I did not take my flat to be fixed last night. All I wanted to do was see my chiropractor, go home and lie in my big yellow chair watching DVDs. Every muscle from my thighs to my shoulders hurt. (If I changed a tire a day, I would have gluts like J Lo in no time.)
My plan was to go to work today, go to the post office, go to Big-O and get my tire fixed. I should have rubbed some dirt on the pain and went yesterday because this morning when I got up, the other back tire was low. “Grr.” I thought, and drove to the nearest gas station to get air. I removed the air-tube cap and the tire said “Fffffft…..” It deflated like a child learning that there is no Santa. No amount of coaxing would induce it to refill.
A crowd of men in robes and sandals came by and asked “Who sinned? This woman or her parents that her car is rendered lame?” A voice from heaven answered “No one has sinned. These things have come to pass that God might be glorified.” Laying hold on this eternal truth, I girded up my loins (a.k.a. buttoned my vintage DKNY brocade jacket that I got for $10 at a thrift shop) and started making phone calls. The solution came in the form of my pastor’s wife on her way into town with cousins and kids. See? We are never left comfortless! I left my car at the gas station and walked the rest of the way to work, reveling in the sunshine that was beaming its way through the crisp autumn air.
After about an hour, I met my rescuers at the gas station where we pulled off the tire and drove off to Big-O. I sat by Jessica who had a stuffed rabbit in her hoody and obligingly helped me drink my Arnold Palmer. The tires were fixed~~ nail in one, leaky bead seal on the other. Back to the gas station we flew, stopping first to break into my apartment because I had locked all my keys in the car. Fortunately I left a window unlocked and could climb in through the ficus tree and over the yellow chair. I may be slightly scatter-brained, I may invite the drama, but you can’t deny that I’m entertaining.
I’m pursuaded that all things work together for good, even a thing like two mornings of flats. If the only good was that the gas station attendant got to see me laughing my way through trouble instead of cursing, well, I accept that. I stop there all the time and she will remember me. $12 is not too high a price for a soul, I think.
As I left the gas station parking lot, Selah began warbling out “God Blessed the Broken Road.” I’m still working on the relevance of that…..
Friday, September 5, 2008
This Day Must Hold Something Good
It has to because it has already had all the trouble that I want before 7:30. On my way to the chiropractor to realign my neck, which has been thrown off by stress, the gentle whoosh of rubber to pavement turned to a ka-womp ka-womp. Flat tire! I know that sound well from living on gravel roads and driving fast.
I turn into the gas station and get out to look. Yes, flat tire…. flat in much Donald Trump’s hair isn’t. I think about calling my pastor or the deacon of the church to see if they happen to be in town because I am in DKNY and stretch cotton. But it’s 6:45 and I can change a tire. I go into the gas station to ask for a cardboard box to sit on and there is a man behind the counter! I’m saved!! But when I ask for a box and explain why I need it, the hand-flapping and “OMG-ing” starts. I’d almost swear he shrunk about 12 sizes from fear. I am not saved, but he’s earned a place in my blog. Where is a man in his 50’s when you need one? They always change your tire. They don’t even ask if you want them to, they just do it.
My beer box and I return to the scene of the trauma and proceed to operate on my wounded car. And oh! the lugnuts! The turny thing won’t turn them. I want to cry. I sit down and I feel the hot tears prickling behind my eyes, but an Indian guy comes by on a bike and loosens them for me. I hope that he will stay and finish the job, but he is on his own way to work, so I am grateful for the help he does give. A turning of the lugs, a lugging of the tires, and a tiring of my muscles and I’m done. Not a broken nail or a smudge of dirt on my clothes!
But I’m hungry now and thirsty. I don’t think the yogurt in my purse is going to suffice for breakfast. Gas station food is not really food, but sometimes they put things like sausage and cheese on bagels and heat them up warm. These I like and these they have. And they have Arizona tea and lemonade mixed in a 99 cent can! Ummy!! I can even overlook Arnold Palmer on the can. Yes, he’s there in all his club swinging glory. I learn from the can that he loved tea and lemonade so much that the drink became known as the Arnold Palmer. It couldn’t have been Vin Deisel? No, I don’t suppose it could have…. None of it could have…..
