It’s Hard to Be Humble
By Hal Haralson
[Hal Haralson practices law in Austin, Texas.]
There’s a song that goes, “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in every way.” I have had a problem with this perfection business since I was in the primary department of the First Baptist Church of Loraine, Texas. That was about 1941.
It all began in Sunday School. We had an envelope where we placed our offering and checked off:
Present X On Time X Studied Lesson X Offering X
We lived 8 1/2 miles down a dirt road from church, but Mother always saw to it that we (my brother, Dale, was two years younger) could check every one of the boxes above.
That meant we were perfect… Gold Star!
At the “graduation ceremony” we were given a “gold” bar which attached to our other bars on our left lapel.
Dale and I still walk with a slight limp due to the weight of the bars. Mrs. Thornhill and Mrs. Johnson were the leaders of the Department. They were only slightly younger than God and spoke with great authority. When they said you were perfect, you began to believe it.
At age 9, we became “Pages” (the lowest rank) in one of the most active RA (Royal Ambassador) Chapters in West Texas. This was the Baptist missionary organization for boys. Sort of a religious Boy Scout Chapter.
By the time we were 15, we had attained the rank of Ambassador Plenipotentiary (the highest rank), the first in West Texas to do so. There were recognition ceremonies, capes and shields, and swords that whacked the fiery darts of the wicked.
Talk about perfection!
I had a scrapbook two inches thick that had projects approved and signed by Jimmy Allen, the state RA leader.
I could recite the stops on all of Paul’s missionary journeys and tell you what happened at each place, starting at either end.
I became concerned about the 90% who weren’t perfect. Their lives must be miserable.
Thirty years later, being in the top 10% was the big thing in the University of Texas School of Law. If you were in the top 10%, you got a good job. If you weren’t, you were out in the cold.
Perfection was still rearing its ugly head.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t make it. I wasn’t perfect. It was a blow to my ego. It was also a great lesson in life for me.
There were other things that had a higher priority than law school, like my wife and our three children.
I’ve known some people who put grades, work, and money first, and wound up losing their families.
I’ve come to realize that God doesn’t expect me to be perfect. He loves me the way I am. He made me that way and “God don’t make no junk.”
Judy fusses at me for chewing tobacco. Now I don’t chew except when I’m at the deer lease or out at the barn. I’ve got this bad habit well under control. A little “Levi Garret” is good for the soul.
“Besides,” I tell my wife, “this is the only sin I have and without it, I would be perfect.”
“There’s nobody more obnoxious than somebody who is perfect.”
Jesus spent his time with crude, cussing fishermen and women whose backgrounds were not exactly what you would want for someone teaching a Sunday School class at First Baptist Church.
These were “imperfect people.”
The only “perfect” people around were Pharisees. They were the only group of people Jesus had little to do with. Maybe it’s a good thing it’s hard to be perfect. Keeps us humble.
