One Angry Woman

The Lord is teaching me a lesson in forgiveness this week. It's a lesson I struggle with frequently, and I'm learning it all over again.
In the grand scheme of things, what my boss did to me last week is small potatoes. It doesn't even rank with those who have suffered violence in their families or who are facing the death of a loved one from a terminal disease. I really try to look at it in those terms.

Of course, being tortured by constant pin pricks isn't pleasant, either.

I've talked about my boss before in my blog. He's an expert at making people miserable, and that's really sad. Trouble is, he just seems oblivious to it. Well, sometimes. Sometimes, his enjoyment is apparent. I'm not sure which is worse, honestly.

So a few weeks ago, our controller went around asking people if they wanted new chairs. This is a pretty big deal, considering the last wholesale purchase of chairs for the newsroom was in about 1994 or so. Seriously. A few people have had new chairs since then, but the majority have been sitting in the 1994 models.
We have two great office chairs at home. I love them. They also cost $20 less than the ones the controller was looking at. So, I asked the controller if I could have one like that. He said yes and ordered one for me. Early one morning before I got to work, the maintenance guy was putting my new chair together for me. My boss comes out of his office, sees this and says, "What the $%^& are you doing?"
When the guy told my boss he was putting together my new chair, bossman said, "Well stop. Send it back. I want all the chairs in this newsroom to MATCH!" Match. We have 40 people in that newsroom, of all shapes and sizes. "Match," he says.

Soooo, the new chairs arrive. The chairs, incidentally, meant for guys who are at least four inches taller than I. This means their backs are oriented differently. Well, the lumbar support in those chairs hits right around my shoulder blades. There's about a four-inch gap between my lumbar and the back of the chair, even when I'm sitting perfectly straight in them. My back was aching so after a couple of hours in the new chair, I said, "Forget this. I'm going back to my old chair." So I did. Bossman was distinctly not happy that I had so spurned the company's generosity in providing me with a chair I should have obviously been tickled with. It bears mentioning his chair doesn't match anyone else's, either in style or color. The office store guys brought in about 20 for him to try before he was satisfied. Naturally, the rest of us didn't have that opportunity.

But I had another chance to be a total ingrate that morning when I told bossman I wasn't interested in his offer of the company footing the bill for me to "participate in a fitness program" and have the paper cover my "progress." Yep, that's me: "The Biggest Loser." He said, "But you could be a STAR!" Um, yeah. Those who know me understand that would be the seventh circle of hell for me.
Yes, I'm a big girl. And it just drives my fat-o-phobic boss crazy. I want to be healthy, and I'm working toward that goal. But bossman can't stand it that I'm not slim and trim like some of the other girls in the newsroom. See, he's just such a control freak, he can't swallow the concept that he can't dictate what our bodies look like. It's a constant irritant to him.
He and his equally fat-o-phobic editor wife consider obesity to be the ultimate in mortal sins. Of course, many people do. And it's wrong. Even if obesity is unhealthy, holding every woman to some unrealistic ideal of feminine beauty, and effectively taking away her civil rights because of it is evil. People come in all shapes and sizes, and all of his so-called liberal Democrat "open-mindedness" doesn't include accepting someone who doesn't meet the insurance charts' ideals. His opinions on weight are borne out in his editorials and no doubt affect others' perceptions.

So, I'm praying for daylight and for the grace to forgive. It ain't easy. But I keep on. With the Lord's help, I'll get through it.

"At the end of the tunnel, you can see the light. Well, if that ain't a train, you made it through the night." Well, Jeff or Ibby, whichever one of you wrote that lyric, you had it pegged.

I refuse to live in quiet desperation.

"How" isn't that important

In this corner, evolution! And in this corner, creation! Who's going to win the prize of hearts and minds worldwide?
You know, it doesn't really matter. It's not going to change minds, and in the end, it's not important from a theological standpoint. What I'm talking about is the seemingly-unending argument on HOW the world was created. Creationists vie for their cause because they feel espousing evolution leaves a Creator God out of the equation. Evolutionists feel their cause is the only scientifically defensible one, and for many, it is far preferable to lack a Creator God. But in the final analysis, all this wrangling will not matter. I'm very familiar with the evolution theory and find nothing in it to change my mind that a Creator God was, and is, active in the process. The same goes for the Creation story, particularly since I'm an English major and I know symbolism when I see it.
I don't have issues with evolution vs. creation for one reason: I've got the WHO part straightened out. I believe in a God Who created the heavens and the earth. I have not the foggiest notion how that kind of creative power works. If it could be explained, I seriously doubt my finite brain could comprehend that kind of might. I believe He is perfectly capable of doing it in seven earth days. For that matter, He is capable of speaking a fully formed world into existence in the blink of an eye. Did His creative work that way with this earth? I don't know, and I'm fine with not knowing. I don't have to know absolutely everything to be happy.
I know I see His hand in the fact that the leatherback sea turtle comes to the same beach in Trinidad every spring to lay her eggs, which she then carefully covers with sand before she heads back into the sea. How can a creature of that order know to do that? Instinct? Surely, but how did that instinct form? At some point, I feel it had to be directed.
I see God's thumbprint in the double-helix spirals of DNA. How elegant! Isn't there something about that design that has instinctive appeal and beauty? God likes swirls. He imprinted them in our DNA and on our fingerprints. The cochleas in our ears and even our outer ears, all bear a swirl motif. Clouds swirl, wind swirls, seashells swirl. To me, the intricate designs of even the smallest leaf bear the signature of their Creator.
Only a sense of humor could have created the ostrich, the platypus, the frilled lizard, the otter. Only Someone with an innate sense of symmetry and grace could have created the cat. His knowledge of loyalty and faithfulness inspired the dog. I see my Creator in the rings on a tree stump and in the endless ocean breakers. Not only did He create a beautiful world, but He gave us the capacity to appreciate and enjoy beauty. We know He loves beauty because we love it.
How the world got here is a mystery. I believe though, with the Apostle Paul, that "now we know in part, but then we shall know in full, even as we are fully known." But I know Who created the earth, so I can live happily without understanding the How.