Stepping out of Dublin’s most exclusive medical clinic, passing between shiny Mercedes Benz and Jaguars, I was pondering the daftest of spiritual conundrums.  The one where you realize that you have been guilty of pride, then you feel proud that you have realized that you were guilty of pride, then you feel guilty that you were proud that you had felt guilty.  Like mirrors reflecting each other in an infinite sequence, it was going nowhere.

The pride had arisen from feeling tired, exhausted by a Tuesday evening, a feeling that helps me rest easily because it means I have done pretty much all I can do in the day.

Pondering humility, I walked down a smart stone flight of stairs to the lower part of the car park and stopped with surprise.

Standing not more than five yards away, heading towards the clinic, was a fox.  I turned to see if anyone else would verify my encounter, but I was alone.

The fox and I stood and looked at each other.

“Do you not realize that it’s only nine o’clock in the evening and that this is an exclusive private hospital?”

The fox looked at me as though I was quite mad, put its head down and continued on its way, slipping into the darkness between a shrubs and a brand new BMW.

“What was that about?” I thought.

Maybe nothing.  Maybe God saying that his world continues regardless of my ponderings, and that true humility is found not in conundrums, but in realizing that I am part of his scheme of things rather than he being part of mine.