My Bulldog of Being Right
I had it in me, my old bulldog of being right. Think soft marshmallow flesh with stocky shoulders and a snarling, sputtering, toothy, aggressive need-to-be-right. Call it what you will, possible conditioning from school? The simple fact is, those who were right were promoted. Those wrong? Demoted.
It created the perfect storm within me where I based, at least in part, my value on being right. I was valuable when right, and not so much when wrong. This created the snarling, defensive bulldog.
It wasn’t until Christ got a hold of my leash and started to play catch with me–even when I was wrong–that I started to realize: I don’t have to be right to be loved. Christ can be right and I can be incredibly, undeniably wrong, on pretty much anything and He still loves me. He might grab my collar and yank me close, but He does this out of love, too.
What relief. What freedom. What fun. Finally, I get to play ball and stop worrying about being right.
No more barking, verbal bullying, spewing tons of words, cajoling, jockeying, manipulating, ridiculing, possible name-calling, teeth-baring ridiculousness.