Sometimes I use this blog space as a personal confessional.

This is one of those times.

Let me tell you the not-so-pretty details of my story.

The hubbers and I went on a lunch date on a weekday as he had a day off work. We went to a nice outdoor restaurant without too many frills. He ordered a smash burger with peri peri fries and I got an Asian meal with grilled Vietnamese chicken and garlicky fried rice. Both of us got drinks.

First came our drinks. Next came the burger. The fries on the husband’s plate somehow kept disappearing like they were part of a magic show. Okay, fine, they went into my mouth. I was hungry. And my Asian meal hadn’t yet made an appearance.

Finally, his burger—and, obviously, all his fries—were done. And there was still no sign of my meal. Not even on the distant horizon.

By now, I was hangry.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my meal arrived. But when I cut into the chicken, lo and behold, it was as pink as Barbie’s favorite shoes. Well, not quite. But somewhere in that ballpark .

If I was hangry before, I was now plain angry. I had waited 40 minutes for uncooked chicken. I held it together, asked the server to make sure the chicken was cooked again, and asked for a to-go box because there was no time to actually enjoy the meal anymore.

But then, as I waited for my meal to be packed, a slightly different version of angry emerged. The “I’d like to speak to your manager” version. The entitled version. There was a split second where I (almost unconsciously) made the decision to lose the plot.

The manager arrived. And then my buddy, Entitlement, had a field day. She went all out:

The chicken is pink. After waiting 40 minutes. Do you know that a basic lesson in cooking is that chicken can’t be pink? I expected to be compensated for the meal, but nope, nothing was offered, not even an apology. I am leaving here disappointed and hungry. I hope your other customers won’t be treated the same. Yadayadayada. 

The hubbers and I left the restaurant with my doggy bag of chicken (that had since been cooked) and fried rice. But while I should have been gloating, I just felt guilty. Sure, uncooked chicken is unacceptable, but so is unapologetic pride. My words had sprung from a place of entitlement rather than a place of encouragement.

As I read the Word of God today, the sense of conviction only grew deeper:

A kindhearted woman gains honor,
    but ruthless men gain only wealth. (Proverbs 11: 16)

Ouch, Lord. Why this verse right on the heels of my poultry problems?

But of the whole Proverb, that just happened to be the one verse that struck home.

Friends, I’m not saying that you let yourself get food poisoning by eating uncooked chicken. Nope. I wouldn’t advise that you willingly let yourself be taken for a ride.

But there’s a point where our sense of entitlement fuels our anger. That’s the point where instead of saying, “I’d like to speak to your manager,” we can choose to say to ourselves, “I should really speak to the Lord.”

Pride often comes in pretty packaging,

It says things like, “You deserve better.”

It whispers statements like, “Put yourself first”

It murmurs in your ear, “You don’t have to put up with this.”

You and I are created in God’s image and therefore have inherent worth and value. There’s no question about it. But there’s a point where a sense of significance can morph into entitlement. And kindness gets lost in the fight to be “right.” Offense takes center stage and gentleness hides behind the curtain.

Of course, it’s a delicate balance: when do you speak up to get what is rightly yours and when do you lay down your rights?

I don’t have an answer. But I pray that next time I feel confrontational, I would pause and ask if perhaps compassion would be a more God-honoring response. I pray that in situations where I have the “right” to point fingers, I would choose to do the righteous thing and display kindness. I would remind myself that courage can be soft-spoken and I’m called to grow in grace and not in offense. 

So here’s my little takeaway: Eat mor chikin. Eat mor cooked chikin. But along with upping our protein intake, may we grow in kindness and compassion.

 

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