I turn into the gas station and get out to look. Yes, flat tire…. flat in much Donald Trump’s hair isn’t. I think about calling my pastor or the deacon of the church to see if they happen to be in town because I am in DKNY and stretch cotton. But it’s 6:45 and I can change a tire. I go into the gas station to ask for a cardboard box to sit on and there is a man behind the counter! I’m saved!! But when I ask for a box and explain why I need it, the hand-flapping and “OMG-ing” starts. I’d almost swear he shrunk about 12 sizes from fear. I am not saved, but he’s earned a place in my blog. Where is a man in his 50’s when you need one? They always change your tire. They don’t even ask if you want them to, they just do it.
My beer box and I return to the scene of the trauma and proceed to operate on my wounded car. And oh! the lugnuts! The turny thing won’t turn them. I want to cry. I sit down and I feel the hot tears prickling behind my eyes, but an Indian guy comes by on a bike and loosens them for me. I hope that he will stay and finish the job, but he is on his own way to work, so I am grateful for the help he does give. A turning of the lugs, a lugging of the tires, and a tiring of my muscles and I’m done. Not a broken nail or a smudge of dirt on my clothes!
But I’m hungry now and thirsty. I don’t think the yogurt in my purse is going to suffice for breakfast. Gas station food is not really food, but sometimes they put things like sausage and cheese on bagels and heat them up warm. These I like and these they have. And they have Arizona tea and lemonade mixed in a 99 cent can! Ummy!! I can even overlook Arnold Palmer on the can. Yes, he’s there in all his club swinging glory. I learn from the can that he loved tea and lemonade so much that the drink became known as the Arnold Palmer. It couldn’t have been Vin Deisel? No, I don’t suppose it could have…. None of it could have…..
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My Three Sundays
which have been very good
I took Jessica, who is 6, to the park where four giant stone frogs squirt streams of water into a central fountain. We went to eat chicken sandwiches and play in the water. When she hesitated in front of the glorious showers of crisscrossing water spouts, I grabbed her hand and ran in. We looked at each other on the other side and laughed and dashed through again. When we were soaking wet and had tried out the rest of the playground we went to the store for cake mix with which to make cookies for the church potluck that evening.
“There shall be showers of blessings.”
The second:
While Paul Blanton was singing Above All, the Holy Ghost hit me so fast I didn’t even have time to think “I’m going to shout….” I just took off in complete abandonment to worship. All my despair melted like a snowflake in the sun. Despair was a new feeling to me, and I had no idea what to do with it, but my Savior knew. He always knows.
“I shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance.”
We combined resources with the assisted living facility next door, Bikers for Christ, and the Harley shop to have our own little mini Sturgis motorcycle rally at the nursing home. Those of you with good imaginations have fallen out of your chairs laughing already. I am not fond of the stereotypical American biker look, so I decided to go with my notion of what a Tokyo biker chick might look like. Calvin Klein T-shirt, plaid knee skirt, white crocheted knee highs and chunky mary janes. (Furry boots being unavailable) Plus a sparkly face since I was in charge of face painting and tattooing.
It is every bit as much fun as you are imagining to see a fake tattooed, bandana-ed, eighty year old woman clinging to a burley biker as he zooms around the block. And it’s nice to sit in the sun and paint dragons and roses on the faces of children who look at themselves in the mirror and grin like Christmas morning.
I like Sunday. I always have. It is the day that the Lord has made and I will rejoice and be glad in it.
I took Jessica, who is 6, to the park where four giant stone frogs squirt streams of water into a central fountain. We went to eat chicken sandwiches and play in the water. When she hesitated in front of the glorious showers of crisscrossing water spouts, I grabbed her hand and ran in. We looked at each other on the other side and laughed and dashed through again. When we were soaking wet and had tried out the rest of the playground we went to the store for cake mix with which to make cookies for the church potluck that evening.
“There shall be showers of blessings.”
The second:
While Paul Blanton was singing Above All, the Holy Ghost hit me so fast I didn’t even have time to think “I’m going to shout….” I just took off in complete abandonment to worship. All my despair melted like a snowflake in the sun. Despair was a new feeling to me, and I had no idea what to do with it, but my Savior knew. He always knows.
“I shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance.”
