FRUSTRATION

 

Have you ever had a good day suddenly turn into frustration?  Today was one of those days.  It started before my trip to Sam’s in Tuscaloosa, but it was at Sam’s trying to find some apple blossom antibacterial dishwashing detergent that major frustration reared its ugly head.

I don’t think the powers that be for Walmart and Sam’s really know how frustrating their constant changing of product locations is for employees and customers.  Then again, they my get their kicks from doing such things.

I remember trying to find some dried cherries, which are good for arthritis.  One would think that dried cherries would be in the fruit section of Walmart.  Wrong!  They are located next to flour products.

One Christmas on the way to Gulf Shores, I was instructed to stop at the Foley Walmart and buy some cranberry sauce.  I looked high and low to no avail.  I finally asked a lady shopper if she new where they may have hidden it, but she did not know.  I asked a Walmart associate, but she did not know.  I was just about frustrated enough to buy fresh cranberries and crush them myself but another lady over heard my dilemma and told me where I could find the cranberry sauce.  Once again, it was a secret Walmart area.

Webster’s dictionary defines frustrate as “prevent from succeeding, keep from doing, or being a failure.”  The Greek word for frustrate is ekkopto meaning, “to cut off, to cut out.”

I remember being in a “Take Two” safety class where the facilitator asked for the definition of frustration.  I said, “Mill room.”  Everyone in the class agreed.

Gerald, the facilitator asked, “What’s the mill room?”

The mill room housed six finish mills for grinding a mixture of clinkers, limestone, and gypsum to make cement and mortar mix.  Clinkers are limestone, sand, and iron ore ground and then cooked in a kiln.

The mills were large tubular cylinders filled with three-inch steel balls spinning round and round.  The mill room was loud and dusty.  Everyday laborers went into the mill to sweep, pile, shovel, and push wheel barrels of cement waste and dust that leaked or spilled from the mills, discharge chutes, and pipes.  One could never see any progress.  The waste and dust were the same after a few minutes.  Everyday was the same.  Every day was the same!

The mill room was busy work since each employee was guaranteed forty hours each week.  Anytime someone’s job was down, off to the mill room with earplugs, respirators, hardhat, safety glasses, a shop broom, number two flat shovel, and wheel barrel.  Everyday same job, same result.  FRUSTRATION.

Now, back to Sam’s.  My buggy pulled to the right.  I constantly had to push harder on the right side.  I put five gallons of hydraulic fluid on the left side, but it still pulled right.  I put a large container of All liquid detergent on top of the fluid and it still pulled right.  I went up and down aisle after aisle trying to find the Palmolive detergent.  I did some more shopping and returned another time across the store fighting the right determined minded buggy to find the Palmolive detergent.  I could not fine a Sam associate.  I guess someone placed them in an obscure place.

I fought my way to the checkout line.  The cashier said I could keep everything in the buggy.  I gave her my Sam’s card.  Guess what?  She told me that my membership card had not been renewed and that I would have check with Customer Service.

At Customer Service, there were five people ahead of me.  I waited patiently trying to figure out how to find apple blossom Palmolive dishwashing detergent.

Finally, a young girl behind the counter asked if she could help.  I told her that the cashier said I needed to update my membership card.  He checked and told me that the membership fee had not been paid.  I assured her it had she said it had not.  After a frustrating moment with her, I paid the fee only to find that now there were three large carts filled to capacity in my line.

When I got back to the office the secretary gave me the information where the membership had been paid.  I called Sam’s customer service and talked with a representative.  I just thought I was frustrated.  She said that if I would bring back the receipt or a copy of where we paid the bill, that customer service would give me the money.  I informed her that it was not my fault and that she could promptly credit our card so I would not have to make the trip back to Tuscaloosa.

When I think about it, it is the evil one trying to kill my joy and hinder my thoughts before I preach at a revival that night.  This frustration too shall pass.  I get to have my say Monday with the Customer Service manager who was conveniently out of town. 

Monday I could use the Scripture and use ekkopto as found in Matthew 5:30a, but it would not be my right hand.  And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off . . .

So, until Monday, my thoughts will be on Exodus 14:14.

The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.

 

What sends you into panic mode?

I hate to admit it, but I go into panic mode on occasion.  It is said that confession is good for the soul.  I say that it is bad for the ego.  My coworkers once said that I was Mr. Cool when trouble was raging.  What they did not know was I was just as scared as they were.  I could conceal it by pretending to be in control.  If they only knew the truth!

The other day I went into panic mode and it was not a very big event.  I had driven to the local gas station to fill my new zero turn mower with gas.  As I reached to open the tank, I noticed that the right gas cap was missing.  I had checked the gas before leaving home and that’s when the panic started. 

Where was the gas cap?  A new mower and I have already lost one of the two gas caps.  I can’t believe I lost a brand new cap, will they have a new one at Slayton Brothers, will they have to order it, how long will it take, how will I explain to Sharon how a lost the cap, where is it, how can I keep the gas from jumping out, did that mischievous looking young man get my cap while I was not looking, can I find it if I back track my path, did it come off when I left the shed. . .  Did I mention I was about to panic?

After filling both tanks, I borrowed a plastic bag and rubber band from the store clerk and temporarily stopped the hole of the missing cap.  Then in a frantic, not panic, I was calming myself with possible answers to family, friends, the mower salesman, for losing a gas cap.  I backtracked the quarter mile journey back to my shed.  With no gas cap, I retraced my trail back to the store.  I could not enjoy the sweet fragrance of kudzu blooms; they seemed more sickening than refreshing or reassuring.  During the retracing, I saw everything a person could imagine but no gas cap.  I turned around at the store and retraced the path back home again.  Three trips and no cap.

