If You're Not Showing Them Jesus, You're Showing them Satan.

    I find myself wanting to tell people off. Not the tongue lashing that you would see on Scrubs, and not one to demote people to a lesser grade to human existence. I just want to let people know that I'm worthy enough to stand up for myself. This desire has always been seeping through a crack in my heart, but after this week it's been a flood. I should start from the beginning. 

    This week I was asked by a lady (Bernie) to help out on a project at work. I have never gotten along with this woman, but felt I could not decline. I worked with her over the summer, every morning she would great me "hey when are you going to apply for a real job?" I'd reply "When I become a real person." I'd then go on about how my batteries were bothering me and could she find an outlet for me to plug into. She was never amused. Bernie is the type of person that claims she's always joking, but never is funny, and that she's always up for a good joke, but never laughs. Once I made a lame joke about suing a duck (I'm not going to repeat the joke) and she told me that I needed to grow up. By the end of the summer I was convinced she was evil. 

  After summer I found myself in a different room, with friendlier people and I hardly saw Bernie. The times I did, she was polite and asked how I was. If the conversation was more than 15 seconds though, she would snidely ask where I've applied lately. When I answered "The Exponent Times" she laughed and said "Yeah, like that's ever going to happen." 

  The leaves fell, snow poured, and I forgot about Bernie until Monday. I knew agreeing to help was a terrible idea the moment she brought my first stack of papers to sift through. Monday was decent, but Tuesday when I arrived she brought me a box of papers and said "I'm going to need you to not talk today." Oh ...power trip. I let it fall off my shoulders and buckled down to work, but soon her voice rang in my ears again. "I'm going to need you to redo this box again, the paper needs to be after the 5th page this time." This time I was screaming in my head "Then why didn't you tell me that before I did this!" Again, I let it slide. I even brushed off the fact that she told me she wanted to cut my bangs off because they're too long. I let so many things slide, I had a playground. She continued to come into my room every five seconds, and correct me until lunch time. 

  The day drew to a close and she came in with a sheet for me to sign (in blood) my work (that way if something goes wrong they know exactly who to murder. ) I did, and she released her final blow "Wow, you've got terrible penmanship, no wonder you fail all your tests." I was too stunned to say anything, and exited quickly to my car where I cried on the way home and went over the things I wish I had said back. 'What tests? I've done more in my life then you ever will. Someone once told me your sweaty underarm smell you sported after you went running in the summer made them throw up their lunch.' No, none of these insults would hurt anyone. I stopped at the light and thought 'If I could honestly say anything, it would be that you're the most pathetic excuse for a Christian, and that if I didn't know Christ before I met you, I would rather burn in hell than spend an eternity with you. You make me embarrassed to call myself a Christian after people have met you.' That should be one of the most hurtful things a person could say to a Christian. The fact that someone believes you're so horrible at reflecting God's grace and beauty that they rather suffer eternally than get to know Him should grieve your soul. As the light turned green, I decided this is what I must tell her. 

  Today when I arrived at work, I found Bernie already in the room. She informed me that she was trading me for the day to train another woman, and that I could go back to working somewhere else. I was beyond relieved. The clock ticked, and as time had made me forgetful of my wounds so many times before I began to forgive Bernie. The printers soon began jamming as they often do, and I asked her if she wanted to see a trick to cleaning them out. She rudely replied " yeah, whatever." I replied alright then, never mind. She looked up and said "I'm really busy but if you want to show me your little trick go ahead, I'll try to listen." That was it! It was my chance, but I just turned and walked away. I decided Bernie cares more about money and her job than reflecting God, so I walked upstairs to her boss' office and began crying. I told her all I could manage to get out. I was hoping to hurt her heart, but she only cares about her pocket. 

   Oh Lord, let me be a reflection of Your goodness, Your grace, Your mercy.........

 

  

  The End