One day earlier this summer, I noticed that the
sandwich artist (at a Subway where I had previously ordered many sandwiches) put jalapeños in my sandwich. I ordered banana peppers, not
jalapeño peppers. I don't remember exactly what was going through my head that
day -- if I saw the jalapeño catastrophe happening right before my eyes and was
too polite or too hungry to say anything about it, or if perhaps I thought I
would just try eating it for the sake of embarking on a new sandwich adventure.
But now I was back at the company breakroom, and my lunchtime was almost over,
and I couldn't just ask the Subway people to fix their mistake. (Perhaps if the
sandwich artist had been paying more attention to me and less attention to her
personal family drama which she doesn't have a problem freely sharing with
customers, this wouldn't have happened.) Those jalapeños in my sandwich
offended me, even after I picked them out of my sandwich and threw them away.
This half-Hispanic chick doesn't mind jalapeños in her food from time to time.
I just don't think they belong in a sandwich. Since that wasn't the first time
this particular Subway had rubbed me the wrong way, I decided to never return
there. (And I haven't.)
In that moment, God told me, "Sometimes you need a last
straw."
A similar thing happened when I sat down to unwrap a lunch that I had
just picked up from the Schlotzsky's drive-thru. I ordered salt and vinegar
chips, but they gave me jalapeño chips instead. (What is it with jalapeños infiltrating
my lunches without my permission?) So, that was my last straw for that
particular Schlotzsky's... not counting the 15-20 minute wait times that had
become common at the drive-thru or another way they messed up my order
in the past. I mean, forgiveness is one thing, but realizing that there are dozens
of other lunch spots in the vicinity competing for my business is another.
I'm still trying to figure out if me waiting for a "last
straw" to initiate change in my life is a good thing or a bad thing.
The reason I had been venturing to restaurants for lunch (instead of
bringing my lunch, which is always cheaper) was because I
couldn't take it anymore in the company breakroom. Again, I'm not sure why the
constant aroma of poop wafting from the nearby men's room, or my boss telling me "I've told you that if you want a private lunchroom, you can close this
door" while he closes the breakroom door so that I will be all by myself and feel even more lonely and isolated than I already am, or my coworkers
interrupting my lunch break (while I'm trying to relax and regroup) to ask me
work-related questions that can wait until I'm back on the clock... I'm not
sure why any of those things weren't enough of a catalyst to get me to eat lunch
off campus, but somehow the boss' pantless son always peeking his nose into my
meal and announcing to his wife what I was eating was my last straw.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I think growing up in an
abusive environment gave me a very high tolerance for crap. Again, I'm still
trying to figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm guessing it's
the latter. And I'm learning how to recognize red flags sooner and do something
about them sooner.
I mean, submitting to authority is one thing, but escaping an
oppressive environment is another. Just ask any immigrant who has ever sought
refuge in a free country.
This is my last week at that job, hence my obsessive processing/reflecting. I'm
still going to keep my guard up and be ready for anything. I mean, any company
run by a boss who openly shames his wife for her mistakes in front of the
entire company would be a place where I would need to watch my step, right?
When I first started working there, I was told that the boss treats his
employees like family. Yes, he does. And I have learned a valuable lesson while
working there: Every good tyrant has an army of enablers behind him.
To celebrate my last days there, I have been planning to eat most of my lunches in the breakroom. I think it's easy to enjoy life in a certain space when you don't feel trapped there.
"When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when
a wicked man rules, the people groan." (Proverbs 29:2)
I think Pharaoh, Moses, and the Israelites were also in a sort of
three-way tug-of-war of last straws. In the Israelites' case, their oppression
involved literal straw, but that's beside the point. Pharaoh kept pushing and
pushing the Israelites to spin straw into gold (metaphorically speaking) until
God heard their cries for help, He brought Moses and Aaron over to Egypt, and
He even hardened Pharaoh's heart so that he wouldn't let the people go.
Pharaoh's last straw was that last plague where all the firstborn in Egypt were
killed unless they had followed God's blood-on-the-doorpost instructions.
