The Belly-Up Lesson

Have you ever watched a puppy meet another dog for the first time? Maybe you’re at a dog park, on a walking trail, or visiting someone with a dog the puppy has never met. There’s that cautious moment when they approach each other—sniffing, circling, trying to figure out whether this new dog is friend or foe.

And sometimes, if the other dog seems a little too intimidating, the puppy will do something interesting. It rolls over. Belly up. Paws in the air. The most vulnerable part of its body completely exposed. I’ve seen it happen so many times.

It’s almost as if that little puppy is saying, “I’m not here to fight.” And so often, everything changes. The tension eases. The other dog relaxes. What could have become a confrontation turns into a peaceful introduction, and sometimes, a few minutes later, they’re running around playing together.

We humans tend to do the opposite when we feel threatened. We stiffen up. We defend ourselves. We prepare our comeback. If someone raises their voice, we’re tempted to raise ours. If they hurt our pride, we want to protect it. We put our guard up. But what if sometimes the strongest thing we could do is put our guard down?

Now, I’m certainly not suggesting that humility means becoming a doormat or allowing someone to mistreat us. There are times when boundaries are necessary, and we need to stand firm.

But there are also plenty of everyday moments when the real battle isn’t about right and wrong at all. It’s about pride.

Do I really need to have the last word? Do I need to prove my point? Could I listen instead of immediately defending myself? Could I answer gently even when the other person doesn’t?

Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

I love how practical that verse is. God knows how quickly one harsh word can lead to another, and another. But He also shows us how that cycle can sometimes be broken with gentleness.

The world often equates strength with dominance, control, and winning. But Jesus showed us a very different kind of strength. Humility doesn’t mean weakness. Sometimes it takes far more strength to soften your voice than to raise it, to listen instead of interrupt, or to let go of the need to win.

So the next time I find myself bristling during a tense conversation, I hope I remember the puppy move. Belly up. Guard down. Nothing to prove.

Maybe humility feels vulnerable because it is. But sometimes that little bit of vulnerability is exactly what makes room for peace.

September 30, 2026 Morning Brew