We combined resources with the assisted living facility next door, Bikers for Christ, and the Harley shop to have our own little mini Sturgis motorcycle rally at the nursing home. Those of you with good imaginations have fallen out of your chairs laughing already. I am not fond of the stereotypical American biker look, so I decided to go with my notion of what a Tokyo biker chick might look like. Calvin Klein T-shirt, plaid knee skirt, white crocheted knee highs and chunky mary janes. (Furry boots being unavailable) Plus a sparkly face since I was in charge of face painting and tattooing.
It is every bit as much fun as you are imagining to see a fake tattooed, bandana-ed, eighty year old woman clinging to a burley biker as he zooms around the block. And it’s nice to sit in the sun and paint dragons and roses on the faces of children who look at themselves in the mirror and grin like Christmas morning.
I like Sunday. I always have. It is the day that the Lord has made and I will rejoice and be glad in it.
Monday, May 19, 2008
I Find Him Faithful
I wrote this in a e-mail to a friend this morning, and encouraged myself so much that I wanted to shout it to everyone. There are things right now that look impossible in my life, but:
Not a day in my life has gone by that God didn't work His will in my life when I let Him. And he has never been late or surprised by circumstance. There is not an event or opportunity or circumstance in my life that came to me without passing through His loving hand. Therefore, I will not be afraid or dismayed or lose faith. My steps are ordered by the Lord even when I think my choices don't really matter. Looking back, I can see how faithful He has been. Times that I thought I made a random choice, He guided my thoughts. Times when I met with trials, He was shaping my soul. Times when I thought my path was going in the opposite direction of His promises, He was directing the road towards His end. I can't even begin to guess all the times He kept me from trouble when I was unaware. I can't even fathom what might be going on behind the scenes of my life to shape my destiny. But I know that I trust Him. I know that He will make everything right. I am persuaded that as long my heart follows after His, He will be faithful and I can rest in the confidence that not a power in the universe can stop His good, good plans for me.
Not a day in my life has gone by that God didn't work His will in my life when I let Him. And he has never been late or surprised by circumstance. There is not an event or opportunity or circumstance in my life that came to me without passing through His loving hand. Therefore, I will not be afraid or dismayed or lose faith. My steps are ordered by the Lord even when I think my choices don't really matter. Looking back, I can see how faithful He has been. Times that I thought I made a random choice, He guided my thoughts. Times when I met with trials, He was shaping my soul. Times when I thought my path was going in the opposite direction of His promises, He was directing the road towards His end. I can't even begin to guess all the times He kept me from trouble when I was unaware. I can't even fathom what might be going on behind the scenes of my life to shape my destiny. But I know that I trust Him. I know that He will make everything right. I am persuaded that as long my heart follows after His, He will be faithful and I can rest in the confidence that not a power in the universe can stop His good, good plans for me.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
My Last Hope
Lazarus had died. What finality there is in those words, what separation. Most of us have faced death in the literal sense. I know of no worse sounds than the closing of the casket and the whine of the motor lowering it into the ground. Outer reactions vary: a father weeps silently, a widow cries out loud not caring who hears her, an orphaned child reaches out desperate hands unable to understand. Inwardly our reactions are much the same. We want to understand and we desperately wish that there was a way to fix it. Mary and Martha had the same response. Faithful, believing Mary and outspoken, busy Martha both said to Jesus, “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Where were you? You were my last hope. Jesus came too late. For four days they had been left in grief, all hope taken away the moment their brother had taken his last breath.
Some of us have faced death in other ways. We have lost a home, a job, a ministry, a dream. These are the things that also seem unfixable; they break our hearts so that we cannot see past our grief. So we bury the thing that meant so much to us. We bury it and place a stone in front of the grave. We waited, but Jesus never came. He didn’t stop the fire from consuming our home. He let others believe the lies that cost us our job or destroyed our ministry. He just watched as the last flame of hope was extinguished before our eyes. As we bury our dreams or our life’s work, as we give up on that marriage, we wonder where Jesus was when things were still alive and savable. Now that there is no hope, He has come and we are also saying, “If you had been here, this would not have happened....you were my last hope.”
When Jesus arrives he asks, “Where have you buried him? Where have you buried your hope?”
So we take him there and show it to him.
“This is all I have left. It’s ruined, unfixable.” we say.
But He replies, “Didn’t I tell you that if you would believe, you would see the glory of God?”
“Yes, you promised, but it’s too late! There is nothing left. Even You are crying.”
