Oh, man. I did it again. Again. I took the bait.
The snark bait. (If you’re wondering what this has to do with gears slipping, just wait …)
Yep, I took the bait, even after I’ve been trying so hard to resist taking the bait when the snarks start circling. But I failed.
You know how it is – someone says something snarky … or nasty … or stealthily insulting, and before you can hook it and reel it back in, out of your mouth pops a snarky response. Snark for snark. Not good. Not right. Not Joseph-like (he of the coat of many colors who opted to return good for evil to his brothers who came seeking food in Egypt after selling Joe as a teen slave).
And certainly not Jesus-like.
In asking for forgiveness, I’m not counting (maybe I should), but I have a feeling my tally for taking snark bait when I shouldn’t is going to surpass seventy-times-seven. I’ve bitten quite a few heads off.
This week.
So here’s how it came down. Yesterday I was riding my bike through my neighborhood when the Rules Dude overtook me. Overtaking me on my bicycle is not hard; a three-year-old on a tricycle could do it. I roll more than ride and my bike is a fat-wheeled, pink, old lady coaster bike named Stella that’s getting some age on her nowadays. I ride more to clear my head, feel the breeze on my face, and to commune with Papa God in the Cathedral of His Creation than for exercise. To best achieve these goals, I’ve chosen not to wear a helmet. (Now please don’t inundate me with criticism for this decision; I appreciate your concern for my safety, but I’ve made my decision willingly and intentionally as an adult (sorta) who will never break the 10-mph barrier and who carefully watches out for traffic, which is rare on my regular bike route.)
So I was rolling along, enjoying my communion with Mother Nature and Papa God, when the Rules Dude, gray-haired, hard-helmeted, and dressed to the nines in flashy racing attire (to make a statement, I supposed), flew up beside me on his sleek racing bike, braked just long enough to tap his helmet with his hand and call out (without eye contact), “You should be wearing one of these, lady!”
Now I don’t know Rules Dude and he doesn’t know me. And this isn’t the first time he’s hijacked my peaceful nature ride with the same unwanted advice. The last time, I responded, “Do you not know that unsoliticed advice from strangers is rarely accepted and never appreciated? So keep it to yourself, bub.”
My own unsoliticed advice obviously was neither accepted nor appreciated in turn because he just tossed the same snark at me yet again.
And I bit. Again.
As he pedaled away, I responded, “Well sir, you have a nice day on your island of self-righteousness.”
Oh, dear. Did I really say that? Where, oh where has my Joseph-attitude gone?
I immediately felt contrite. My gears had slipped and I’d backslidden into a dark snark cave again. Will I ever get this “love your neighbor” thing right? Apparently not when my neighbor is as snarky as I am.
So I need your advice, dearest BFFs (Blessed Friends Forever) – what do you do when such spontaneous snark pours forth from you? Or am I the only one? Are you able to maintain your Joseph-attitude (returning good for evil; kindness for unkindness) when you’re torqued? If so, how?
For those of you who read my books, I’ll add that I did implement the Dead Dog technique (which I highly endorse as an effective anger management tool), but by the time I’d convinced myself that Rules Dude’s dearly beloved Rotweiller had most likely just died (and his grief drove him to rudeness – now that’s forgiveable!) and probably his dear wife too (so the poor man has no one left to rein in his know-it-all-ness and bad manners), he was already out of earshot. My freshly dredged-up compassion was for naught.
I even tried the POV that he is really a lovely fellow – probably feeds starving bunnies in his backyard – who is concerned about the health and safety of total strangers because his sweet little granddaughter was maimed while bicycling helmetless in heavy traffic last Tuesday. Sniff. 
But somehow my imaginative sob stories didn’t stick this time. He still seemed like a crotchety old guy with nothing better to do than ride around on his superior racing bike telling people what they should and shouldn’t do.
Or – God forbid – is the problem me? Are my gears slipping because my attitude is slipping? Am I just stuck in overly-sensitive, hyper-judgmental mode and am overreacting?
Gulp. It’s okay, you can tell me the truth (I’ll only cry a little). If my BFF won’t tell me the hard truth about myself, whom can I turn to?
Well, gotta go try and find my Joseph-attitude. I seem to have dropped it somewhere around here.
P.S. Check out my new Bless Your Heart scripture cards HERE. Each Box of 52 blessings is only $4.99 to share with those whose paths you cross. Hmm. I wonder if Rules Dude would care for one???