I have a saying that my family has heard so many times they can finish it before I do.

“I can only control myself.”

Apparently, my family isn’t the only group that has heard it a few times.

Sunday morning, Pastor Sam was preaching from Philippians 2:1–11 and talking about unity and how we respond when there is conflict. He referenced Romans 12:18, which tells us, “If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

In other words, you can’t control what everyone else does. You can only control yourself.

My friend John and his wife Leslie were sitting in front of me. I leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder and said, “That’s a very good point.” They know me.

I had friends at church looking my direction and others texting me because they have heard me say that countless times. Apparently, I have repeated it enough that I now have a catchphrase.

I would love to tell you everything Pastor Sam said after that, but I can’t. Somewhere right before point two of the sermon, my youngest son managed to break a tooth in half, and our Sunday morning took a pretty significant detour. Life happens. Tooth is glued back and good as new.

Thankfully, my daughters stayed in the service and finished taking notes, so this week’s Grit & Wit comes with research assistance from my daughters. They will be paid, don’t worry.

The more I thought about Philippians 2 afterward, though, the more I realized that my little saying fits Paul’s message pretty well.

I just wish living it were as easy as saying it.

Fewer Hills to Die On

I don’t really remember when I started saying, “I can only control myself.”

I think it came with age.

When you’re younger, you spend a lot of energy worrying about what other people think. You want to keep up. You want people to like you. You want people to recognize what you’re doing. And if someone disagrees with you, there is a pretty good chance you’re going to spend some time trying to convince them why they’re wrong.

At least I did.

I think wisdom teaches you to avoid some of that stress. As I’ve gotten older, the number of hills I’m willing to die on has dwindled to the point that I can probably count them on one hand.

Working with the public probably helped teach me that. I couldn’t control how someone treated me, but I could control how I responded. I’ve also had people close to me behave in ways I didn’t particularly like or understand. I couldn’t control that either. All I could do was try to act the way God wanted me to act.

That’s not always easy.

It’s especially hard when I don’t feel like I’m receiving the same respect I’m giving. I tend to think the best of people and assume goodwill. Sometimes people don’t return the favor. Sometimes people disappoint you. Sometimes you discover someone is really friendly when they need something and not nearly as interested when they don’t.

That bothers me. Still does.

But here’s the freeing part: God knows my heart. He knows my actions. I don’t have to control someone else’s opinion, motives, or behavior.

I only have to answer for mine.

Paul writes in Philippians 2:3–4:

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility consider others as more important than yourselves. Everyone should look not to his own interests, but rather to the interests of others.”

Notice Paul doesn’t tell me to make sure everyone else does that.

He’s talking to me.

Arguing About a Car for a Kid Who Didn’t Exist

Karen and I have been together for 26 years, so we’ve had a few disagreements. We’ve also had some really dumb ones.

When we were dating, we somehow got into an argument about whether we would buy our future 16-year-old child a car.

There were a couple of problems with this argument.

One. We weren’t married.

Two. We didn’t have children.

The hypothetical child whose automotive future we were passionately debating wouldn’t be old enough to drive for nearly two decades.

I thought our future child should work for a car. Karen thought we should get the kid a beater so they wouldn’t have to work quite as hard for it as I had. Both of us apparently considered this an urgent matter.

The argument went on much longer than it should have until I finally stopped and said something like, “What are we doing?”

We both laughed.

The joke really ended up being on us.

My oldest wasn’t particularly interested in getting his license when he turned 16. He didn’t start driving much until he was 17, and he just recently got carte blanche on the Altima now that I have the Jeep.

We had an argument about nothing.

Twenty-something-year-old Maury wanted to win those arguments.

Forty-eight-year-old Maury wants a peaceful home.

Karen and I still don’t agree about everything. That would be weird. But we’ve learned something over the years that has helped us tremendously.

We assume goodwill.

I know Karen loves me. She knows I love her. I know she isn’t intentionally trying to hurt me, and she knows the same about me. So when one of us says something wrong or we disagree, we try to begin from there.

We’ve also learned the importance of saying, “I’m sorry.”

Funny enough, we were talking about this with the kids on the way to church Sunday morning. Karen mentioned that there have been times when I’ve apologized even though I still thought I was right.

She’s right.

That doesn’t mean apologizing for something I didn’t do. Sometimes I can be right about the issue and wrong about how I handled it. Sometimes I can decide that continuing an argument isn’t going to accomplish anything.

Peace matters more to me than winning.

I want my kids to grow up and be able to say without hesitation that Mama and Daddy loved each other. But I also want them to say Mama and Daddy liked each other.

Our youngest occasionally reacts when Karen and I kiss like Bluey and Bingo when Bandit and Chilli get all “smoochy kiss.”

That’s fine.

We assure him - and the rest of the kids - they want Mama and Daddy to like each other.

They’ll understand one day.

Humility Is Hard When You Have an Ego

Paul doesn’t stop at getting along with people. He goes after our pride too.

That’s where things get a little uncomfortable for me.

Writing comes naturally to me. So does storytelling. I’m also a pretty smart guy. Smarter than the average bear.

I know those things about myself. When I was younger, I really wanted other people to know them too. I wanted recognition. I wanted attention. I wanted somebody to notice when I did something well.

If I’m being completely transparent, that part of me hasn’t disappeared.

I was in a meeting at church once when someone talked about sharing one of my devotionals with somebody at a hotel who really needed it. They talked about how great it was to have those devotionals available to share with people. They did not know they were talking to the author of those devotionals.

There was a little voice inside my head saying:

I wrote that.

I wanted to say it.

I didn’t.

