Letting Go of Entitlement

I sat in the waiting room at the OBGYN office. A few weeks earlier I had received the devastating news that the precious heart cradled in my womb was no longer beating. My body still had not recognized the loss. Each week my uterus continued growing and my hcg levels remained steady. And yet, every subsequent ultrasound yielded the same results: there was so heartbeat.

Throughout my wait, multiple women coming and going from their own prenatal appointments loudly complained about the inconvenience of pregnancy. As I listened to them grumble about the sacred gift of being with child, I felt the tight cord of entitlement weave itself firmly around my heart.

I didn’t immediately understand what exactly I was feeling entitled to. But as I stopped to consider the war that was raging in my heart, I realized that I had convinced myself that I deserved better. Unlike the women I had been overhearing in the waiting room, I treasured the gift of being pregnant. From the first moment I learned of the existence of the precious baby I was carrying, I had loved him completely. I saw pregnancy as the enormous privilege that it was.

I deserved to be spared the heartache of miscarriage.
I deserved an easy carefree pregnancy.
I deserved to have my baby here with me.
I deserved better.

Or so I believed.

In my spiral of self-deception I finally allowed myself to admit that this sense of entitlement was deeply rooted in my own pride. My selfish heart was contending for supremacy with a Holy God. Oh, wretched soul that I am!

I often foolishly believe that I know what is best and deserve to have the best. But deep down I know that if I was steadfast in orienting my life around the gospel, there would be no room for such entitlement. A true assessment of my life under the shadow of the cross would shout, “Your sin put your Savior there! What you really deserve is the death that Christ rescued you from.”

Unless I dedicate myself to the faithful and constant reflection of the twin realities of God’s glory and my own sinful condition there is no room for humility—and humility is the only cure for entitlement. So I fall to my knees again and again, asking God to protect me from my pride and grant me the grace to cultivate a spirit of humility.

Humility lets go of the need for self-recognition and promotion and devotes itself towards rendering praise to the Lord. Humility teaches us to lose ourselves and surrender to the One who longs for us to discover the joy of serving Him in contented obedience. Every day a choice is before me. I can choose to continue down the path of entitlement, believing that I deserve better than what I’ve been given, or I can choose to submit to the Lord in the midst of my sorrow, knowing that in Him I will lack no good thing (Psalm 34:10).

I believe in a God who is never done teaching me how to decrease my inflated pride so that He might increase. And I believe with every ounce of my being that the further I travel down this road toward humility the more fully I will experience profound joy as I surrender the glory that I try to wrap my own tight fists around to the God who alone truly deserves it. It is only in laying down my pride that my worldly understanding of greatness and merit can be redefined.

“…But whoever would be great among you must be your servant.” Mark 10:43

What a great privilege that God has called me to be a suffering servant for His glory.

I confess, it doesn’t always feel like a privilege. Serving the Lord through my suffering does not lesson the pain. Surrendering to God’s plan for my life does not cancel out the heartache of infant loss. Not even close. But choosing humility over entitlement does lift my gaze to the true source of my comfort in the midst of the sorrow. Setting aside my view of what I deserve shifts my eyes onto what I have already been given. In Christ I have everything.

Through the weary and heavy days ahead, I will fight to let go of entitlement. I will seek to humble myself before the Lord and trust in His good plan for my life. I will cling to His promises and the joy of my future inheritance kept in heaven for me.