But Jesus has come to prove once again that he is the resurrection and the life. I don’t think this story is here solely to illustrate that Jesus has power over physical death, because we believe this. We believe that there is a resurrection for the body and that the spirit lives on. Though we grieve, we still have hope. It is in the little deaths that we need often reassurance. In these unfixable situations we begin to doubt. But Jesus wants us to see that it is never unfixable. You may not be speaking to your spouse. Addiction may have trapped you once again. Depression may be robbing you of your very will to live. Lazarus walking out of that grave, alive after all hope had been taken away, is proof that nothing is unfixable when Jesus comes. He is the resurrection and the life. We that believe in Him, though we die, yet shall we live.
It is in impossibilities that we usually find Jesus working. He fed thousands with just a few loaves and fishes. He healed when all the doctors have given up. He turned a morally ruined woman into a shining example of purity. He does it all the time. Finances are provided almost out of nowhere. We experience healing. He restores years we think we have wasted forever. Families are put back together. Hearts that are broken are mended and made into tools to mend others. Life is breathed into dead and ruined things every day. He is there when everyone else says “it is too late” turning unfixable situations into reasons to rejoice. All He asks is that we believe and trust Him enough to take Him to the place we laid our impossible, unfixable problem, roll away the stone, and let Him begin His wonderful restoring process. Whether immediately or over time, He is able and longing to fix our situation. Whether our problem is self-inflicted or we have been the victim of events beyond our control, He is waiting to meet us there.What have you given up on? Where have you buried it? Take Jesus to the place where you have laid it and let Him breath life into it once again.
If you still doubt that He cares, listen to this: it was this act of love that finally condemned Jesus. The Bible tells us that “From that day they sought to kill him.” He went to Mary and Martha knowing that this miracle would be the one that signed His death warrant. This is the love that Jesus promises us. That when we cry, He will hear us. When we call, He will answer us. When we cannot understand, He has a plan. Nothing is ever beyond His ability or beneath His notice. We are valued above His own life. He is our resurrection and our life.
Some of us have faced death in other ways. We have lost a home, a job, a ministry, a dream. These are the things that also seem unfixable; they break our hearts so that we cannot see past our grief. So we bury the thing that meant so much to us. We bury it and place a stone in front of the grave. We waited, but Jesus never came. He didn’t stop the fire from consuming our home. He let others believe the lies that cost us our job or destroyed our ministry. He just watched as the last flame of hope was extinguished before our eyes. As we bury our dreams or our life’s work, as we give up on that marriage, we wonder where Jesus was when things were still alive and savable. Now that there is no hope, He has come and we are also saying, “If you had been here, this would not have happened....you were my last hope.”
When Jesus arrives he asks, “Where have you buried him? Where have you buried your hope?”
So we take him there and show it to him.
“This is all I have left. It’s ruined, unfixable.” we say.
But He replies, “Didn’t I tell you that if you would believe, you would see the glory of God?”
“Yes, you promised, but it’s too late! There is nothing left. Even You are crying.”
But Jesus has come to prove once again that he is the resurrection and the life. I don’t think this story is here solely to illustrate that Jesus has power over physical death, because we believe this. We believe that there is a resurrection for the body and that the spirit lives on. Though we grieve, we still have hope. It is in the little deaths that we need often reassurance. In these unfixable situations we begin to doubt. But Jesus wants us to see that it is never unfixable. You may not be speaking to your spouse. Addiction may have trapped you once again. Depression may be robbing you of your very will to live. Lazarus walking out of that grave, alive after all hope had been taken away, is proof that nothing is unfixable when Jesus comes. He is the resurrection and the life. We that believe in Him, though we die, yet shall we live.
It is in impossibilities that we usually find Jesus working. He fed thousands with just a few loaves and fishes. He healed when all the doctors have given up. He turned a morally ruined woman into a shining example of purity. He does it all the time. Finances are provided almost out of nowhere. We experience healing. He restores years we think we have wasted forever. Families are put back together. Hearts that are broken are mended and made into tools to mend others. Life is breathed into dead and ruined things every day. He is there when everyone else says “it is too late” turning unfixable situations into reasons to rejoice. All He asks is that we believe and trust Him enough to take Him to the place we laid our impossible, unfixable problem, roll away the stone, and let Him begin His wonderful restoring process. Whether immediately or over time, He is able and longing to fix our situation. Whether our problem is self-inflicted or we have been the victim of events beyond our control, He is waiting to meet us there.What have you given up on? Where have you buried it? Take Jesus to the place where you have laid it and let Him breath life into it once again.
