One of the less fun parts of my job is being a human stress ball. For those unschooled in the fine art of the stress ball, the concept is simple: take any rubber ball and squeeze it until you think it'll explode in your hand. The theory here is that the manic squeezing will release stress and make you a happier, healthier person. The ball doesn't share this theory.
I'm that ball. Except instead of squeezing, the stressed out mechanic (foreman, general foreman, etc.) will yell, strut, gesture wildly, and, occasionally, release meaningless combinations of swear words in amazingly long run-on sentences.
And what do I do? Well, on my bad days, the ones where I didn't get enough sleep, or got to work late, or simply felt cranky, I yell right back. This does little to help the situation because they really weren't mad at me in the first place. They're mad at something that is out of their (and usually my) power to correct.
On my good days, I smile at them. This does two things. First, it calms me. I find it difficult to muster a white-hot rage when I'm smiling. Second, it removes me from the argument. It doesn't make the angry mechanic happy, but it gets the point across that they're the only angry one in the room. Please don't think that I allow myself to be a doormat. Part of my job is correcting angry mechanics, and I do that. But you can't reason with someone who's yelling. At that point, all cognitive functions have shut off.
Being on the stress ball end of the situation has taught me something important: most people really don't know what they're actually mad about. They might think it's you, but it's really the fact that they have two days to do three weeks worth of work on a shockingly expensive component, or the fight they had with their wife the night before that ended poorly, or one of a hundred reasons or combinations of reasons. And that, in itself, wouldn't be enough for me to let any of that slide. Frankly, that makes it worse. Why should I suffer for their bad day? What gives them the right to use me as a human stress ball?
Why? Because those angry people are loved by God just like me. That probably sounds cheesy, but it's true. God, in all his mercy, has enough love for angry people who use poor defenseless engineers as human stress balls. Even loves those frustatingly stubborn engineers. And if God can forgive and love me, I can take some small abuse from time to time.
I don't want to leave the impression that I'm somehow absorbing abuse based on the natural thickness of my skin, or that my absorbing abuse is somehow note worthy. People who've known me for a long time know that I'm not usually the calmest of people in the face of adversity. I don't grin and bear it based on some formula I came up with for personal habit modification. The way I deal with this, and many other problems in my life is as follows: the fruits of the Holy Spirit (which include patience) are real. They're not always obvious. People aren't always blinded by the golden light that turns you into a human flashlight (although that would be useful sometimes). I'm finding more and more that God is in the subtlies of life. I often don't notice Him working through me until I look back on a situation and wonder exactly how I managed to do what I did. Without God, I'd be yelling, stomping, and getting red in the face just like everyone else. My friends have stories. Trust me.
So does it matter how we react to situations like that? Yeah, it does. On one notable occasion, a mechanic came up to me the day after giving me a solid five minute yell-a-thon (it felt more like twenty minutes), patted me on the back, and, with a smile, said, "Morning, Tom." Which, translating from man-speak to English, roughly means: all is well between you and I.
The way we react to the million different problems we have each day ultimately determines the kind of people we end up being and how we impact those around us. I could run around telling people I'm a Christian day and night, but unless I act like it, they'll say, "So what? What difference does this Christ make in your life?" The great commission isn't confined to the mission field. The world outside your church doors is your mission field. Your life is your witness.
Try saying that, just once. "My life is my witness."
Scary, huh?
I'm that ball. Except instead of squeezing, the stressed out mechanic (foreman, general foreman, etc.) will yell, strut, gesture wildly, and, occasionally, release meaningless combinations of swear words in amazingly long run-on sentences.
And what do I do? Well, on my bad days, the ones where I didn't get enough sleep, or got to work late, or simply felt cranky, I yell right back. This does little to help the situation because they really weren't mad at me in the first place. They're mad at something that is out of their (and usually my) power to correct.
On my good days, I smile at them. This does two things. First, it calms me. I find it difficult to muster a white-hot rage when I'm smiling. Second, it removes me from the argument. It doesn't make the angry mechanic happy, but it gets the point across that they're the only angry one in the room. Please don't think that I allow myself to be a doormat. Part of my job is correcting angry mechanics, and I do that. But you can't reason with someone who's yelling. At that point, all cognitive functions have shut off.
Being on the stress ball end of the situation has taught me something important: most people really don't know what they're actually mad about. They might think it's you, but it's really the fact that they have two days to do three weeks worth of work on a shockingly expensive component, or the fight they had with their wife the night before that ended poorly, or one of a hundred reasons or combinations of reasons. And that, in itself, wouldn't be enough for me to let any of that slide. Frankly, that makes it worse. Why should I suffer for their bad day? What gives them the right to use me as a human stress ball?
Why? Because those angry people are loved by God just like me. That probably sounds cheesy, but it's true. God, in all his mercy, has enough love for angry people who use poor defenseless engineers as human stress balls. Even loves those frustatingly stubborn engineers. And if God can forgive and love me, I can take some small abuse from time to time.
I don't want to leave the impression that I'm somehow absorbing abuse based on the natural thickness of my skin, or that my absorbing abuse is somehow note worthy. People who've known me for a long time know that I'm not usually the calmest of people in the face of adversity. I don't grin and bear it based on some formula I came up with for personal habit modification. The way I deal with this, and many other problems in my life is as follows: the fruits of the Holy Spirit (which include patience) are real. They're not always obvious. People aren't always blinded by the golden light that turns you into a human flashlight (although that would be useful sometimes). I'm finding more and more that God is in the subtlies of life. I often don't notice Him working through me until I look back on a situation and wonder exactly how I managed to do what I did. Without God, I'd be yelling, stomping, and getting red in the face just like everyone else. My friends have stories. Trust me.
So does it matter how we react to situations like that? Yeah, it does. On one notable occasion, a mechanic came up to me the day after giving me a solid five minute yell-a-thon (it felt more like twenty minutes), patted me on the back, and, with a smile, said, "Morning, Tom." Which, translating from man-speak to English, roughly means: all is well between you and I.
The way we react to the million different problems we have each day ultimately determines the kind of people we end up being and how we impact those around us. I could run around telling people I'm a Christian day and night, but unless I act like it, they'll say, "So what? What difference does this Christ make in your life?" The great commission isn't confined to the mission field. The world outside your church doors is your mission field. Your life is your witness.
Try saying that, just once. "My life is my witness."
Scary, huh?
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