A Story of Pride, Regret, and Redemption
For a while, I was a pretty cocky Christian.
You probably wouldn’t know that now. I’ve changed a lot. But when I first began to really grow in my Christian faith, I thought I had it figured out. I was learning scripture—could quote it from memory. I’d been saved about nine years at that point, but like so many, my real commitment didn’t come until a few years later. Once I started, I jumped all in.
I was proud of my progress. I had overcome some big things. I tithed. I prayed. I read the Bible faithfully. My kids were getting their hearts right. I had good friends around me. From the outside, it looked like I was doing everything a “good Christian” should. On the inside, I believed I was ready for whatever God had next. I even told Him so: “I’m ready. Use me.”
In my mind, I had already proven myself.
You see, I wasn’t just confident—I had survived. We had gone through some very hard seasons. There was a time we were homeless. I had three kids and was pregnant with my fourth. We slept in our van most nights, occasionally scraping together enough for a motel room. During the day, I’d take the kids to the park while their dad looked for work. I was too pregnant for anyone to hire me, and there was no childcare anyway. I didn’t have much, but I clung to what I did have—my faith. I read my Bible daily, even in those broken moments.
So by the time the ketchup incident happened, I thought I was a warrior for Christ. I really did. I thought I had passed all the tests life could throw at me.
Then God used a bottle of ketchup to show me the truth.
I was at the grocery store, pushing a cart with a few essentials. The kids were with me, and their dad was too. Life was still tight, but not like it had been. We were rebuilding. And I was proud of how far we’d come.
There was a little elderly woman in front of me in the checkout line. Her clothes were too big—shoes worn out, coat hanging off her shoulders. She looked like life had been hard. My heart ached for her, and I did what I thought “good Christians” do—I silently whispered to God, “If I had enough money, I’d pay for her groceries.”
It felt noble in the moment. Like I was proving to God how generous I could be, if only I had the means.
I assumed her cart was full. I imagined bags of groceries, too much for me to cover. But then she began to unload her cart—if you can even call it that. There was only one thing: a single bottle of ketchup.
And I froze.
I could’ve easily paid for it. I could’ve said, “I’ve got that for you.” I could’ve stepped forward. I didn’t.
Instead, I stood there silently, watching her count out coins—slowly, carefully, holding up the line just a bit. It broke my heart. And I hated myself in that moment. I didn’t hate her situation. I hated that I said I would act and then didn’t. I hated that I was full of pride and good intentions but lacked the courage to follow through.
After she left, I handed the kids to their dad and walked out of the store. I sat in our van and cried. Not because of what she didn’t have—but because of what I didn’t do. As they got in the van they did not understand what was wrong. Honestly, I didn’t even fully understand it at the time.
But I knew this: I wasn’t who I thought I was.
That day wrecked me in the best way.
I saw her everywhere after that. Older, quiet, tired-looking. She was no longer just in my thoughts—I noticed her. And every time, I heard that whisper in my soul reminding me: “This is what it means to love. Not just to want to love, but to act on it.”
God used that moment to humble me.
It wasn’t punishment—it was awakening.
Since then, my walk with God has had its highs and lows. I’ve strayed. I’ve searched for meaning in other places. I’ve doubted, wandered, and wrestled. But God never stopped reaching for me. And little by little, He began rebuilding not just my life—but my heart. He taught me what true humility is. Not thinking less of myself, but seeing myself clearly.
When I first started writing my blogs, I was careful not to be too religious. I wanted to reach everyone, and I thought the best way to do that was to soften the spiritual edges—to talk about growth and mindset without diving too deep into faith. But over time, that didn’t sit right.
God kept nudging me. And eventually, I couldn’t ignore it.
He didn’t call me to be palatable—He called me to be honest.
So I began writing more boldly. Speaking more freely. Letting my love for God flow out of my work, my words, and my coaching. Because I don’t want to reach everyone. I want to reach the right ones—the ones God sends. The ones who are meant to read my words and see a reflection of their own story.
Maybe that’s you today.
Maybe you’ve had your own “ketchup moment.” Maybe you’ve failed when you thought you were strong. Or maybe you’ve realized that good intentions mean nothing without action.
If so, I want you to hear this:
God doesn’t shame us to punish us. He humbles us to grow us.
That moment in the grocery store wasn’t my downfall—it was the start of something real.
Journal Prompts:
- Have I ever had a moment where I froze when I should have acted? What did I learn from it?
- In what ways might I be relying on “good intentions” rather than faithful obedience?
- What areas of my faith journey have been built on pride instead of humility?