Day’?s Verse:
“This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased.”
Matthew 3:17 (context)

I started this blog with the full intention of spending the whole thing complaining about a job situation that has arisen. Read about my personal epiphany.I felt unhappy and left out of the decisions made for our group. Part of the situation evolved when our boss announced she had decided to hire a new report writer to join me and my coworker. Normally I would cheer for this, but instead I sat feeling sullen and left out: Neither my coworker nor I had been invited to interview this new fellow, but instead two women not from our group had done the interviewing for us. We never got any input or heard any news about it whatsoever until Kelly told us that we’d get a new coworker starting March 5th — surprise! Then she told us that she (Kelly) was taking a job elsewhere in the company and would be leaving us within a few weeks; and, further, that our off-site coworkers and one other guy already knew, as she’d been planning this move for a while. What?!

So I started to write this blog feeling very low and left out. I kept hearing voices telling me that I was just this bottom-level drone who didn’t really deserve to give or receive information, but instead should just do my job and let my betters make the real decisions. I felt depressed, small, and useless. On the train home I didn’t feel like reading my book but decided to anyway, thinking that perhaps it would distract me from my feeling of insignificance. I read:

Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: “These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling the truth about myself. The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’?s eyes, called Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting embrace.” (59)

I knew then that God had used Henri Nouwen’?s words in Life of the Beloved to remind me of this deep truth just when I needed it. It reminded me that my job at Charles River, as everywhere, is to love and serve others in any way I can, thereby glorifying God. My desire to be involved in decisions is fine, but not when it causes me to feel hurt and resentful when others fail to pander to that desire.

This morning I rode my bike this morning in actual snow; we estimate about three inches probably coated the roads, maybe a little more. I rode carefully and snow did accumulate on my tires, but I only fell once, on a particularly deep back road. When I fell the chain came off my front gear, which was annoying, but I knew how to put it on thanks to the Bike Chain Samaritan who helped me in October. The rest of the roads had places where cars driving cleared at least two wet ruts to ride in. It took quite a while to get anywhere, as I spent the whole time looking at the road immediately in front of me and I never got above about 13 miles an hour.

I annoyed traffic by riding where they would have liked to drive, and on part of Route 85 past Cordaville Business Park they can’t pass very easily, but I did it anyway: bicyclists have as much right as cars to the road, regardless of the conditions. A bike commuter told me that this summer when I asked about whether he rode in winter, and it’s stuck with me ever since. I have every right to the road, just as much as cars do. …But lacking 2,000 pounds of metal to protect me, I have to be extra-careful in these conditions. Twice I pulled over to let cars pass me and I took corners like an old lady. It was fun, and also scary. I won’t let small amounts of snow deter me in the future. Snow tires would be sweet.

Photo credit: my amazing Dad.

2 thoughts on “Snow Biking and Grumbling

  1. A great quote from your book today! In similar situations I always try to remember this verse, especially the last part.

    I Cor. 13:5 Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong].

    You just keep taking those corners like an old lady. . .

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