I began a journey of panic recovery.  It was silly of me to panic over a plastic gas cap.  Then, I thought of other times I panicked.  There was the time when my son Aaron, a seven-month-old in a baby car seat locked the car door.  It was December, it was cold, the car was running, and I was trying to get to my college graduation rehearsal.  I imagined the headlines: College graduate so stupid baby dies in locked car from carbon monoxide poisoning.  Yep, I panicked.  I tried to find another key, I picked up a brick to knock out the car window, I googooed and gagaed trying to get Aaron to hit the electric lock again, and I finally decided to break into the car.  I got a clothes hanger, jimmied the car door, and pulled the lock open.

My mind continued race as I returned home and began cutting grass.  I thought about the time I could not find the laptop I had checked out of the Samford Library.  Several of us who were working on our doctorates used laptops to take notes.  I remember having it when I got into the car for the forty-five-minute trip to school.  Where was it, did I put on the top of the car when I loaded my books, did it fall on the driveway, did it fall on the highway, how much will it cost, will it cost me my graduation, will they take a credit card, will I have to work off the payment. . .  All these things raced through my mind as I frantically searched the back seat and the trunk over and over.  When I finally decided to face the music by breaking the bad news to the library, I realized the laptop was in its bag and on my shoulder.  Did you know that laughing at yourself relieves panic?

As I giggled about the laptop, I resolved to bite the bullet and suffer the consequences of losing a cap.  I would tell everyone that I was just a dummy.  It was a trivial and insignificant loss and could happen to anyone over age fifty.  There are more urgent matters, such as adjusting my seat.  The seat belt was hung so I had to step off the mower to make the adjustment.  As I reached between the seat and mower, there was the lost gas cap.  I laughed as I said, “Thank you Jesus.”  I thought that sometimes it is silly what sends us into panic mode.

An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up (Proverbs 12:25 NIV).

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you (I Peter 5:7 NIV).

The Hurt in My Brother's Eye

Several years ago I had compassion for my little brother at a funeral.  It was my little brother’s best friend who had a heart attack at age forty-seven.  All of us were together back in May for a wedding of my nephew, my little brother’s son.  It is sobering remembering that in May we were having a great time singing with the aid of a Deejay with a karaoke machine and in September my brother and I were solemnly singing How Great Thou Are at his best friend’s funeral.

At the funeral I thought about watching my little brother and his friend when they were small.  Sometimes that is how you picture people regardless of their age.  My little brother is six feet four inches tall and weighs @ 250.  He looks like Steve Austin, the professional wrestler.  In fact he has stopped trying to convince people he is not Steve Austin and started signing autographs.  He said it was not worth the trouble.

One of my fondest memories is around the start of school and fall of the year.  My little brother was not old enough to be in school and one day when we got off the school bus he ran to meet us.  We could not wait to get home and pull off our shoes.  Don’t laugh.  We did not wear shoes during the summer so after a long day of new school shoes it was a wonderful to free cramped feet.

We were playing outside and we heard a loud scream.  Momma’s first inclination was kids fighting, but we were all with her except little brother.  Momma ran to find him.  He appeared to be all right so she asked him what was wrong.  He told her that he was okay, but momma told him that he screamed for some reason.

Now, you have to understand our upbringing.  If you got hurt you also got a whuppin’ which is Chiltonian for whipping.  That was life in the hills and hollers of Chilton County.  Don’t tell momma you were hurt.

Momma looked my little brother in the eyes and made a frightening discovery.  His eye was bleeding from four, that’s right, 4 holes in his eyeball.  Blood and other gooey substance were coming from his eye.  Knowing he would get a whuppin’, he refused to say what happened.   After threatening to kill him if he didn’t tell, my little brother “spilled the beans.”

It seems that the day had been cool and momma made him wear some work boots.  When we got home and pulled off our shoes, he wanted to pull off his.  The laces had a knot and somewhere along the way he had learned you could use a fork to pry loose a knot in shoe laces.  Using pressure in an effort to untie the knot, he poked the fork in his eye.  Afraid momma would “whup” him, he pulled it out.

Momma went ballistic.  She called daddy who worked evening shift.  He rushed home and took him to our family doctor, the famous Dr. Joe, my cousin Stevie’s best friend.  Dr. Joe sent daddy to the Eye Foundation Hospital in Birmingham.

This was back before Interstate 65 was complete.  Daddy swung back by the house to tell momma he was headed to Birmingham.  He made the trip of 50 miles in forty-five minutes.  That’s not remarkable now days, but in 1967 on dirt roads, farm to market highways, and old US Highway 31 it is pretty impressive.  Take into consideration that a Montevallo police pulled daddy over, it is pretty extraordinary.

When the officer asked daddy what was the hurry, daddy told my brother to look the policeman in the eye.  The officer told daddy to follow him and escorted our old 1958 Chevrolet Biscayne right to downtown Birmingham.

My little brother’s pupil is oblong and looks like a cat’s eye, but he has perfect vision.  I think often of that fork in his eye.  I noticed him at the funeral as he took a handkerchief and wiped tears.  Once again I saw hurt in my brother’s eye.

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?  Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?  Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye (Matthew 7:3-5 KJV).