Beginning Again With Humility

I'm in the process of planning for the annual men's ski trip with guys from my church.  It's the only time each year that I go skiing, so the first few hours on the slopes are always interesting.  

Last year, I had a tremendous wipeout where I lost my hat, skis, ski poles, and my dignity as I slid on my stomach for probably a hundred yards before stopping.  I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong and became frustrated.  

It wasn't until we were ready to return home that I remembered advice I'd been given the last time I went on the trip about redistributing my weight on the skis, but we were already done skiing by that time.  

The problem for me is that I used to be a good skier when I was young, but those days are long gone, and I don't go skiing all that much anymore.  Still, I hold myself to that standard, and I hate the fact that I have to basically start at the beginning--on the bunny slopes--every time I go back.  

This morning I got to thinking about how frustrating it is in life when we feel like we have to start over, begin again, try to do right what we've been doing wrong.  There may have been times in our lives when what we are trying to do would have come easier, but now we're struggling with it, and it feels maddening.  

There is something holy about beginnings—but they are rarely clean. A new year does not erase what came before it. We carry with us unfinished business, lingering griefs, and habits that refuse to disappear overnight. Beginning again, then, requires humility—the willingness to start where we are, not where we wish we were.

Scripture is full of imperfect beginnings. Abraham sets out without knowing the destination. Moses resists his calling. Peter promises faithfulness and then falters. Yet again and again, God works through hesitant, flawed people who dare to begin.

Humility frees us from the illusion of control. It allows us to admit that we do not have the year mapped out, that we will need grace we cannot yet imagine. Humility does not mean thinking less of ourselves; it means trusting God more than our own plans.

Jesus embodied this kind of humility, entering the world not with power but with vulnerability. His life reminds us that real change often begins quietly, taking root long before it becomes visible.

As this year unfolds, humility invites us to listen more carefully—to God, to others, and to our own limits. It teaches us to ask for help, to receive correction, and to begin again when we fall short.

A humble beginning is not weak. It is deeply faithful. It acknowledges that we are not the authors of our own transformation. We are participants in God’s ongoing work, learning to take the next right step.

This year will not be perfect. But it can be holy—if we are willing to begin again with open hands and a teachable spirit.

Prayer
God of new beginnings, grant me humility as this year begins. Help me start where I am, trust where you are leading, and remain open to your guidance. Teach me to begin again with grace. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. Where do I struggle to begin again with humility?

2. How does acknowledging my limits open space for God’s work?

3. What would it mean to trust God with the unfolding of this year?