Today was one of those rare days at work where I was noticeably infuriated. As I hinted in my last post, I'm not always sweet and lovely. I get angry and upset as do most people. But at work, I do try to behave in a very professional, respectful and calm manner. In fact these are among the very words that most of my colleagues use to describe me: professional, respectful, calm, friendly, quiet, easygoing.
Yet every now and again, there are days…. Today, the words "screaming banshee" come to mind. Okay, there wasn't any actual screaming (although I truly felt like it), but I was quite noticeably angry, annoyed, PO'd.
To help put things in context... I'm a Web content writer and editor. I'm part of a team of writers, designers, developers, and coders that manages a Web site consisting of more than 3,000 pages. This morning's anger was fueled by an e-mail my boss received from a client disappointed that her micro-site wasn't completed on time. In said e-mail, she failed to mention that she submitted significant site changes just prior to the time it was due to launch. An oversight, I'm sure, of which I was more than happy to alert my boss.
After spending a few moments venting with my fellow project team member and our systems director, I was able to very calmly express to the client manager my disappointment and frustration with clients who don't own their role in creating project delays. My team member and I busted our you-know-whats to turn this project around within an extremely tight deadline. We had the initial page mock-ups ready for review a day ahead of schedule. Opinion stated, I chose not to fret about it anymore. I moved on to my other projects.
Several e-mail exchanges later—still more changes were requested—the project was finally completed. The site went live and looked great.
Near the end of the day, my peace long since restored, my boss sent me and my fellow project team member a very nice e-mail congratulating us for a job well done. It's funny how things work out. Had the thankless client not sent her scathing e-mail, it's quite likely my boss would not have seen this particular micro-site until weeks or months after completion. He doesn't review every project we complete. He simply doesn't have the time.
So, all things really do work together for good. Behind the scenes, without me knowing it, God was turning my morning's frustration into an opportunity for me and my team member to shine!
I wonder what He'll teach me tomorrow?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Just As I Am
"Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come."
Just As I Am by Charlotte Elliott (1835)
I haven't sung that song in a long time. Although it's a well-known hymn, I heard it for the first time only about 10 years ago when I was preparing to sing with a crusade choir at the Verizon Center in DC. It came to mind tonight as I was listening to Joseph Prince. In case you've never heard of him, he's pastor of the largest or one of the largest churches in Singapore, which I've now added to my list of places I want to visit.
He was teaching about the Ark of the Covenant and the mercy seat, complete with very cool props. I tuned in at the point where he was teaching that people who are perfect—those who have it all together, who never make mistakes, and never have any problems—don't qualify to come before God's throne of grace. "Because they don't need to," I quickly thought. Turns out that was precisely the point he was making. Not that he (nor I) knows any people like this, but such people, if they existed, don't need God's unmerited favor, he explained.
Aah!…. I get it, Lord.
It's my imperfection, not my perfection (or my feeble attempts at such), that makes me a candidate for grace. So, I don't have to struggle to get it right all the time. God knows and understands I'm not always sweet and lovely. He knows I don't always make the best choices. He knows there are times when my faith in Him wavers. Still, He invites me to come to His throne of grace just as I am to find the love, forgiveness and help that I need to handle whatever the day brings. I don't have to earn it. I don't have to deserve it. I merely have to ask for it. That's why it's called grace.
What an awesome gift!
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come."
Just As I Am by Charlotte Elliott (1835)
I haven't sung that song in a long time. Although it's a well-known hymn, I heard it for the first time only about 10 years ago when I was preparing to sing with a crusade choir at the Verizon Center in DC. It came to mind tonight as I was listening to Joseph Prince. In case you've never heard of him, he's pastor of the largest or one of the largest churches in Singapore, which I've now added to my list of places I want to visit.
He was teaching about the Ark of the Covenant and the mercy seat, complete with very cool props. I tuned in at the point where he was teaching that people who are perfect—those who have it all together, who never make mistakes, and never have any problems—don't qualify to come before God's throne of grace. "Because they don't need to," I quickly thought. Turns out that was precisely the point he was making. Not that he (nor I) knows any people like this, but such people, if they existed, don't need God's unmerited favor, he explained.
Aah!…. I get it, Lord.
It's my imperfection, not my perfection (or my feeble attempts at such), that makes me a candidate for grace. So, I don't have to struggle to get it right all the time. God knows and understands I'm not always sweet and lovely. He knows I don't always make the best choices. He knows there are times when my faith in Him wavers. Still, He invites me to come to His throne of grace just as I am to find the love, forgiveness and help that I need to handle whatever the day brings. I don't have to earn it. I don't have to deserve it. I merely have to ask for it. That's why it's called grace.
What an awesome gift!
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Secret Hidden in Porcelain
"Tell me what you want to hear
Something that'll light those years
Sick of all of the insincere
I'm gonna give all my secrets away"
Secrets by OneRepublic
© Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Not sure why, but this song has become one of my favorites in recent weeks. I find myself humming it in my head many times throughout the day. Maybe because it reminds me of the background music that plays toward the end of one of my favorite Christian programs. Or maybe, because the idea of revealing all my secrets sounds very freeing, especially for someone as fiercely private as I am.
Then again, it could simply boil down to me feeling very weary of having spent years creating the persona of a woman able to hold it together and keep things perfectly under control—not terribly fazed, never deeply hurt, and never really disappointed—no matter what breaks in my life. It's the reason I'm so private, so guarded, for fear that someone might uncover the truth. Much like a porcelain dish, from a distance everything looks perfect and polished, pristinely beautiful. Examine it too closely and you might just see the cracks and imperfections that often result when clay is exposed to extreme heat.
Now, I must ask myself: "Is the dish truly of any less value?" "Am I?"
Something that'll light those years
Sick of all of the insincere
I'm gonna give all my secrets away"
Secrets by OneRepublic
© Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Not sure why, but this song has become one of my favorites in recent weeks. I find myself humming it in my head many times throughout the day. Maybe because it reminds me of the background music that plays toward the end of one of my favorite Christian programs. Or maybe, because the idea of revealing all my secrets sounds very freeing, especially for someone as fiercely private as I am.
Then again, it could simply boil down to me feeling very weary of having spent years creating the persona of a woman able to hold it together and keep things perfectly under control—not terribly fazed, never deeply hurt, and never really disappointed—no matter what breaks in my life. It's the reason I'm so private, so guarded, for fear that someone might uncover the truth. Much like a porcelain dish, from a distance everything looks perfect and polished, pristinely beautiful. Examine it too closely and you might just see the cracks and imperfections that often result when clay is exposed to extreme heat.Now, I must ask myself: "Is the dish truly of any less value?" "Am I?"
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