The price of pride

  There was a news story in my town this week of a elderly homeless man who was found dead.  He had died of heart failure from the extreme cold overnight.  All in all very sad.  I’m sure it happens all too frequently.  What made it a news story though was the fact that this man had on him thousands of dollars worth of cash.  Apparently it was enough to have brought him a roof over his head of some sort.

  When I read this my overactive imagination went into top gear…..what made him homeless?  Why was he not with family or friends or in some kind of shelter?  Surely he knew he was weak and frail and should not be exposed to the elements….Why would someone have money but not use it for one of life’s basic necessities?

  Maybe he had  an addiction of sorts that kept him from loved ones.  Maybe he couldn’t forgive himself of some action, so this was his way of punishing himself.  Maybe it all came down to pride.  Thinking he could look after himself when really he couldn’t. 

 Pride.  Not reaching out for help when one can.

  Yesterday I tried to give a neighbor family a bag of shoes and clothes that The Hurricane has grown out of.   Decent items- not stained and stretched…lots of good wear left in them.  The neighbor family has three boys altogether, two of them smaller than The Hurricane.  The other day the middle boy was outside playing in his pyjamas, that barely covered his knees.  And note he is not old enough to be wearing his pyjamas as a statement of his independence and own sense of fashion! There are seven people in that household living in a two bedroom house.  The oldest boy sleeps in his parent’s walk in closet, so he tells us.

  The Grandmother opened the door to me and said ‘No thanks’.  Didn’t even look at the bag of clothes, just a no thanks.  Me, being the stubborn woman I am left the bag at the door anyway, hoping they would change their minds.  This morning the bag was at my door.

  Perhaps there are certain rules in their religion that prevent them from accepting gestures like this.  Perhaps it is purely and simply a cultural thing.  Perhaps it was pride.

  Pride.  Not accepting help when one can or should.

  My prayer today is that I never become so independent  that I don’t seek help from others when I need it, or when it is offered.  My prayer is that I be a gracious receiver of gifts.  

  I don’t ever want to be too proud for anything or about anything. 

Autumn Leaves


4 thoughts on “The price of pride

  1. My heart goes out to that family. It is so true that our pride often stands in the way of blessing. For some who don’t know Christ, it is often the only form of dignity they think they have–their pride. I pray that the walls they have built up will slowly cave to the love they can see in a wonderful neighbor like you who cares for them.

    Wonderful to meet you!

  2. wow. that is full on. as a mum i am always so grateful for clothes and toys passed on – even so that the kids can wear them for rougher outside play (digging in the garden) and so that the clothes i buy are saved for good. so often we find it the other way – that people throw out what can be passed on, but wow, to refuse help. pride is nothing to be proud of. i pray that you’ll have hte right stategy to reach out to the mum :o) you’re such a big hearted chick!

  3. I love your blog. This one kinda stepped on me a little bit. Pride is a problem. Not in the way your neighbors kept them from accepting your generous gift. My pride is my health. I have diabetes and NEVER talk about it to anyone. My very best friends do not know. My husband did not know until I had surgery and was absolutel forced to tell him about 5 minutes before they took my into surgery. It’s dumb, I know, but really, it is pride. Not wanting to admit I am not healthy. Stupid,

  4. I’ve always accepted hand-me-downs, yes. And I love to share ours too, so I can’t even imagine. On another note, I think we all struggle with pride in some way, even a small way, so it’s good to read a story like this to put into perspective. Thanks for sharing F! Hugs!

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