Today has sucked. My Granny would get on to me for using crude verbiage such as that. My Mama might, too, but sometimes things are so discouraging that I just have to call it like I see it.
This morning I put on my freshly washed pants to prepare for the workday. I fired up the water and armed myself with my toothbrush coated with a dollop of Crest. No sooner did the chick-a-chick-a sound begin on my teeth than a big gooey blue-white blob landed on the front of my pants. It glowed in all it’s glory right by my zipper. There was no time to change so I had to go to work with toothpaste coated khakis. I finally went to the bathroom at work and scrubbed with a wet rag when I overheard a couple of ladies say, “His pants have some white stuff on them right by his wee wee. I wonder if he knows.”
Yeah…. Welcome to my world.
Before I even got to work I had a truck driver confront me on the interstate. I was hovering at the I’m running late speed limit, give or take 10 MPH, but that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Smokey and The Bandit. He dangerously rode my bumper and pulled out around me like Dale Earnhardt. He started uphill in the passing lane but slowed down backing up traffic for two miles. He repeated this procedure THREE times until I finally had enough. When he pulled up alongside me again, I looked over and mouthed some words from my pastor’s sermon last Sunday. Something like that. He gave the upper tug on the horn as truckers do and then waved at me with one finger as I exited the interstate. I couldn’t do a thing about it at that point other than to hear the echo of my Mama teaching scripture to a ten-year-old me.
“A soft answer turns away wrath,” she would quote from Proverbs.
I could only fantasize for the next 10 miles about that trucker having a flat tire in Atlanta traffic, receiving a triple fine speeding ticket for a construction zone, or having brake failure as he reached the North Georgia mountains.
I know, I know. Vengeance is mine says the Lord. My Granny would quote that Bible verse at times, but unfortunately, I was thinking more like Oprah in the movie The Color Purple where she said, “You better bash Mister’s head in and think about heaven later.”
Once I arrived at work with the wee wee pant comments, I began to survey who was there and who was not. Mass absenteeism. I work in an assembly line operation so missed time is the kiss of death for achieving needed production. One job had nobody left to perform it. When the back-up of the substitute of the main operator is out because her “sister’s best friend’s boyfriend’s son had a nightmare and stumped his little toe on the bedpost and we’re like family,” you know it’s going to be bad production day. I’ll spare you the details of the other fifteen people that were out and the cussing I’m going to later receive for not achieving a timely delivery.
The day plodded along and I finally made it home in the evening. I walked to the mailbox and just as I reached to open the container of junk ads and bills my nostrils detected trouble. My Scooby sniffer led me to look down, and of course I had stepped in a prize one of the neighborhood dogs left for me. And it was an extra-large present. Great. Just great. My shoe had gathered about the same thing that my mailbox had.
I got the clean-up taken care of and finally reached my chair. I flipped on the TV and the first thing I hear is, “Twenty people were killed today as gunfire erupted in the Ukrainian city of….” I can’t take bad news today. CLICK.. Next up is, “I lost 30 pounds in two weeks with Super Duper Biometric Ribonucleic Gel Pods. You, too, can achieve the same results for the daily price of a cup of coffee.” CLICK. Where’s Andy Griffith when I need him? The next channel had a man in a suit with slicked back hair and a red face shouting, “Give and then give some more. Give until it hurts. I feel you out there. Some lady in Tennessee or Pennsylvania is wanting to send us her Social Security check. Yes! Yes! Don’t let the devil hinder you.” CLICK. I’d like to hinder him. Hopefully I’ll find the TV Land channel in a minute. Suddenly the screen lit up with a man wearing a black suit arguing with a man in a navy suit about how increasing the Congressional budget would save Americans billions of dollars. CLICK.
“I wish I could just run!!” I happened to be home alone, but I shouted it out loud anyway.
The house was eerily quiet. Puff the cat had run off with my sudden outburst, and I was sitting solo in my chair. My words seemed to hang in the air.
And then they rang in my heart.
The echo of my words in my mind took me back to another time in the Spring of 1988. I was a high school track athlete for Briarwood Academy. My event was the 400 meter. One lap at a sprinter’s pace. A tough event for sure, but I had a win streak going that dated back to my ninth grade track season. I was now a junior heading into the region track meet. Long story made short, I ran a terrible race. I lost. The win streak was over. I was upset that I had performed so poorly. A few friends patted me on the back. “Way to go” or “good race” they would say, but I couldn’t stand losing and ached inside.
I stood alone catching my breath. Dejected and pouting, I heard a voice over my shoulder.
“That was really awesome, Tommy.”
It really wasn’t. I protested at how terribly I had started. At how my stride felt forced. At how I had no energy at the end. I went on like a spoiled child. I didn’t even turn around until the little voice spoke again.
“Well, I thought you were great. I wish I could run.”
I turned around to see a fourth-grade girl named Holly Smith. Holly was born with spina bifida and cheered at all the track meets from her wheelchair. Her sister, Glee, was on the girls team so Holly was always at the track meets with encouraging words. This time she hit me right between the eyes without even knowing it. I stood there silent with my head down. Where was my gratitude? Holly patted my shoulder and went on her way.
And now here I sit… 35 years later…. Shouting out that I wish I could run…. A lot different than Holly wishing she could run. Another dose of bad attitude from me. Where’s my gratitude? What about all the great blessings God has put in my life?
The picture on the table shows my wife, three daughters, and son-in-law. There’s a roof over my head and food in the pantry. I can get clean water from the faucet. I have parents that taught me God loves me. I had Grandparents that taught me God’s Word and the joy of the simple things. I have some great friends and I’ve been able to experience a lot of different places. I can HEAR the boys next door playing basketball. I went to the window and I can SEE the sun setting. I can get up from this laptop and WALK to the bedroom and peacefully lay my head on the pillow at night knowing I live in freedom.
The list goes on. On and on. And on some more. My thankful list is piled high and deep.
I think I won’t run after all. I’ll just stay put and be more grateful. Thank you, Lord.
And thank you, Holly, for reminding me what’s important.
1 Thessalonians 5: 16 – 18 Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