If you still doubt that He cares, listen to this: it was this act of love that finally condemned Jesus. The Bible tells us that “From that day they sought to kill him.” He went to Mary and Martha knowing that this miracle would be the one that signed His death warrant. This is the love that Jesus promises us. That when we cry, He will hear us. When we call, He will answer us. When we cannot understand, He has a plan. Nothing is ever beyond His ability or beneath His notice. We are valued above His own life. He is our resurrection and our life.
There is Nothing More Fun
Than ridiculing the corporate process and its proponents.
Because some of us had questions about the various charts we are given with which to measure our progress with such issues as depression, pain, and skin integrity, an expert was called in to educate our struggling minds. I am all for having a plan, but I like to understand the plan that I am given and I want to know where they got the numbers. Especially that .93 person. Do we have one of those?
Our expert kept talking about numerators and denominators and something called a covariate which I think may come in chocolate with heavy cream and sugared pansies. And she kept calling someone named Brad. I don’t know about you, but the name Brad doesn’t conjure up an image of a statistical genius to me. Maybe he’s the one who makes the chocolate covariates.
As you have probably already guessed, somewhere between the QIO and the STAR target, I lost it. By the time our expert asked “If survey were to come next week, would you be ready?” I was so punchy that I thought “She sounds like an old-fashioned camp-meeting!” I fell to my knees, beat my chest, and cried out “Have mercy on me!” Because then the books will be opened and our deeds, both good and evil, will be recorded therein. Who then will be able to stand? When they start passing out the covariates, I want enough stars in my crown to earn one! *sigh* I think I would rather be judged by God than the survey team. God will forgive me, but the state never will.
On a positive note, our administrator decided that we all get lunch because there is a birthday on the management team. Way to create cohesiveness! Then someone had to ask “What do you hunger for?” and the part of me still thinking about camp meetings and days of judgment wanted to cry out “holiness!” I can just see the reactions. It would almost be worth it if I wouldn’t have to explain that I’m not Buddhist.
Plus, it’s Hawaiian day here for nursing home week and I am wearing flowers in my hair and shells around my neck. How am I supposed to take anything seriously dressed like this?
Because some of us had questions about the various charts we are given with which to measure our progress with such issues as depression, pain, and skin integrity, an expert was called in to educate our struggling minds. I am all for having a plan, but I like to understand the plan that I am given and I want to know where they got the numbers. Especially that .93 person. Do we have one of those?
Our expert kept talking about numerators and denominators and something called a covariate which I think may come in chocolate with heavy cream and sugared pansies. And she kept calling someone named Brad. I don’t know about you, but the name Brad doesn’t conjure up an image of a statistical genius to me. Maybe he’s the one who makes the chocolate covariates.
As you have probably already guessed, somewhere between the QIO and the STAR target, I lost it. By the time our expert asked “If survey were to come next week, would you be ready?” I was so punchy that I thought “She sounds like an old-fashioned camp-meeting!” I fell to my knees, beat my chest, and cried out “Have mercy on me!” Because then the books will be opened and our deeds, both good and evil, will be recorded therein. Who then will be able to stand? When they start passing out the covariates, I want enough stars in my crown to earn one! *sigh* I think I would rather be judged by God than the survey team. God will forgive me, but the state never will.
On a positive note, our administrator decided that we all get lunch because there is a birthday on the management team. Way to create cohesiveness! Then someone had to ask “What do you hunger for?” and the part of me still thinking about camp meetings and days of judgment wanted to cry out “holiness!” I can just see the reactions. It would almost be worth it if I wouldn’t have to explain that I’m not Buddhist.
Plus, it’s Hawaiian day here for nursing home week and I am wearing flowers in my hair and shells around my neck. How am I supposed to take anything seriously dressed like this?
Manasseh
Joseph named his first son Manasseh meaning “to forget.” “God has made me to forget completely my hardship.” But I heard one preacher say that the name doesn’t mean “to forget,” but “to have the sting removed from the memory.” I like this because we all know that there are things you absolutely never forget.
