this morning, satan was a fifty year old woman who stole my fan

I need to make a confession. I’m technically on weight watchers. I’ve been working out like a fiend and doing everything I can to really try to be a healthier me. But last night, I was bad, so very bad. It involved fettuccini alfredo, reduced fat eggnog, and about 5 bite-sized chocolate chip cookies. And then I opted to skip the gym. For Shame.

So as I’m working around my apartment trying to get some Christmas gifts wrapped and packaged and all that fun stuff, I’m thinking about how horribly pathetic I’ve acted in the nutrition department. So I decide that, as punishment, I should get up early and – don’t miss this – add a morning workout to my Tuesday schedule. Yes, that would be in addition to the evening workout that was already scheduled. So the alarm goes off at quarter to 5. I get up, turn it off, and crawl back in bed.

Duh. What would you do? Jump up and thrill at the thought of donning your sneakers and a hoodie and venturing out in the 28* ridiculous cold? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

So, five minutes later, after unsuccessfully determining which one of my seven alarm clocks I forgot to turn off, I remembered why I was up at this ungodly hour. The gym. Don’t get me wrong, I love the gym as much as the next work out freak. I do not, however, love the gym – or anything other than blanket, pillow, mattress, at five o’clock in the morning. Roosters are still snoozing for pete’s sake.

So I reluctantly pull myself out of bed, put my gym clothes on, take dogs out, brush teeth, and finish other necessary morning activities. I get there, have a great workout, and head to the locker room to shower and get ready for work. And therein lies the problem.

For whatever reason, the people in control of the thermostat at the gym thought it would be fun to make the locker room the equivalent of a muggy August afternoon in, like Charleston or Orlando. Terrific. I’ll be applying makeup with one hand while sponging the sweat off with the other.

But then I caught sight of this beautiful and glorious thing: a fan. There’s a metal floor fan that sits under one of the vanity counters. Some women turn them on and stand in front of them to combat the heat while they’re getting ready. So, with no one to fight me for it, I turned it on, aimed it at me, and went about my business.

An eye shadow and mascara application later, I go to wash my hands, come back and the fan has moved to under the vanity and pointed in the opposite direction…as in directly underfoot for where I’d need to stand to effectively blow-dry my hair. I look around, one lady is sitting nearby, pretty much oblivious to what’s going on. So I pick up the fan and move it back to where I had it. I hear laughter behind me, I turn around and there’s this older lady and her friend, she informs me that she moved the fan so others could benefit from it. That’s fine, I didn’t know there was a problem, and I don’t mind sharing as long as it’s not under foot. So she goes back and puts the fan where it’s directed at the center of the locker room. Not one single soul was in wind-distance of that fan. Not one. The sink was surely getting a cool-down though.

This lady, after taking my fan and making a big fuss about it, retreats to the locker area of the room (as in, the other side of the room from the fan where there is no chance at all that any of the wind from the fan could potentially even remotely think of maybe brushing against her) and starts talking about me. How I’m a fan hog, etc.

Whoa. Yes. I am definitely a fan hog. And no one else was using it. Guilty as charged.

So she’s standing around on the other side of the room talking about me, I’m standing two feet from the fan, sweating, half tempted to really give her something to talk about when I look in the mirror and see my shirt. I was wearing a Newspring tshirt. Crap. So much for taking the fan back and telling her where she can go. Did I just think that? Crap! I did! Stop it, stop it, stop it!

So I spent the rest of hair-styling time trying to convince myself to not leave a bad impression of my church and do or say something that I’d later regret. I noticed that the lady did not – not even for a minute – leave the shelter of the locker area and go anywhere near the fan. It’s like she just made a bit to-do about moving it for fun.

So I go and change into my work clothes, pack my stuff up and walk out of the locker room…proud of myself for being the bigger person. As I’m walking out, I look to my left and notice that fan-thief-police has taken over an entire bench, sit-down vanity, and vanity counter. And she’s concerned because I used a fan when no one else was around? Really. As I opened the door, I hear her wish me a good bye and a great day.

I didn’t answer. I just walked out. Because if I did answer, it wouldn’t have been pretty. It would have resembled something similar to what happens after you give a cat a bath. I’m not sure if she would have survived. And I’m not sure that I would have survived my conscience afterwards.

This morning, Satan was a middle-aged, cranky, fan-thieving, woman. And he almost beat me.

Let me clarify that, for a minute. I’m not directly calling fan-thief Satan, Lucifer, or Leader of the Damned. Rather, I’m referencing how Satan can use anything to tempt us and manipulate us into doing something that God really doesn’t want us to do. It’s silly, really, how something as simple as some lady stealing my fan then laughing about it could really tempt me to sin as much as it did.

In fact, even though I didn’t fall to the temptation to go up to her in her little locker hiding place, and tell her, for someone who wanted the fan so badly, don’t you think you should either go use it or quit acting like a two year old?, I’m still not comfortable with the way I reacted to that situation.

I mean, first, it took every single ounce of strength I had to not respond back with the fervor of a thirteen year old boy on a playground fight. I stood there, blowdryer in one hand, just praying that I could keep my mouth shut, and praying for God to make Satan knock it off. Praying that I wouldn’t let it get the best of me.

But still. I had an opportunity there. An opportunity to respond well, to set an example, to really exemplify what being a Christian is all about. And I totally blew it. Granted, ignoring her goodbye and giving her a not-so-nice could have been way worse, but they weren’t the best either. I’m ashamed of myself for that.

But that’s how Satan works…one thing at a time…each one chips into our Christian exterior. This morning’s events nicked me up a little, but didn’t leave a major dent. Some things do, though, and that’s when it’s most important to look up and shut up. BEG God to keep you focused. It’s like with my diet. I ate a cookie last night, it put a nick in my points. It was ok, easy to overcome. But then, I ate four more and that knick turned into a dent that was harder to work my way out of. For the record, it took an hour of hills on medium/high resistance on an elliptical to work off those extra cookie calories. But, in other areas of life, Satan’s dents can take more than an hour of sweat to counteract.

Sometimes it takes groveling, humbling, and a whole slew of other really uncomfortable things. Sometimes we can’t fix it. But God can. And that’s what I’m really thankful for this holiday season… Grace. Forgiveness. Christ.

~ by jenchall on December 23, 2008.