Because I Love You

According to Dictionary.com, "Peruse has long meant 'to read thoroughly' and is often used loosely when one could use the word read instead, as in 'The librarians checked to see which titles had been perused in the last month and which been left untouched.' Seventy percent of the Usage Panel rejected this example in our 1999 survey. Sometimes people use it to mean 'to glance over, skim,' as in 'I only had a moment to peruse the manual quickly', but this usage is widely considered an error. In a 1988 survey, 66 percent of the Panel found it unacceptable, and in 1999, 58 percent still rejected it."

So if they lied to us about this, what about the rest of it? Was it all a sham?? It appears that I am experiencing a bit of adolescent trauma a bit late in life. This trauma extended into my work arena as well, the only place, mind you, where I am paid to play the role of an adult. Yet again, the joke was on me. Yes, I fell for it; I was the fool. I freely admit that I was taken to the cleaners. How many more trite adages do I need to throw out there before the beatings cease?? Earlier last year, there was a breach of trust that I couldn't get myself to believe. I kept asking myself how could this be? I rather dislike getting angry, because I simply hate the feeling of anger. And so I tend towards becoming disappointed and sad. But when there is outright lying in what is supposed to be a professional environment, sometimes anger is one of the more effective ways of communicating disapproval. So the iron fist had to come down during what my coworkers affectionately call "The Crackdown". But I must say that I held back tears while threatening to fire the next smug character who dared dry lab data again.

A few months ago I began that post having responded to dishonesty in my factories with unbelief, interlaced with a bit of anger. Outside of work, I have also felt betrayal in my life that put me past the point of merely holding back the flood. In those times, I found myself beseeching God to explain why He would allow such grievous trials to afflict me. Why? Why God? But recently, I was admonished to recall the story of Job. And so my heart is tenderly pulled into a compassionate sympathy for my brother of old, because of the pain he agonized. But I'm reminded not just of the man, but also of the strength and stalwartness of his faith which allowed him to be tested. My head then skirts the negative notions of punishment and malady and for a moment, embraces the comfort of being loved by God. Maybe God loves me so much, He was sure my faith in Him and Spirit filled heart could endure the dolor (neat word, huh?). Maybe He knew I've grown enough to withstand the temptation to throw angry darts upwards at heaven in blame of my plight.

Or maybe not.

I just know that God loves me. And there isn't enough love in my heart to express how grateful I am for that unconditional affection.