Sitting in the second row of the auditorium, I watched as my daughter and the rest of the choir filed onto the stage. Dressed in black and white, they looked like piano keys and my heart played a proud, happy tune.

Being an overenthusiastic, trigger-happy mama, I leaned forward to speak to the two ladies in the row in front of me: “Hi ladies, I hope you won’t mind if I stick my phone between you two so I can get a video of my daughter.”

I expected a polite nod back. Or maybe a “Sure, no problem.” I was hoping they wouldn’t think I was nuts.

Instead one of them responded: “Why don’t I take the video for you so you can sit back and enjoy your daughter’s performance?”

“Really? That’s so sweet of you. Thanks!”

She proceeded to find which of the kidlings belonged to me.

For the next seven minutes, the lady in front of me held my phone up to record my daughter’s performance, while I simply watched her singing with a content smile on my face.

I thanked the unnamed lady for her kindness and went about my evening.

It was only the next day as I lazily swiped through pictures on Instagram, I suddenly came across the “lady” again. It seemed like we had one or two social media “followers” in common.

But that was where the commonality between us ended.

I discovered that this young lady was, in fact, a key player in the Indian women’s cricket team. She also played international cricket for clubs around the world. While I have about 1000-ish followers on my page, I learned that she also has about 1000 followers plus 600,000 more.

In short, the sweet, obliging lady who went out of her way to help me was certifiably famous. Like companies do collabs with her. Like people wait in line outside cricket matches for her autograph. Like magazine covers feature her and talk shows invite her as a guest.

And yet this young lady didn’t have a whiff of pride or uppityness in her. Not a whiff.

That evening at the concert, I happened to strike up a conversation with the famous lady’s friend. And in the span of a few minutes between choirs exiting and entering the stage, I told the friend that I’d written a dozen Bible plans for YouVersion. Neither she nor her friend turned around and said, “Oh yeah? I happen to play cricket on the national team and have 600K followers on Instagram.” There was nothing boastful and nothing transactional about her offer to take a video of my daughter’s singing.

It was unbelievably refreshing to meet someone who was so genuinely self-effacing. I started to follow the Instagram page of the young cricketer and found out that she loves Jesus and reflects Him in her sports career and her life.

Jesus shows us what real humility in its highest form looks like. He who occupied the throneroom of heaven chose to be born in a stable in Bethlehem. He poured out His life for us, even unto death. He gave up His rights to show us true righteousness. He washed the feet of His disciples. The Sovereign God came not to be served but to serve.

How do we walk the path of this servant King? By speaking less about ourselves? Maybe. By thinking less of ourselves? Perhaps not.

As C.S. Lewis famously said: True humility is not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.

May God give us the gift of self-effacement so we think of ourselves less and think of Him and others more. Instead of taking the selfie, may we train the camera on someone else. Instead of asking, “What can I get out of this?” may we ask, “How can I give of myself in this?” The only way we can do that is by constantly, consciously turning our gaze on our glorious God who shows undeserving people His grace.

In a culture of posturing, promotions, and public relations that insists we showcase our achievements, may we learn to live like Jesus. May we learn to turn the spotlight onto Him because it was never meant to be ours to begin with. May we ask God for the joy of self-forgetfulness. May we be less wrapped up in ourselves and more enveloped in His love — a love that we get to reflect to others.

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