A Slice of Humble Pie
When you think about a slice of pie, what kind comes to mind?
Maybe something fruity like cherry or blueberry. Maybe sweet potato or pumpkin around the holidays. Or maybe something rich and indulgent.
Me? I’m a sucker for a good slice of pie.
Despite my efforts to eat healthier these days, it’s still pretty hard for me to pass on dessert — especially if pie is involved.
Mention caramel apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and I’m all in. The warm apples, the cinnamon, the flaky crust, the ice cream melting slowly over the top — that’s hard to beat.
Those are the kinds of pie I enjoy.
Sweet. Comforting. The kind you look forward to.
But the pie I want to share about today?
That one was a little different.
This pie wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t comforting. And it definitely wasn’t something I ordered.
It was a slice of humble pie.
And let me tell you — humble pie has a way of showing up when you least expect it.
When Humble Pie Shows Up
For me, humble pie showed up during a season when I was preparing for an exam. It was a professional certification exam that meant a lot to me.
Now I’ll be honest — I’ve never really been someone who struggled with tests. Other than failing my temporary permit test twice when I was younger (which still makes me laugh), academics have usually come fairly naturally to me.
So when I didn’t pass the exam the first time, I was surprised.
When I didn’t pass the second time, I was humbled.
Not the polite kind of humbled.
The kind that makes you pause and ask yourself some hard questions.
Pride Shows Up in Subtle Ways
If you had asked me before this season whether I struggled with pride, I probably would have said no.
Confident? Yes.
Driven? Absolutely.
Competitive? Maybe a little.
But prideful?
Definitely not me.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Yet this experience revealed something I hadn’t fully recognized before.
Pride doesn’t always show up as arrogance.
Sometimes pride shows up as assumption.
Somewhere along the way, I had quietly believed that if I worked hard enough and prepared well enough, it would be almost impossible for me to fail.
And when I did?
Something deeper was exposed.
Failure exposed what pride tried to hide.
Scripture reminds us that pride comes before a fall. I used to think of that verse in terms of obvious arrogance.
But pride can be quieter than that.
It can sound like:
This shouldn’t be this hard for me.
I don’t fail at things like this.
Maybe this just isn’t meant to be.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that God wasn’t just preparing me for a test.
He was forming something in me.
The Temptation to Quit
After my second attempt, I paid to retest a third time.
But I hadn’t received the email to schedule the exam right away, and I remember thinking to myself,
Maybe that’s a sign.
If I don’t get the email, maybe it just isn’t meant to be.
If I’m honest, that wasn’t faith.
That was fear dressed up as discernment.
I was protecting myself from the possibility of failing again.
But eventually the email came.
And when it did, I went ahead and scheduled the exam — choosing a date that was just three days before the end of my eligibility window.
Even though the test date itself was still a couple months away, that choice felt symbolic.
It meant I wasn’t walking away.
It meant I was giving myself another chance.
And it made me wonder — how many times have I walked away from something simply because it didn’t work out the first or second time?
How many opportunities have I quietly abandoned because the process felt harder than I expected?
Sometimes the difference between growth and regret isn’t ability — it’s perseverance.
Exposure Was Preparation
Looking back now, I can see something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.
Failing twice actually prepared me for the third attempt.
Each attempt exposed gaps in my understanding.
Each score report showed me where I needed to grow.
Each disappointment forced me to study differently.
What felt like embarrassment was actually information.
What felt like failure was actually formation.
Scripture in James reminds us that trials produce perseverance — and perseverance develops something deeper within us.
That season was doing more than preparing me for an exam.
It was developing humility, resilience, and perseverance.
The Part Few People Knew
I didn’t share widely that I was taking the exam for the third time.
A few close people knew, and I asked them to pray for me.
Of course I prayed to pass — I had worked hard and wanted the outcome to be different this time.
But my prayer request was bigger than just the result.
I asked them to pray that I would remain calm and focused, and that the fear of failing again wouldn’t become a hindrance.
Because that was the real battle.
Fear.
Before I walked into the exam the third time, I prayed and told God something very simple.
“Regardless of the outcome of this exam, this does not define me. This does not define my leadership. My identity as a leader and as a person comes from You.”
That prayer changed everything.
Because when your identity isn’t on the line, you can walk in with a different kind of confidence.
I walked into that testing center believing the Holy Spirit would be with me.
Someone Was Watching
There was another part of this journey I didn’t fully realize at the time.
Our boys knew I was preparing for this exam.
Especially my oldest.
Every now and then he would ask,
“Mom, when are you taking your test again?”
Not with pressure. Just curiosity.
But in those moments I realized something.
He was watching.
He was watching how I handled disappointment.
He was watching whether I quit.
He was watching whether I tried again.
Sometimes the most powerful lessons we teach our children aren’t through our success.
They’re through our perseverance.
Failing twice gave my son a front row seat to what it looks like to keep going.
And that lesson may matter more than any credential.
The Results
When the exam ended, I gathered my things and walked out to the front where the test moderator was waiting. After you finish the exam, you check out with them and they hand you a printed results sheet.
I took the paper and glanced quickly at the bottom.
And for a split second, my heart sank.
It looked like the previous results.
My eyes couldn’t focus on the words.
But then I slowed down and looked again.
And that’s when I saw it.
PASS.
Not because I was perfect.
Not because I never doubted.
Not because I never wanted to quit.
But because perseverance met preparation.
And preparation met surrender.
I walked into the restroom and noticed a woman who was there taking a break from her nursing boards. She was clearly stressed and trying to gather herself before going back in.
We exchanged a few words, and I offered her some encouragement.
Then I stepped into the stall.
And that’s when the tears came.
Tears of relief.
Tears of gratitude.
Tears after a long season of trying again.
When I left the testing center, I called my husband.
The first words out of his mouth when he answered were, “Congratulations.”
He knew.
He believed with confidence that I was going to pass.
The Real Lesson
Before I ever saw the result, I had already made peace with something important.
Whether I passed or failed, this exam would not define me.
Titles don’t define me.
Certifications don’t define me.
Scores don’t define me.
My identity comes from God.
The humble pie I didn’t order ended up teaching me something I needed to learn.
Sometimes the hardest slices shape us the most.
Sometimes the exposure is preparation.
Sometimes the delay is development.
And sometimes…
There’s more on the other side of perseverance than we could see at the beginning.
What I thought was failure turned out to be a slice of humble pie God used to shape me.
P.S. If you’re in your own second or third attempt season, keep going. Sometimes the next try is the one that changes everything!
