My favorite short story is The Scarlet Ibis. It's a story about Doodle, a little boy who was born with severe disabilities, and he defies the odds to learn to walk, talk, run and almost become a normal boy, just like his brother always wished he would be. The story is told from the brother's point of view, and as he thinks back about Doodle, he says, "I did not know then that pride is a wonderful, terrible thing, a seed that grows two vines, life and death."
When I teach this short story in my English class, we talk about how pride can be a great thing when you have accomplished something you've worked hard at. When pride gives you motivation to become a better version of yourself, it gives you life. However, pride can be destructive when it breeds arrogance and selfishness. When pride causes you to damage those whom you love, it brings you death.
What stands out to me more and more each time I teach this story is not just that pride can destroy, but who it destroys. The brother didn’t just hurt himself—he hurt Doodle. Every time Brother pushed Doodle too far, every time he refused to accept Doodle as he was, every time he made it about what he wanted instead of what Doodle needed, his pride was costing someone else.
And that’s the part we don’t always want to admit.
In our own lives, pride rarely shows up as something obvious. It doesn’t usually look like arrogance or loud self-importance. More often, it looks like refusing to admit when we’re wrong. It looks like digging our heels in during an argument. It looks like needing to be right, needing to win, or needing things to go the way we think they should go. And in relationships, that kind of pride damages quietly and consistently.
Scripture is very clear about how we are supposed to approach others. In Philippians 2:3–4, we are told, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” That kind of humility does not come naturally. Our default is to think about ourselves first—what we want, how we feel, what we think is fair.
But that is not the model Christ gave us.
When we refuse to take accountability, when we refuse to apologize, when we refuse to consider how our actions affect someone else, we are choosing ourselves over the relationship. We may justify it in the moment. We may convince ourselves that we’re right. But being right is not the same thing as being Christ-like.
In 1 Corinthians 13:5, we are told that love “does not insist on its own way.” That one line alone challenges so much of how we operate in relationships. Love does not have to win the argument. Love does not have to prove a point. Love is willing to step back, to listen, to admit fault, and to put the other person before itself.
The brother in The Scarlet Ibis loved Doodle, but his pride got in the way of that love. He wanted something for Doodle that Doodle could not fully give, and instead of accepting him, he pushed him. He made it about what he wanted, and in the end, that pride cost him the very person he loved.
We may not see consequences that extreme in our own lives, but the principle is the same. When we allow pride to take over, when we focus only on ourselves, when we refuse to humble ourselves and take responsibility, the people closest to us are the ones who feel it the most.
Pride doesn’t just destroy the one who holds it—it destroys the person standing closest to them.
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