Things like
childhood abuse
being made fun of in high school
divorce
disappointed hope
death of loved ones
assault
sickness
bad news
These can be things devastating enough to change your life. They can take your innocence, make you live in fear, even take your will to live. So many of us, like Joseph, have experienced things that are unfair, things that should never happen to anyone. But so many of us, like Joseph, have found that there is healing through Christ, even rest from the memory. There is not a sorrow in this world that is stronger than the love of God. There is not a single tragedy that is beyond His power to comfort and heal. I know this to be true, for I have seen Him do it in my life and in the lives of others many times. Victorious people with scars that more resemble beauty marks. Oh! The garment of praise that He gives in exchange for our heaviness!!
If you are in a place that is painful or are trying to help someone who is hurting, take comfort in this. These things will become Manasseh to you through God’s healing power. The sting will be gone. Let God work; open up your heart. He has good plans for you, none of evil—to give you a future and a hope. If you are trying to help someone else, be patient. Keep praying and refuse to give up.
Another interpretation that I really liked said that Manasseh came from the word “nashani” meaning “to cause to slip form it’s proper place” as in “it slipped my mind.” The purpose of the trouble was displaced and the memory given another purpose. It is now a representation of God’s faithfulness. Literally the name means “God has made my tragedy and my loss credit claims. From that which till now appeared to be tragedy and torment, God has made a tool to form my happiness. I am greatly obligated to my tragedy and loss.”
Things like
childhood abuse
being made fun of in high school
divorce
disappointed hope
death of loved ones
assault
sickness
bad news
These can be things devastating enough to change your life. They can take your innocence, make you live in fear, even take your will to live. So many of us, like Joseph, have experienced things that are unfair, things that should never happen to anyone. But so many of us, like Joseph, have found that there is healing through Christ, even rest from the memory. There is not a sorrow in this world that is stronger than the love of God. There is not a single tragedy that is beyond His power to comfort and heal. I know this to be true, for I have seen Him do it in my life and in the lives of others many times. Victorious people with scars that more resemble beauty marks. Oh! The garment of praise that He gives in exchange for our heaviness!!
If you are in a place that is painful or are trying to help someone who is hurting, take comfort in this. These things will become Manasseh to you through God’s healing power. The sting will be gone. Let God work; open up your heart. He has good plans for you, none of evil—to give you a future and a hope. If you are trying to help someone else, be patient. Keep praying and refuse to give up.
Another interpretation that I really liked said that Manasseh came from the word “nashani” meaning “to cause to slip form it’s proper place” as in “it slipped my mind.” The purpose of the trouble was displaced and the memory given another purpose. It is now a representation of God’s faithfulness. Literally the name means “God has made my tragedy and my loss credit claims. From that which till now appeared to be tragedy and torment, God has made a tool to form my happiness. I am greatly obligated to my tragedy and loss.”
She Works Hard for Her Money, So Hard For it Honey
I am particularly piqued and intolerant of all things corporate today. From the weird jargon such as “free up their future” refering to firing some poor soul, to the copious amounts of redundant paperwork. Did you CQI that? I most certainly did not. I barely had time to get the leg work done. I’d make you a piechart to prove it, but I keep hearing the word “pie” and eating the paper.
My main greivance this rainy morning is the mantra of the interim executive director: “Be from Missouri!” she chants. It is her perky little way of telling us not to take things at face value. To look for the grain of truth in every complaint. To question and probe. About everything! “I’m from Missouri, you know,” she ends her last interogation. No, you are not from Missouri, you are from North Carolina and North Carolinians are known for……something else. I think. Geographically challenged in the idiomatic. Interesting.
Maybe while I’m being from Missouri, I’ll be a purple cow as well. This little gem comes from the smarmy marketing consultant who fancies himself “a healer and a teacher.” I didn’t know that those were prerequisites for marketing, but steady on. I gather that being a purple cow refers to standing out amongst the competition. Obviously, being noticed is a good thing in marketing, and he believes it, as evidenced by the striking polka-dot bowtie perenially garnishing his attire. My dear fellow, you are indeed drawing attention, but I do not think it is the kind you wanted. P.S. Learn the definition of personal space! I want my own air!
