A Very Not-Funny Doctor Story...

I was at my desk on Friday as usual. Also as usual, the course director didn't arrive at work until about 2 pm. Again as usual, he dropped by my desk first thing.

"When's the exam due to be duplicated?" he asked.

"Monday," I responded.

He gave me a highly offended look. "That's not what we did last year."

"Yes it is," I said cautiously. "I just adjusted my schedule from last year to fit this year."

"No," he said, growing forceful. "I'm sure that's not right. Am I going insane?" He dropped his papers on my desk and pulled on his red hair.

"Look," I said, "Do you need more time? Because we can have it duplicated on Tuesday. I haven't actually made the appointment yet."

He was looking at me with his 'how could you be so stupid' look. I hate that look. "I'm sure I'm not insane, we didn't do two days before last year."

"Just because I had it on my calendar to have it done two days before doesn't mean it got done two days before - maybe that's what you're remembering." I offered.

"I'm sure you're wrong," he said, growing ever more aggitated.

"If you want it on Tuesday we can do that. There's no standard to follow. You're the course director - just say Tuesday and it'll be done Tuesday. It doesn't matter what was done last year."

He held up his hands to silence me. "Let's ask your supervisor," he said, turning to her desk beside me. She was on the phone, and he said quietly 'I need to talk to you' in a very serious and grave tone.

I was astonished. The course director knows better than anyone that I'm the one who handles all the administration of the course - including getting our exams duplicated. All my supervisor does is put the finished exams in batches of 10 and clips them together. It completely confused me that the course director was now petitioning her for an authoritative account of what happened the year before.

She hung up and gravely told the course director that she had definitely gotten the exam the day before it was to be administered.

The course director looked back at me. "See? I'm NOT insane." He was so intense I thought he might start screaming.

I didn't know what to do. I was completely aghast. I'd never heard him speak that way to me or question me as he just had. In 30 seconds I could produce the proof of what I had said and I was sure he knew that. I was also sure he knew that my supervisor did nothing to administrate the course but paperclip exams. He didn't even seem to listen to me when I repeated over and over that we weren't bound to what we did last year - as course director all he had to do was say the word and things would change. Why was it so important that he confirm he was right, even if that confirmation came from someone with no authority on the subject and could be shot down by a couple clicks of my mouse?

I leaned back in my chair and grabbed a pad and pen. "Tell me what to do," I said flatly.

I wrote down that I was to have the exam duplicated Tuesday. The course director left.

"It'll be alright," my supervisor said to me in her smirking way. I felt like I could hear in her voice her pleasure of having been given the last word on the subject.

I just turned away and went back to my work. The course director came back in a couple of times with questions. I answered with nodds. He didn't hear another word from me the whole day.

Awful scenes like that never leave you alone. As I was walking to the bus stop after work I couldn't escape all the course director's mean looks and aggresive finger jabs. I replayed it over and over in my mind trying to figure out what I did to make him so angry. I couldn't find a thing. I'd said one word - 'Monday' - and it was like I'd thrown a match into gasoline. Rare is the time I could say it, but after an hour commute home of thinking it over, I was convinced I hadn't done anything wrong that would have warranted the response I got.

I'm not saying I didn't respond sinfully after the fact. I certainly got bitter. I was certainly offended that my word was scoffed at, and got terribly self-righteous. I completely withdrew in fear. That's all sin.

Talking to my husband later about it, he asked me if I felt like I deserved better treatment.

"You know what?" I answered. "When you and I fight, usually we sit down and talk about how it started, and pretty usually I contributed to starting that conflict - my tone of voice, my choice of words, my actions, something I did helped that conflict along. In those times, it's easier to say to myself that we're both sinners and to forgive you for your part because when I see my sin, it's easier to tell myself I really don't deserve better. But This time, I really feel like I did deserve better. I did nothing but follow my plan from last year, and when he sounded like he needed more time to finish preparing the exam, I said over and over that that wasn't a problem. It seemed like it became completely about him making sure he was right and I was wrong, and it didn't matter if that confirmation would hold water - he just had to hear it. So yeah, this time, I do feel like I didn't deserve what I got."

Of course the truth of the gospel is that I deserve alot worse than I got from the course director. My husband walked me through this and helped me bring the gospel to bear on my situation. As we meditated on the gospel together, a thought started growing in my mind.

"You know," I said to my husband. "Grace is pretty amazing. I did nothing to incurr the response I got from the course director today. Now, I want nothing more than to cast him away from me and never have to deal with him again. He sinned against me and it hurt. But the gospel tells me that my sin against God is so much greater than the course director's sin against me. God didn't do anything to incurr the reponses I give him, and I do the same thing to God that the course director did to me. But God didn't cast me away. He did just the opposite - he saved me and brought me near to him, and is now teaching me how to turn from those sins against him."

I feel like I was given a pretty astonishing gift in this whole thing - I'll certainly never be able to understand fully, but now I have a better idea of grace.

