THE BLACK DOG
He sits in the patio.
Sometimes at the backdoor.
He hovers. He’s always watching, close enough to scoot over when you walk by. He knows he’s not allowed inside but he tries – every time. Leave the back door open, just a crack, and he’ll seize the tiniest opportunity to creep inside. Front feet first, then if you don’t react, he’s right there, inside, nervous, excited, knowing he’s pushed the boundary but he’s keen all the same.
“OUT!”
He darts back to his post and rests his damp nose over the threshold. Just until he gathers enough courage to do it all again. He never quits. He’s eight years old and he is still trying. Still optimistic that next time might be the time he’s victorious. Maybe next time he’ll be allowed be stay. Maybe next time she’ll relent.
I was thinking this week about intimidation.
The Black Dog of our humanness.
Although not anywhere nearly as loveable as my crazy Collie pooch, intimidation hovers around our lives and seeks to dwell within us. It is insistent. Intimidation persists. It waits to seize us at any and every opportunity. Always there, always poised to make an entry. Always watching, waiting and ready.
Intimidation makes us create scenarios in our minds that are not real. It speaks to our insecurities. Those insecurities make us believe that we need to protect ourselves.
One time the back door was opened and we were hurt, so now he darts in to remind us that it will probably happen again. His presence reminds us that we should protect ourselves, that we should be weary. We find it difficult to lean into others or to live fully, because we are afraid of being hurt again. There he is, proud and cocky, sitting in the lounge room, taking up residence where he knows he shouldn’t be.
Intimidation makes us difficult to read and difficult to interact with.
We can be open and approachable one moment, but reserved and guarded the next. Our energy was generous and hospitable yesterday, but we are withheld and cautious today. We are unpredictable.
Intimidation is fuelled by the motivation of self-preservation.
We are fearful and focused on ourselves.
Self-preservation. It’s an interesting place to dwell.
We become hung up on preserving a life that is hurting and broken. Like trying to cling to sand falling between our fingers, our desperate plight to defend our current state fails to understand the healing and life that comes from abandonment, trust and love.
I don’t see that in Jesus at all. He was not lured by self-preservation. He was totally spent, completely vested. Jesus was misrepresented, accused, threatened, tempted, probed and lied about, yet unintimidated.
And I see it in the great leaders of history and all around me today – people who choose to rise above the temptation of intimidation. Who are unyielding to its constant attempts and fight to remain approachable, attractive and lovely.
Every great leader has had to deal with intimidation. He’s there at the end of every day. He’s always there. But we choose where he lives.
I personally vouch for the power of resistance. That Black Dog greets me daily. I am familiar with his presence in my life. Always there, ready. A side glance, an email, an opinion, a criticism, something said (or not said). I am well versed in the language he speaks to my soul.
Today, I challenge you to put intimidation in its place. You tell him where to live. Tomorrow, tell him where to sleep. The day after tomorrow, when he puts his paws over the door, remind him again where he belongs.
Choose transparency, openness, generosity, trust and hope. Listen to the voice of hope – His name is Jesus.
Hope in people.
Hope in life.
Hope in yourself.
Hope in this day.
Hope in tomorrow.
Choose hope.
When the Black Dog sits up again, when he rises into position, give him that look. “Don’t even think about it.”
John 10:10 (NIV)
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
[Disclaimer: I actually really love my black dog, Bobby]