Life wasn't a rose garden after the Israelites escaped their oppression
in Egypt, either. They sinned by creating and worshiping a golden calf, God put
His foot down and created the Ten Commandments (that we all still have to
follow today), He killed some Israelites who sinned against Him, and He also
almost killed Moses in the process.
Wow. God is love, but He's also a God of tough love.
"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows,
that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap
corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting
life." (Galatians 6:7-8)
I think King David could also vouch for this. After he married
Bathsheba (which he used his kingly authority to do, after sleeping with her,
impregnating her, and arranging for her husband to be killed), God was like,
"I love you, but you opened the door to violence in your house, and now
your little baby son will die, too."
I like how the Bible gives so many gory details about heroes like King
David. It encourages me that I don't have to be sinless in order for God to
love, favor, and want me. King David made some enormously terrible mistakes,
but he repented, and God honored him enough to publish his songs in the Bible, to refer to
him as a man after His own heart, and to entrust his lineage with welcoming His
only begotten Son into the world.
As loving, gracious, and favoring as God is, He is still serious about
us living life His way. Perhaps one way that He loves us is being firm enough
to steer us in the right direction.
"For the gifts and
the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11:29)
God showed me several years ago that He designed me to be a worship
pastor. I'm very cool with that. I understand that this more than likely won't
happen for me vocationally for a very long time. I'm cool with that, too. I also
understand that God has been using the experiences I've had throughout my life to
shape me into the person He wants me to be. I'm definitely cool with that as
well.
I believe it was when I took a home ec class many years ago that I was
told that children prepare for their future during their playtime. For example,
a future teacher might play "school" with friends and/or dolls. A
future healthcare professional might play "nurse" with family members
and/or dolls/toys.
I used to want to be a novelist. When I was about seven years old, I
figured out where the letters were on the worn-out ancient typewriter at our
house, and I would sit down and write stories. Now I earn my living by writing and
editing.
Recently, when I wondered how my childhood playtime foreshadowed my future
as a worship pastor, I remembered playtime as a four-year-old. Our family owned a white kitten named Puff. I would carry him while marching around in
a circle in the garage (more than likely while I was singing). Puff had issues.
He hated being carried, and he would violently scratch me and anyone else who
would try to play with him. He eventually ran away.
I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this, but I think working with
stubborn animals is very good training ground for being a pastor.
In my current life with Macho and his health issues, I hope I have been
reflecting God's heart of tough love. Almost two weeks ago, when I had a lot of
trouble getting Macho to eat, he was really deteriorating, I was wondering
how much longer he had to live, and I was considering the possibility of
putting him down. So, I stopped sugarcoating everything, and I just confronted
him. (Yes, I know he's a cat, and I know he may not understand English, but
still.) It was almost like that scene in The
NeverEnding Story where Atreyu tries to keep his horse Artax from sinking
into the Swamps of Sadness. I was exhausted, I was frustrated, and I was
grieving, so I just went for it. I wasn't threatening. I was just being real. I
told Macho, "I don't want to lose you like this. If you're not going to
try, then I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her put you to sleep.
I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her kill you."
So, now he's eating up a storm. (He may not speak English, but he knows
me.) I hope I wasn't too hard on him, but I guess it worked. I'm still taking
it a day at a time, and I'm still keeping a close watch on him, but it's good
to see him get a little bit of his swashbuckling energy back.
God is very gentle and kind, but He's also incredibly firm. Awhile back
when I was wrestling with an opportunity that I'd been given, God kept telling
me, "You're a teacher. Get over it." Last week at church while my
pastor was preaching a sermon about discovering and using your spiritual gifts,
God told me, "You're a pastor. Get over it." This week, He said,
"You're a shepherd. Get over it." No problem, Papa.
Of course, you have to understand Who's talking to me. If anyone else
were to talk to me that way, it might rub me the wrong way, like jalapeños in a
sandwich. But this is the God of the universe -- the One who always has time
for me, who always shows up for me, who always defends me, who always comforts
me, who always chooses me, who always favors me, who always graciously pours
out His goodness on me. He's the Boss, and I trust Him. He can talk to me
however He wants.
As always, thank you for reading. Now if you'll excuse me, I must stop
typing so that I can feed someone who is stalking me for his snacky.
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