Nobody needed to know.

God knew I wrote it, and that was enough.

I’d love to tell you I always get that right. I don’t. I can still get irritated when somebody receives recognition for something I did most of the work on. Sometimes I think I could have done something better if someone had just asked me.

It’s hard to be humble when you have an ego.

And I have one.

Karen is good at keeping me grounded while also keeping me confident. I think we all need somebody like that in our lives, someone who believes in us but isn’t overly impressed with us.

Philippians 2 doesn’t tell us that humility means pretending we don’t have gifts. God gave us those gifts.

The question is what we’re going to do with them and who gets the glory.

I’m getting better at being okay when the answer isn’t me.

Love Doesn’t Keep Score

I’ve also learned something about putting other people first from being a husband and father.

Parents give things up all the time.

My phone isn’t the newest phone in our house. Brighton’s is newer than mine. Karen’s clothes aren’t always as new as our daughters’ clothes. There are things Karen and I could buy for ourselves that we don’t because somebody else needs something.

We’ve both given up things for each other over the years too.

But I don’t know that it feels much like sacrifice when love is involved.

You don’t keep a running tally. At least you shouldn’t.

You aren’t standing in the checkout line thinking, “That’s another $75 I’ve sacrificed for this child. I’ll add it to the spreadsheet when I get home.”

You do it because you love them.

That thought makes what Paul says next in Philippians almost overwhelming.

“Adopt the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus.”

Paul explains that Jesus humbled Himself, took the form of a servant, and became obedient to the point of death on a cross.

Jesus lowered Himself for us.

And then Paul tells us to think like Him.

That’s a much higher standard than simply being nice.

Why I Follow Him

Pastor Sam shared a quote from Lee Strobel about why he became a Christian. Strobel’s point was that he didn’t become a Christian because God promised he’d be happier than he had been as an atheist. God never made that promise. He became a Christian because he became convinced the evidence showed that Jesus really is the Son of God.

That got me thinking about why I follow Jesus.

I follow Jesus because without Him I could do nothing. Without Him I’d surely fail, to borrow from an old hymn.

I follow Him because I don’t like to imagine what my life would look like without Him.

I could write a thousand Grit & Wit articles about the blessings He’s given me and the trials He’s walked through with me.

But ultimately, I follow Jesus because I believe He is who He says He is.

If Jesus willingly allowed Himself to be crucified and suffered all He did for me, how much more do I owe Him?

I’ll never pay Him back.

That’s not why I follow Him.

I follow Him because if He loved me enough to do that, then I want to spend my life following Him and someday see Him face to face and simply say:

Thank You.

The Hardest Person I’ll Ever Have to Control

Good leadership has changed for me as I’ve gotten older too.

I used to think leadership had a lot more to do with being out front. Being recognized. Being the person with the answers. Now I think good leadership looks a whole lot more like serving.

Jesus washed His disciples’ feet.
Nobody washed His.

There wasn’t a spotlight. There wasn’t applause. He saw something that needed to be done and showed His disciples what leadership in His kingdom looks like.

That’s the kind of man I want my children to see.

I hope they see a dad who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty when nobody is watching. I hope they see somebody willing to serve when nobody is thanking him.

Well, almost nobody.

Jesus sees.

And maybe that’s enough.

Twenty-five-year-old Maury needed to be right because winning seemed important.

Forty-eight-year-old Maury can let more things go because life isn’t just about me anymore. I have a wife and four kids to think about. I have people who look to me for leadership. I’ve learned there are very few arguments worth damaging a relationship over.

And after all these years of telling my family that they can only control themselves, I’ve figured out something else.

The hardest person I’ll ever have to control is me.

I can’t control whether someone gives me credit. I can work on whether I need it.

I can’t control whether someone apologizes. I can make sure I’m willing to.

I can’t control whether someone assumes the best about me. I can choose to assume goodwill toward them.

I can’t control whether someone treats me with humility.

I can get down and wash feet anyway.

That’s the part of Philippians 2 that’s mine to obey.

Maybe everyone who’s heard me say it a thousand times was right to look at me Sunday morning.

I can only control myself.

Turns out Jesus has plenty of work for me to do right there.

Live It

Think about the conflicts in your life right now. Maybe it’s with your spouse, one of your children, somebody at work, a friend, or even another believer.

Before thinking about what that person needs to change, ask yourself a harder question:

What part of this belongs to me?

Maybe you need to apologize. Maybe you need to listen instead of preparing your next argument. Maybe you need to assume goodwill. Maybe you need to let something go.

Then think about recognition.

Is there something you’re doing right now that you’d still be willing to do if nobody ever knew you did it?

Humility doesn’t mean pretending God hasn’t given you gifts. It means being willing to use those gifts without needing the spotlight every time.

Finally, look for one opportunity this week to serve somebody when there is absolutely nothing in it for you.

No credit.

No applause.

No thank-you necessary.

Jesus will know.

Dinner Table Devotional

Read: Philippians 2:3–8

Talk About It:

Why is it sometimes so important to us to be right or win an argument?
What does our family mean when we say, “I can only control myself”?
How can saying “I’m sorry” help bring peace even when two people still don’t completely agree?
What is one way you can put someone else’s interests ahead of your own this week?
Jesus served others even though He was Lord. What does His example teach us about what real leadership looks like?

Pray:

Thank Jesus for humbling Himself and giving His life for us. Ask God to help each person in your family recognize selfishness and pride in their own lives before looking for it in someone else. Pray for the humility to apologize when needed, the wisdom to know which battles aren’t worth fighting, and opportunities to serve others without needing recognition.

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I Don’t Have to Win