This mood started with the sinus infection that stole my rose-leaf complexion and the Thursday from…..Hailfax. Wherein I, regretfully, nearly caused a divorce. When a 90 year old woman wanted to take her unwilling husband home to care for him herself, the doctor refused to write discharge orders. At this point I had to point out my ethical obligation to alert Adult Protective Services if she did take him home against medical advise. She stormed out stating to her poor husband; “If you like it here so much, then you can stay! I’m never speaking to you again.” Now she’s not speaking to me either. I never thought I’d be the other woman. And if I had, certainly I didn’t picture it quite like this.
Now there was, on the same Thursday, the guy who called me arrogant. That would be me….. He believes that he doesn’t owe us as much money as is showing up on the bill and that I haven’t done a thing to help him. Makes me feel like a little stone god. Eyes have I, but I see not. Ears, but there is no hearing. I told him over and over to bring in the bill so I could look at it, but he never did. To be fair, I did blog mercilessly about his twitching self a few weeks back.
To conclude, I find myself musing over today’s final tidbit from our morning meeting. “Do people stand a little taller in your presence?” *laughs hysterically* Not if I don’t snap out of this jaded and cynical mood. They will be hiding under desks and pretending to be statues when I walk by. Kidding, kidding. I’m a professional; I can smile pleasantly while the phrases “In her tongue is the law of kindness” and “I do social work, not miracle work!” war in my head. But now that I have typed the frustration out of my mind, I think I can go make someone stand a little taller. I have a stack of Thank-U-Grams in my desks that are redeemable for treats. People like to be appreciated. And there is MUCH to be appreciated in the people who do the real work here. I'm going to go find some!
Well, that was cathartic and I thank you all for listening. Now, I just need to sort out exactly why I am applying for the admissions and marketing position that just became available.
My main greivance this rainy morning is the mantra of the interim executive director: “Be from Missouri!” she chants. It is her perky little way of telling us not to take things at face value. To look for the grain of truth in every complaint. To question and probe. About everything! “I’m from Missouri, you know,” she ends her last interogation. No, you are not from Missouri, you are from North Carolina and North Carolinians are known for……something else. I think. Geographically challenged in the idiomatic. Interesting.
Maybe while I’m being from Missouri, I’ll be a purple cow as well. This little gem comes from the smarmy marketing consultant who fancies himself “a healer and a teacher.” I didn’t know that those were prerequisites for marketing, but steady on. I gather that being a purple cow refers to standing out amongst the competition. Obviously, being noticed is a good thing in marketing, and he believes it, as evidenced by the striking polka-dot bowtie perenially garnishing his attire. My dear fellow, you are indeed drawing attention, but I do not think it is the kind you wanted. P.S. Learn the definition of personal space! I want my own air!
This mood started with the sinus infection that stole my rose-leaf complexion and the Thursday from…..Hailfax. Wherein I, regretfully, nearly caused a divorce. When a 90 year old woman wanted to take her unwilling husband home to care for him herself, the doctor refused to write discharge orders. At this point I had to point out my ethical obligation to alert Adult Protective Services if she did take him home against medical advise. She stormed out stating to her poor husband; “If you like it here so much, then you can stay! I’m never speaking to you again.” Now she’s not speaking to me either. I never thought I’d be the other woman. And if I had, certainly I didn’t picture it quite like this.
Now there was, on the same Thursday, the guy who called me arrogant. That would be me….. He believes that he doesn’t owe us as much money as is showing up on the bill and that I haven’t done a thing to help him. Makes me feel like a little stone god. Eyes have I, but I see not. Ears, but there is no hearing. I told him over and over to bring in the bill so I could look at it, but he never did. To be fair, I did blog mercilessly about his twitching self a few weeks back.
To conclude, I find myself musing over today’s final tidbit from our morning meeting. “Do people stand a little taller in your presence?” *laughs hysterically* Not if I don’t snap out of this jaded and cynical mood. They will be hiding under desks and pretending to be statues when I walk by. Kidding, kidding. I’m a professional; I can smile pleasantly while the phrases “In her tongue is the law of kindness” and “I do social work, not miracle work!” war in my head. But now that I have typed the frustration out of my mind, I think I can go make someone stand a little taller. I have a stack of Thank-U-Grams in my desks that are redeemable for treats. People like to be appreciated. And there is MUCH to be appreciated in the people who do the real work here. I'm going to go find some!
Well, that was cathartic and I thank you all for listening. Now, I just need to sort out exactly why I am applying for the admissions and marketing position that just became available.
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