A humerous exchange

I have befriended a sales rep for a local office supply company.

THE SETTING: I was asked by Miss Money to place an office order a couple days ago. I couldn't get around to it until today, and each time I was ready to place the order, someone would come in and ask me to add something else.

Below is our email exchange today. You can see sometimes I had to send him another email before he could even reply to my first.

Me: this has been a whirlwind of a day, but I couldln't let it end withoutgetting some quotes from you!

Sales Rep: As we stare at the new fiscal year, head-on, cross-eyed and with the dreams of mo' money, I hope things are going well.

Me: I think there's a certain smell I give off when I'm JUST about to place an office order - because, without fail, they always come on droves from all corners of the university to request things just as I'm about to enter the order!

Sales Rep: They are called "Office Product Pharamones" I can smell them from here! Keep your mace handy, it's like crack to a crackhead!

Me: I don't think my OP Pharamones have ever worked so well! I should donate myself to scientific study! NO! I should go into SALES! Think of all the ways this could be exploited!

Me again: This is AMAZING! I wonder if it could somehow be weaponized...

Sales Rep: Would you consider wearing a T-shirt with my company's name on it as you walk the halls? I guess it's almost like being a Jedi!

Little things like this make being a secretary sooooooo worthwhile. =)

Mrs. Faherty

"Well you all married the same woman!" Pat said accross the circular table.

Paul, Mike and Tom all looked at each other. We ladies laughed.

Mary and Becky exchanged smiles. "I think she means the same kind of woman," Becky interjected, always wanting to contribute to clarity.

"Yes," Pat said. "You all married women who were quiet, somewhat religious and kind."

The men exploded in laughter. I couldn't help chuckling into my napkin as well - "that was true most of the time..." I thought affectionately.

"My dear," Mike said, "Where have you been keeping that woman?" More laughes.

"Yes," Tom said, "especially since we all married her!"

Becky leaned over and whispered into my ear "Don't be decieved," she said. "They may make fun, but the Faherty men love their women."

I smiled. Tom and Becky Faherty, my parents-in-law. Paul and Mary Faherty, my uncle and aunt by marriage - Tom's brother and his wife. Pat and Mike Faherty - my pa-in-law's cousin and her wife. And then there was me - the newest Faherty, married to Tom and Becky's only son Stephan.

I was at that dinner alone. My "Faherty man" was at work, but I was dining with these old fogies and listening to their wonderful stories, memories and humor - always humor. I loved it. But what I loved most was seeing how right my mother in law was - these men adored their wives. There are alot of things I make very clear that I want no part of. The Faherty women's 'eye' is one of them - that menacing, threatening look from under your eyebrows through slitted eyes. Very scary. The Faherty women's 'finger' is another - that's the one they raise in the air that will magically bring the waitress from anywhere in the restaraunt or open doors that aren't supposed to be opened. I don't have it or want it. But this - having married a Faherty man from a line of men who loved their wives - that's a heritage I'll partake of.

My husband and I were at home earlier this week when we got a call. Mary was in the hospital. It wasn't looking good.

We made plans to leave. We just had to wait for my brother and sister-in-law to fly in from Misourri. More calls. "No change." "Her sister's here now." Then "She's awake." We might make it. Later that night, we got the call - "she's dead."

The next day the six of us rode in a caravan to West Virginia, where we met up with Mary's husband Paul. What a joy it was to be with him! I hope we blessed him half as much as he blessed me. The viewing was sad. The funeral was sadder. Paul made to leave immediately after the service.

"I'm sad I didn't know her better," I said as I hugged him goodbye. "But I'm glad you're still here."

"Well, you've lost the better of us," he said. I smiled. He'd been saying that all day. He truly believed it. "Eat something," he said, poking my stomach. I smiled again, a little bigger. He'd been saying that all day too.

He left. Me and my parents-in-law and siblings-in-law terried a while and went to visit my father-in-law's parent's grave. Tom astutely pointed out that they'd be burrying Mary at that time, and she and Paul had spaces right next to his parents. We decided to go anyway.

We payed our respects to Stephan's grandparents and as we were leaving we got to see them laying Mary's headstone. It was long - twice as long as it needed to be. Mary's headstone only took up half of the marble slab. Paul's would go next to her's.

We left at that point, but I turned one last glance back at Mary's headstone. It had her name, her date of birth (her death date wasn't screwed on yet) and a simple two word inscription.

"Beloved wife," I read.

Don't be decieved, my mother in law had said. The Faherty men love their women.

Yes they do. My eyes welled with tears as I realized I hadn't yet know the love that Mary had, the love of a Faherty man for 40 years. But by God's grace, I would. I'd married a Faherty man - and he made it plain every day how much he loves me. He'd had some good examples, I guess.

I walked back to the car, resolved to make it a point to know these guys and their wives better - and to be worthy of the title that these other women had carried before me - that of Mrs. Faherty.