When my cousin and I were both 15 and learning to drive, I remember his dad (my uncle) saying something that stuck with me. He was talking about waiting to make sure other cars do what they’re supposed to do before you hit the gas, assuming that they’ll do what they’re supposed to do.
The memory goes like this: My cousin was driving, stopped at a 4-way intersection. A car was coming on the cross street. He had completed his stop, so he started going, but the car didn’t look like it was going to stop. So my uncle said, “Wait!” My cousin slammed on the brakes and, sure enough, the other car didn’t stop. They drove by like their stop sign didn’t exist.
Immediately, my cousin and I were saying things like, “That guy had a stop sign!” and “He was supposed to stop!” And my cousin of course added: “That wasn’t my fault. I had the right of way!”
… The right of way …
After we calmed down, I remember my uncle just looking at us for a beat. And then he said: “What good is the right of way if you’re dead?”
That’s stuck with me ever since.
He was saying his son and I could be right, but he’d rather us be alive.
When Being Right Hurts
There are moments in ministry when you know you’re in the right. You tried to lead with integrity. You handled the situation biblically. You were patient and kind. You submitted it all to prayer … and still you were misjudged. Misquoted. Maybe even mistreated.
Sometimes, those wounds come from people you lead and love. Sometimes, they come from other leaders. And what makes the sting so deep is that you’re not just hurt. You’re hurt and you’re right.
That’s a dangerous combination. Because when I’m right I’m tempted to hold onto the offense like it’s a trophy. I keep rehearsing the conversation, assuring myself that the issue wasn’t what I said but what they heard, waiting for the apology that never comes.
But here’s what I’m learning: Being right doesn’t make it hurt any less.
This is on my mind because the other day I was having a similar conversation with one of my sons. We weren’t driving, and he wasn’t in any physical danger, but the principle was the same.
He was struggling, as we all do, with letting go of some things: perceived slights against him, perpetrated by his other two brothers. I could tell he was warring with hurt and anger in his heart. He was saying things like …
“He’s not supposed to do that!”
“If they would stop being annoying, I wouldn’t be mad.”
“He’s said worse things to me than what I just said to him” (a classic sibling defense … also said by 50-year-old married people).
And the issue was that he was absolutely in the right. He had the “right of way,” so to speak.
So I let him have a beat. It was just him and me in his room. Then I said, “You’re right. But what good is being right when you’re in so much pain?”
I told him I’d take care of what his brothers did (much of which had happened long before and had already been apologized for), but my main concern was what all that bitterness was doing to his heart. I didn’t want him to let anger, bitterness and resentment destroy him just because he was “right.”
Don’t Give Your Peace Away
This is not just a lesson for kids or teens. I think some of us in ministry are walking around spiritually wounded because we’re holding onto “the right of way.” The right to be vindicated. The right to be understood. The right to retaliate or withdraw. The right not to let that person back in.
Jesus spoke directly into moments like this: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God” (Matt. 5:9).
Not “Blessed are those who win the argument” or “Blessed are those who were proven right in the business meeting” or “Blessed are the hermeneutical gymnasts who have perfected the art of verbal proof-texting people to death.”
He blesses the peacemaker. The one who lets go, even when they could hold on. Jesus consistently valued relationships over being declared right.
What about Proverbs 19:11? “Good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense.”
Ugh. Really? It’s almost like King Solomon never experienced being a misunderstood pastor.
But seriously, that’s gut-wrenchingly hard to do in ministry, isn’t it? Especially when it feels like overlooking the offense means surrendering your side of the story. But it doesn’t mean that. It means choosing peace over pain, healing over resentment, wholeness over hollow victory.
Because if we’re not careful the very bitterness we justified can start to justify our dysfunction, our lack of joy, our guardedness. And eventually, it can take root and (as Hebrews 12 warns) defile many.
You’re Not Alone
Pastor, leader, ministry staff member, can I just say this plainly?
If you’re bleeding out from a ministry wound, and you’re still holding onto it because you know you were right …
You don’t have to carry that anymore.You don’t have to trade your peace to prove your point.
You don’t have to let someone else’s offense become your identity.
Here’s the invitation: Don’t sacrifice your peace for a hollow victory. Choose instead to release your “right of way” so that you can hold onto peace instead of pain.
Because ultimately, being right won’t heal your heart.
Only laying everything in your heart down before Jesus can do that.
I’m praying for you and for me to embrace this truth, to believe it.