With September on our heels, I have been receiving schedule emails from my choir directors. Though I look forward with great pleasure to the new season of song, my thoughts of actual performances always remind me that humbling moments are surely waiting just around the corner; forgetting my part, bursting into song when only the men should be singing, tripping on my dress while climbing the risers, and how can I forget the world premier of our conductor's composition, Requiem?

During the intermission, all the musicians and chorus members headed downstairs–many stairs—for a brief respite. The hall was soon full of black suits, long skirts and musical scores. After chatting for a few minutes I decided to make a last minute trip to the ladies room. Time must have flown by because when I stepped back into the hall I was alone. Images of a popular commercial ran through my mind. A man stands on the empty streets of a big metropolis with only scraps of paper blowing in the wind. He looks up and down the empty streets for some sign of life, yelling, “Where is everybody???”

The sinking feeling in my stomach accompanied the realization that “everybody” was lined up at the top of the stairs and ready to go back out into the sanctuary to sing. As I looked up three very steep flights of steps, seeing not so much as a flutter of a black dress around the corner, I heard the sound of applause.

I ran, kind of, up the stairs, trying not to trip over my dress, but I knew I was too late. A second burst of applause signaled the conductor had now returned to the stage as well. Once at the sanctuary door, huffing and puffing, I paused for a second to consider my options. My place with the altos was on the far side of the sanctuary, which meant I had to walk in front of the entire chorus which was now poised to sing. Or I could sit out the second half.

With a deep sigh, I swallowed my pride, risked feeling foolish and smiled as I walked quickly across the sanctuary. I was so embarrassed! But once back in my spot and breathing normally, I was glad I didn’t let my embarrassment stop me from doing what I loved.

Embarrassing moments are humbling moments which can serve us well if we are open to the lessons. My father spoke of them as times when our guardian angels feel the need to “take us down a peg”—for our own good, of course. Who better than our angels to recognize when our growing pride or arrogance threatens to impede our spiritual growth? Plus, humbling experiences hold the key to empathy.

One of the funniest stories my father ever shared with me was the bathroom door story. It seems the guys in his office had developed the habit of pounding on the men’s room door when occupied, just to pester whoever was in there at the time. They thought it was funny. One afternoon, to their horrified surprise, one of those poundings sent the bathroom door crashing in on the occupant—none other than their boss. This was a man whose pride often made him a difficult task-master. As one might expect, he was furious, and in such a compromising situation, very embarrassed.  Luckily the story has a happy ending. The boss eventually found himself laughing at the incident. When he laughed, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. This humbling moment reminded him that, “Pride goes before disaster, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”  He began a descent from his own opinion of himself and the entire office benefitted from the change.

Pride, whether it appears as an inordinate opinion of one’s own importance, or as refusal to allow oneself to be humbled, is an obstacle to growth. When we believe there is nothing to be learned from a particular person or experience, or when pride prevents us from asking for help when we need it, then we are embracing pride rather than conquering it.

When that happens we can be sure there is a bathroom door somewhere waiting to cave in on us!