SEVENTY-SEVEN TIMES

 

In the heat of the corporate rat race, God popped up - and I lost my race.

Entering the race, where we would compete with each other for money and power, I thought I was equipped enough as a National State Scholar graduate with a Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering degree in Mindanao State University. More than two dozen racers at the starting line included a summa and a magna cumlaude, and a handful of cumlaude graduates from various prestigious engineering schools in the country. Romy, my fellow graduate, cracked a joke: "Will the company recognize my award – Most Behaved Graduate?"

Just as my curriculum vitae appeared second class, so too my civil engineering course seemed to be a square peg in a round hole in the National Steel Corporation manufacturing plant. Having a hunch of a gloomy prospect ahead, there and then, I committed myself by boosting my race car's horsepower and made up my mind in making headway through the wide managerial road instead of the narrow specialist route.

For the next four years, I boosted my credentials with three postgraduate studies: Master of Business Management in Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology, Diploma in Research and Development Management in University of the Philippines-Los Banos, and Master Program of Management Studies in the Institute of Certified Professional Managers (ICPM) in Virginia, USA. ICPM conducted the class online (a precursor of what's happening today) by sending me 20 management books. At my own pace, I read the first book, from cover to cover, answered a set of more than a hundred questions, and then sent the set of my answers to ICPM. Then, I read the second book, and so on, until I read the whole 20 books in 3 months, and ultimately received a highly sought-after international ICPM certificate. Being one of the three only in the whole country who completed the course, showed how I was too determined in boosting my race car's horsepower.

At the end of one phase of the race, something irregular happened: all racers sped away without me due to some technicality – the rules changed – by my boss who seemed to have not liked me since the first time he saw my face. That first time was when I won a logo design contest. While I was presenting the blue logo's significance like "true blue" for loyalty, or "blue ribbon" for the best, or "blue blood" for royalty, suddenly, my boss cut in: "How about a 'blue baby'?"

A total reorganization and mass promotion took place in the company and my boss ruled me out. Let me turn my metaphor to basketball: Even if I had played, at that time, like LeBron, my coach just benched me because he didn't like me. Period. That's the root of the rule change in the middle of the race.

Most feared throughout the plant, my boss didn't like me because I was different from the other guys. I didn't laugh at his jokes. I walked away from the crowd getting a load of his wisdom at company time's expense. He surely could have noticed me -- a different person -- in my eyes, in my words, and in my actions. And he was right – I was different because God had touched me that changed a whole lot of my life. But, for being different, the price I paid was high – no promotion and no brand-new company car. My horsepower booster – postgraduate achievements -- were no match to my boss' mighty wand.

I complained to Him, like the Israelites who complained about the lack of food and water in the desert: "Isn't this unfair? I do your business, but I lost my race." The most discomfiting picture I was seeing in my mind's eyes, at that time, while lamenting my plight: I am driving an assembled utility vehicle while the rest are driving their brand-new cars.

Meanwhile, my wife was working in the bank when, out of the blue, a car dealer dropped by and offered her a special car sale promo, so unbelievably attractive, that she took it straight away. When she got home, she broke to me the amazing news: our brand-new car. As she told me about the details – a teeny-weeny down payment, all paper works to be done by the sales rep, and I could drive the brand-new car home in a week or two – I was tongue-tied. Holding back my tears, I was talking to Him in my mind, "Lord, you too feel how I'd been hurt. Thank you." A few days later, while they were driving their brand-new cars, I was also driving mine.

As I hit the keys in composing this article, a wondrous event in the past has kept on flashing in my mind. My wife and I, with our small kid, attended a party hosted by Nancy, my wife's officemate. There, I saw my boss - and throughout our stay, I felt too restless with my stomach in knots. Raining hard at parting time, Nancy made sure everyone had a safe ride home. We found ourselves inside one SUV -- with my boss and his wife – that ran out of the seat for our kid. To my surprise, my boss held our kid and let him sit on his lap while kiddie-chatting to comfort him. Thinking of this one touching picture, as I wrap up this article, wipes off every inch of my righteous indignation toward my late boss.

Peter: Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?

Jesus: I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

Dear Reader, I still have seventy-six acts of forgiveness left to spare. How about you?

 

 

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Aesthetics by Dionne

Technicals by Lroy

Original Photo from https://tinyurl.com/ratraces