Today has not been a very good day. A new person started at work three or four weeks ago, and she was working in the conference room. Because she needs to talk all the time to the guy that got me my job (they're both heavy on the sales side), I got moved. Now, it does make sense for her to be across from him; I have no problem with that. But, out of all the furniture they've bought over the nearly two years I've been there, this is the sorriest furniture yet, with the faux wood finish found on Wal-Mart furniture (not knocking Wal-Mart furniture, but compared to the rest of what we have, it's just not very nice looking). On top of that, I get the crappier desk of the two that were bought, and I was ecstatic when the temperature went down to 79° in the office where I am (which I share with only two other people for now— more to come later— and these two speak Chinese fluently and loudly).
Only two times in my professional career has a change in furniture for me been an improvement. Even when I became a manager and had my own office, the furniture "upgrade" was a real bane: sharp edges, ugly, and big so big it was nearly impossible to maneuver in the office— and I had a nice cement pillar in my office to really force the furniture in one way only.
It just seems to be another episode in the continuing saga of my solitary life. And I say this after some very considerate and caring people did stuff for me when my grandmother died. Still, I am reminded that I have no one. Mostly, that's by choice, and I can't imagine anyone ever wanting me. Tolerate, make do, pity, and have a few laughs quite possibly not at my own expense are all on the checklist, but a romantic interest is out of the question. And the laughter, reputed to be a great attractor, is really a mask for the immense pain underneath. If I keep 'em laughing, they'll not have time to realize how much of a jerk I am and how little I have to offer.
Some might question the timing on all of this: bad day at work leading to downward spiral of thoughts. It's more like a double-pronged attack, both supplying the ammunition of my self-assassination. I want to believe that God wants more for me. And I know He wants more from me, too. I am incapable of believing anything good about myself for any sustained period.
Joel Osteen says in his book, Your Best Life Now, that God wants to turn my bad into good. I want to believe that's true; I want to believe that all of my horrible decisions will not haunt my every waking moment until I die; I want to believe that I can make a difference for someone; I really want to know that the rest of my life will be more than just paying off debt and being stuck in a dead-end job; I really want to see that my sanctification is accomplishing more than just stemming the tide of the blackness I'm constantly steeped in.
Sadly, however, I don't really see any of that happening for me. Joel says you just have to believe, to change your attitude about all of it. But I don't know that I agree with that. I mean, I should probably change my attitude, but how does that in any way, shape, form, or fashion dictate what God ought to do?
No, from what I've read in the Bible, every person who has done wrong must suffer the consequences of their reckless actions; I can't think of a single person who did not have to live with the results of what they did. And this has nothing to do with forgiveness, either. No, God forgives and sometimes diminishes our punishment. But I'm still in debt, and it's not going away except a few dollars each month. I'm not that great a guy and don't really have anything much worthwhile to offer, so I stay away from people. I despise most of what I do, and I detest much of what I have become.
I could have been a contender.
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