Enter The Villain     It was early in the winter of 1968 when I was sent to the Los Angeles Zoo's version of Siberia.  I had participated in the development of  our local chapter of the American Association of Zoo Keepers, and most of our keepers were becoming involved in the organization.  It wa merely an educational fellowship, but our acting director was sure  that it would become a labour union.  He did everything he could to discourage our growth, and he even made attempts to control our activities.  The group met after hours, off of the zoo property, and we paid for our own speakers out of our own pockets. One afternoon the director invited me to his office and told me what the organization could and could not print in our monthly newsletter.  I was our group's vice president in charge of programming, and I made it clear that what we did in our own time with our own money was our concern and our concern only.  I was insulted, and I told him he had no more right directing our activities than those of the Boy Scouts of America.  Our meeting came to an abrupt halt, and I was excused. Two weeks later my supervisor came to me and said, "Richmond, I have bad news for you.  You've been transfered to the 410 section." The 410 section was reserved for those to be punished.  It was larger than any section in the zoo and contained more animals that could be cared for in eight hours of work.  I was sick for two reasons.  One, I had known other keepers whose spirits had been broken by the immensity of the task.  They were good men who had been drained of joy and heart.  And two, I was very happy where I was. I worked with Dr. Charles Sedgwick, the zoo's beloved veterinarian, caring for the animals at the health center.  He was a thoughtful and considerate supervisor and was more than willing to spend every spare moment answering my endless string of questions.  That time was the highlight of my zoo career.  But it was now being ended by a man that I thoroughly disliked and had now begun to loathe. I asked why I was being transferred, and the answer I was given was, "The acting director believes you have real potential and said it was time to broaden your horizons." I was trained for two days on the 410 section, then I was left on my own.  It didn't take me long to discover that I could not do the work in eight hours: it would take at least ten.  I stayed an hour later each afternoon and worked  through my break times so that I might have a nice-looking section.  I even ate my lunch on the run, vowing that the acting director would not break my spirit.  The energy that motivated me was the hatred that was growing in my soul.  The section became a showcase, and I received satisfaction from the thought that the man might be bothered because I was doing the job.  I was beating Siberia. Then the rains came.  It was the only year of my life that it rained for eighteen consecutive days in Southern California.  I had to move tons of dirt that had washed to the bottom of my exhibits back to the top.  That was when my spirit began to die.  The man who had done this to me would often drive by my section in his green Dodge Dart.  I would gnash my teeth and get so angry that I would get an upset stomach.  I entertained fantasies of the man dying in a fiery car crash.  I even hoped the zoo's king cobra would bite him since I knew he could never survive.  I hated him.  I never thought about it.  I just did. It never occurred to me how my life was looking to others.  I felt justified in my hatred.  But I was to find out how I looked-the hard way. My senior keeper's name was Scott.  He confided in me one day that he was discouraged with life.  He was drinking more than he thought he should, he was depressed, and he didn't feel any sense of purpose in life.  I thought this a perfect time to share my faith in Christ. "Have you ever thought about turning your life over to Christ?" I asked in my most thoughtful and caring voice. "Yeah," he said, "But I decided not to." "Why?" I probed. "Because all Christians are hypocrites." "I'm a Christian and I'm not a hypocrite." He smiled and said, "You are too."  It was a disconcerting smile. "Why do you say That?" I asked, hoping he didn't have a good reason. "Aren't Christians supposed to love their enemies?" "Yes." "You hate the director's guts.  I've seen you look at him like you want to kill him, and you bad-mouth him all the time.  I'd say that is hypocrisy." I was stunned.  Everything he said was true.  I sat there quietly for a momment trying to think of something clever to say. but nothing clever came. So I said, "You're right.  I'm sorry.  I've been such a crummy example." "You and everybody else, he said. as he walked off. I'm not sure that I have ever felt as ashamed as I did during that conversation.  I asked the Lord's forgiveness and asked him to free me from the terrible hatred that had consumed my thoughts and directed my life.  He did.  Because as 1 John 1:9 promises, "If you confess your sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." I  was transferred from the 410 section a few weeks later when tears in the muscles of my lower abdomen made performing the task impossible.  Eventually, I was transferred back to the health centre and promoted to the same position that I was removed from several months before - you guessed it, by the acting director.   We became friends. Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will perform it unto the day of Jesus Christ Philippians 1:6 ~Author - Gary Richmond  ~