Cold Michigan winter mornings, two living room wall heat registers and three girls. You probably can guess this isn’t going to end well.

On these cold mornings, my two sisters and I would race to claim one of the registers, but as the youngest, I found the odds were stacked against me, and I would be left out in the cold. This would lead to accusations: That’s unfair. I got here first. You shoved me. You had it yesterday. Mo-m-m.

Ironically, we were racing to the heat registers so we could have a cozy spot in which to have our quiet times, our daily devotions.

The great race to the heat registers reminds me that I wake up selfish most mornings. My first thought now, as it was then, is of me—my comforts, my priorities, my way. I certainly don’t need any blogs or Wirecutter tips on self-care, which I manage to do quite well on my own, thank you very much.

Selfishness and its close cousin, pride, ought to be daily reminders that we’re “frail children of dust and feeble as frail;” instead, they remind us of our achievements, our greatness, ourselves. Each of us has something in which to take pride. The out-of-fashion word “vainglory” came to mind, so I looked up Philippians 2:3 in the King James Version: “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than themselves.”

Merriam-Webster defines vainglory as “excessive or ostentatious pride especially in one’s achievements.” No wonder the word has fallen out of linguistic favor. Though not an attractive word, it is an accurate description of the human condition—much like what the psalmist David wrote, “Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.” (Psalm 51:5) And in sin, we wake up vaingloriously. We don’t wake up planning to sin, we just do as the day goes on.

Seriously? Vainglorious? We’re involved at church, we give our resources—time and money—to God’s work, we follow the right people and podcasts. Sure, there’s the occasional sin, but we’re good people compared to the truly evil people out there.

I pray that I never become such a good person that I forget my frail, dusty origins, that I forget the Lord’s benefits of forgiveness, healing and redemption. May I never become confident in my own righteousness that I no longer see a need for his mercy, his grace, his abounding steadfast love and compassion. May I never outgrow a humble dependency on Jesus who redeems, renews and one day, will restore all things to himself, including frail humanity.

The Lord is merciful and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
He will not always chide,
nor will he keep his anger forever.
He does not deal with us according to our sins,
nor repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far does he remove our transgressions from us.
As a father shows compassion to his children,
so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.
For he knows our frame;
he remembers that we are dust. Psalm 103:8-14