must go, but because I am aware of them perhaps they do not have as fierce a grip on me as I often think they do.

Pride, on the other hand, is insidious in its secrecy. Its existence is a secret to none but me. It masks itself as apparent virtue, or the perverted contrition of shame, or a fault found in another, and innumerable other illusions. The point is that I never see it for what it is.

I would be a fool to deny that there are many imperfections in my soul of which I am entirely blind to. I cannot deny it, though at times it is a daunting reality. Peace comes with the truth that the Lord knows them all, and has borne them for me. He has never ceased to love me.

Because He loves me, He will not rest until these imperfections are rooted out entirely. This work He completes in Purgatory, but it must begin within my own soul at every moment. The tool He uses is humility.

Thus, my fear. I am blind to the faults that humility rectifies, and as such I feel pointedly the lack of control that ever haunts my pride. Since I refuse to see these faults, pain must point me to their exposure. Since I know not what they are, humility must strike me unawares to jar my jilted perception. Since pride is rooted in self-love I must lose myself, who I love. To a sick man this is all very frightening.

Yet I must pray for humility. It is not as if a life lived in worship of myself has any real fruit to offer. In fact the poisonous illusions of vanity are far more treacherous than the path of self-surrender, however painful it may be. Fear and pain await me on either path I choose to follow. Death, too, awaits on both, but on one it is the beginning and on the other it is the end.

Am I afraid of humility? Yes. Did I just spend an hour writing about a virtue I can’t claim to possess? Again, yes. Is this perhaps the fruit of some underlying imperfection that I am completely blind to? One day I will find out, though I’m sure you already know the answer. For now I will continue to pray for humility and hope that one day my fear may turn into love.