Bulldogs and sore thumbs

So I was recently in a brainstorming meeting to make some plans for next year. Just to be clear, I was not only a peon in this meeting, I was a guest.

I love nothing more than giving input. Gooood gosh. I remember one time when I was 8, I told my choir teacher at church that she wasn't any good at teaching us. "I'm bored," I believe, was what I told her specifically. (I'm still sorry, Jorinda.)

She kindly relinquished her post for the night and let me run the show. It was more of a circus than anything else, and somebody quickly put everyone out of their misery. Except me, of course. I wasn't miserable at all.

When my dad got home, I got my hide worn out.

Those hide whoopin's come in different form as an adult. Usually I end up looking and feeling like a fool. It's worse, and it feels bad a lot longer.

This week, it was my desire to give input that clouded my judgment. Had I shared an opinion and moved on, it would have been fine. Instead, I dug in my heels, fought like a bulldog, and stuck out like a sore thumb.

Strong desires tend to cloud our judgment in certain situations, and when that happens, the best we can do is own our mistake, apologize when appropriate, learn from it, and then...let it go.

Check, check, check and...yeah. Check.