After experiencing a decline in my physical condition and receiving an early diagnosis of diabetes, I began sport climbing a few months ago at my husband’s suggestion.
Climbing an artificial wall, gripping colorful holds and adjusting your posture as you ascend, demands constant attention. Even the slightest lapse in focus can throw off your balance and cause a fall. When I keep pushing forward in awkward positions just to reach a hold, my arms soon wear out and give in. Though it may appear to rely mostly on arm strength, climbing actually depends on the legs and core that maintain balance and control through the power of your lower body.
One day, I was about to skip a particular hold that I’d been unable to grasp for months. As I moved past it again, the coach offered a simple piece of advice:
“Lower your posture.”
So I relaxed my arms and crouched low like a frog. To my surprise, the hold that had felt out of reach now came easily. Watching from a nearby route, my husband remarked with amazement, “As soon as you lowered your posture, the problem was solved.”
Later, as I rested, my husband came over and said,
“I can’t believe the answer to something we couldn’t figure out for months was so simple. Why didn’t we think to lower ourselves?”
“Because lowering yourself is scary,” I replied. “It feels like you’ll fall.”
In that moment, something clicked:
Whether in the gospel or in climbing, the answer is to lower yourself.
The way forward becomes clear when we lower ourselves. What once seemed impossible begins to resolve. But I had been afraid that if I humbled myself, I would fall flat. And yet I know this truth well: the higher we rise in pride, the harder we fall. The greater the height, the deeper the wound. So whenever pride tempts me to elevate myself, I will remember today’s lesson—to humble my heart, again and again.