On Pride, Friendships, and Doing It Better

The first “book” I wrote was How-To-Take-Over-My-Job-As-Administrative-Assistant. Clearly, I excel at taking myself too seriously.

Although I worked with wonderful people and wanted to provide the smoothest transition possible when I left to stay home with our coming-soon firstborn, I see beneath good intentions an undercurrent of pride. That I could do my job better than anyone else. That my 30-some pages of How It’s Done would actually be helpful.

Pride creeps up in other areas of my life too. Tells me to put on mascara before running errands. Say life’s good when it’s only partially true. Rise to my own unrealistic expectations. Eliminate the opportunity to be embarrassed.

It does another thing too. It affects my friendships. Gives me permission to be real about the safe stuff, but not the truest stuff. Share my already-finished stories but not the currently-happening, God-and-I-are-talking-about-this ones. Offer advice before empathy—and help without being willing to accept it myself.

A big reason we don’t know our neighbors is we’re convinced we don’t need any help. I’ll do it sick, scared, or ill-prepared before I admit I have a need, and maybe you will too. But pride-bent self-reliance sabotages relationships.

Jennie Allen says it this way in Find Your People:

We’ve replaced intrusive, real conversations with small talk, and we’ve substituted soul-baring, deep, connected living with texts and a night out together every once in a while, because superficial stuff seems more management and less risky.
p. 10

Why? Because we’re “needy, just not good at admitting it” (Find Your People, p. 11).

Pride is playing it safe—but there’s a high-risk tag. It builds walls where there should be bridges. Keeps us apart when we long to be deeply connected.

Pride is playing it safe—but there’s a high-risk tag_best quotes

An Antidote to Pride

Asking for help dissolves pride because when we ask for a neighbor to let our dog out, put a package in our garage, or lend us a spoonful of chili powder it names our lack. Outlines our weakness. Opens the door to being seen as inadequate, forgetful, imperfect, and undeniably human. (It’s also a really great way to get to know your neighbors better!)

Truth is I miss stuff and mess up in so many ways. Finish more in the nick of time than you’d ever know. I’m just not great at letting it show.

I’d rather be able to do it faster and better. Home-cook everything we eat. Perfect everything I touch. But I can’t, and I don’t, and we shop at Costco—code for we frequently use our air fryer.

My house is rarely spotless, and if yours is, power to you, but I’d honestly feel more at home if it wasn’t. Nothing stays folded in our linen closet (because I’ve got kids). Even when the main floor of our house is a hot mess, it’s probably much, much worse in at least one of their bedrooms. But I still shuffle off as much of the kid paraphernalia as possible before you come over unless you show up unannounced, and then you see the everyday version of my house.

I get tired. Need a good cry. A friend to hug. Someone to hear me out. And I’ll bet you do too.

Because we’re human and we’re supposed to need God. And each other.

No One Is a Mind Reader

Amanda Anderson raises a question in All My Friends Have Issues we’d be wise to think about:

If we need to speak our needs to God, who knows everything, how much more do we need to be brave enough to share our hopes and requests with our girlfriends, who can’t read our minds?
p. 101

Whether or not we’ll admit it, we’ve got a secret desire for the people around us to be able to read our minds—especially when it comes to what we really need. We’ll congratulate ourselves on keeping our asks silent, then pity ourselves when no one understands that we actually did want help.

Pride is awfully sneaky. It would convince us that we’re right to withhold, justify, defend ourselves. That it’s on them and not us.

But no one is a mind reader.

No one knows what you need if you won’t ask for it.

No one can help you if you’re not willing to receive it.

Except God. He does know, and care, and help. He doesn’t resent you or diminish your needs. He’s always present, a perfect listener, and a promise fulfiller. According to Proverbs 15:29, “He’s moved to answer the prayers of his godly lovers” (TPT). These prayers are “pleasing to his heart” (Proverbs 15:8 TPT).

We can ask Him for help to ask for help. Give Him our pride and accept in return a soft, humble heart that’s quicker to take our own jokes, acknowledge we’re incapable, admit we need help.

Pressure’s off because “all is exposed before his eyes, and so much more the heart of every human being” (Proverbs 15:11 TPT). We can be honest—soul-baring honest—because there’s no hiding, and He replaces shame with a name etched into the fibers of our being. We’re His.

When we remember we belong to God, we can stop trying to be God. Care more about being real than keeping up impressions. Lean on neighbors and friends, and encourage them to reciprocate.

When we remember we belong to God, we can stop trying to be God_best quotes

Let’s pray.

God, we confess we’ve taken ourselves too seriously. Thought we can do it best. Said we don’t need anybody. Silenced our needs. Griped because our people aren’t mind readers.

Would You shift the posture of hearts? Make us tender. Moldable. Humble enough to be human.

Help us become better at asking for help. Being real with our friends. Building community in our neighborhoods.

Just a friend over here in your corner,

Discover real-life ways to love those right in front of you!

Missional Neighboring 101

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