So Much for Pride

When we went to a baby blessing in an inner city ward, I felt flattered when the sister sitting next to me began to fawn over me, complimenting me on what I was wearing.  I had, after all, taken some extra time to get ready that day.  “You must be a visitor or a missionary or something.  I can just tell by the nice way you’re dressed!”

“Well, yes, we are visiting today,”  I said, trying to sound properly humble. In reality, there was pride swelling up in me, maybe even a little of that haughtiness (or stiff-neckedness?) I’d been warned about.

Another sister  in the row just in front of us, helped me out. “I totally recognize that white skirt,” she said happily.  “I almost bought one.  You got it for  $7.99 at Ross, didn’t you? You see them all over.”


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