She walked up to him—hands on hips, chin jutted out. You could tell by the disapproving look on her face there was going to be trouble.
“Okay, I believe this has gone far enough,” she said. “You are so mean. Don’t you even realize how you sound? Always condemning. Pushing people around. I’ve never met anyone so judgmental and criticizing.”
“But this is what I do,” he replied, as he removed his hat and wiped his forehead. “I was born for this. I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I know what you’re doing too. You’re bullying people. You should be more loving and kind. And it would be helpful if you had a more positive attitude. Lift people up, not put them down all the time. Have some fun. Be happy and make someone else happy.”
“I like to do that, but I can’t get through to anyone. You don’t understand. I have to tell them the truth. They need to know when they’re thinking wrong. If there isn’t a standard that they can measure themselves by they will be defeated.”
“But look at my friends and me. We don’t go around griping and pointing out people’s flaws. We have fun, we smile, and we inspire people to be positive. If we behaved like you, people would really become discouraged. You need more love and certainly more compassion. You need to be more uplifting like us and not so doom and gloom.”
“Okay, but there’s just one big difference between your responsibility and mine,” he said. He put his hat back on, pulled it down tight like he always wore it. “You’re a cheerleader and I’m the coach.”
With that he ran toward the team that was standing around on the field and shouted, “Okay, boys—break’s over. Let’s line up and get the play right this time. Mess it up and I’ll make you run ‘til you drop.”
If you feel that God has called you to be a cheerleader, try not to tell the watchman how to do his job.