It is a new thought to me to think that yesterday I started the rest of my life.
I think I've spent just about all of my life looking forward to events that lie in futurity, thinking of those times yet to come as the time when real life begins. From high school to college to my mission back to college to law school, I've spent most of my time looking ahead. I recognize that to some degree some forward thinking can be error, and I make no representations that I wasn't in error in doing so, but there isn't much place for that kind of thinking anymore. I realized today at work that I've started the phase of my life where I should stop looking ahead, and try harder to look at the things I'm doing as ends in and of themselves, rather than simply means to an end. To put it more plainly, it seems more important than ever now to be content with what the day demands, rather than seeking relief in some activity or event in the future (like the weekend, summer or christmas break, graduation, etc.).
I have a friend whose father once said, "I think we do ourselves a disservice when we do not count contentment among our sought after goals." I've always liked that idea. Contentment isn't necessarily something that happens to us, but something we should seek after and obtain. Any notions otherwise seem to leave us at the whims of circumstance, which depending on ones perspective may never lend themselves to such feelings. In my mind though, at least theoretically, contentment seems to be there for the asking--regardless of circumstance. At least it should be. Anyway, as I begin my professional career that's what I'm striving for--to foster contentment in my daily activities: even amid the otherwise mundane aspects of lawyering.
Now if I could just lose 20 more pounds, then I'd be really be happy.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
First Day At The Office
Not an idyllic first day of work by any stretch of the imagination.
It started yesterday, when I realized I was getting a cold sore or two. Those things always help make for a good first impression. At least that way I know they won't be looking at anything other than my fat bottom lip.
Then, this morning as I was wading my way through various orientation materials at the office, Michelle phoned telling me that her vision was blurry. She couldn't see in front of her face, and that I needed to come home. Earlier she had exercised earlier, and apparently not had enough to drink before or after working out. For a short while before I left for work she complained of the same symptoms, though they seemed to be subsiding enough for me to feel confident leaving her.
But they came back enough that two hours into my first day at work (if it was even two hours) I raced home for what I thought would be getting Michelle to the Emergency Room.
However, when I got home, she didn't exactly want to go to the emergency room because she was afraid it would cost too much. So, instead of me helping her and taking her somewhere, we argued for a bit over whether we should go to the emergency room or simply try to call a doctor to make an appointment. It was not the heroic scene I had envisioned as I hurried home.
In the end Michelle made some calls to find out how much an emergency room visit would cost. We went to the urgent care only to leave a short while later because Michelle felt too nauseated to endure the 1 hour wait in a waiting room chair. We went home again, made an appointment, and she went to bed to rest.
It was a pathetic scene really. For a few hours in the afternoon both she and Jared were asleep in their respective beds, but it didn't seem safe enough for me to go back to work. So, on the afternoon of my first day of work, instead of mingling with colleagues and gathering assignments, I was instead on the couch in my living room, falling asleep with a bowl of cereal in my hands, watching a Cosby Show episode that I must've seen over a dozen times (Theo and Cockroach get tickets to "Dance Mania" while Vanessa tries to teach Dr. Huxtable "New Math." It never gets old).
Despite the Cosby Show, I felt like a failure, all the more because I was on my third bowl of cereal. To top it all off, when we finally did get Michelle to the doctor, she was showing no syptoms of anything and apparently only had dehydrated herself. I had been hoping for something a little more interesting to tell the office tomorrow that would perhaps better justify my afternoon absence. I suppose it's good that Michelle can see again--but what am I going to tell the people at work?
Anyway, I'll try again tomorrow.
It started yesterday, when I realized I was getting a cold sore or two. Those things always help make for a good first impression. At least that way I know they won't be looking at anything other than my fat bottom lip.
Then, this morning as I was wading my way through various orientation materials at the office, Michelle phoned telling me that her vision was blurry. She couldn't see in front of her face, and that I needed to come home. Earlier she had exercised earlier, and apparently not had enough to drink before or after working out. For a short while before I left for work she complained of the same symptoms, though they seemed to be subsiding enough for me to feel confident leaving her.
But they came back enough that two hours into my first day at work (if it was even two hours) I raced home for what I thought would be getting Michelle to the Emergency Room.
However, when I got home, she didn't exactly want to go to the emergency room because she was afraid it would cost too much. So, instead of me helping her and taking her somewhere, we argued for a bit over whether we should go to the emergency room or simply try to call a doctor to make an appointment. It was not the heroic scene I had envisioned as I hurried home.
In the end Michelle made some calls to find out how much an emergency room visit would cost. We went to the urgent care only to leave a short while later because Michelle felt too nauseated to endure the 1 hour wait in a waiting room chair. We went home again, made an appointment, and she went to bed to rest.
It was a pathetic scene really. For a few hours in the afternoon both she and Jared were asleep in their respective beds, but it didn't seem safe enough for me to go back to work. So, on the afternoon of my first day of work, instead of mingling with colleagues and gathering assignments, I was instead on the couch in my living room, falling asleep with a bowl of cereal in my hands, watching a Cosby Show episode that I must've seen over a dozen times (Theo and Cockroach get tickets to "Dance Mania" while Vanessa tries to teach Dr. Huxtable "New Math." It never gets old).
Despite the Cosby Show, I felt like a failure, all the more because I was on my third bowl of cereal. To top it all off, when we finally did get Michelle to the doctor, she was showing no syptoms of anything and apparently only had dehydrated herself. I had been hoping for something a little more interesting to tell the office tomorrow that would perhaps better justify my afternoon absence. I suppose it's good that Michelle can see again--but what am I going to tell the people at work?
Anyway, I'll try again tomorrow.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
To Infinity and Beyond
Our friends Matt and Shelly only a few hours ago left our home after visiting a few days. I am happy to recommend them as house guests, though you may want to hide your Cinnamon Life and Settlers of Cataan. You may also want to double check the trunk of your car before you leave to make sure no wallets have been left there.
With Matt and Shelly we made trips to Disneyland and Sea World (with free admission). It was my first time visiting both places,* and I'm happy to report pleasant experiences.
Disneyland was a particularly pleasant surprise. We started the day on the Matterhorn, and some Buzz Light Year Adventure, and from there to all of the major rides--including Space and Splash Mountain. Their express ticketing allows you to swipe your entry ticket at a terminal, thereby reserving your place at the front of the line later in the day. I cannot tell you how much more pleasurable theme parks are when you don't have to spend most of the day in line.
Jared met Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger, protested vehemently when I would not let him row on a canoe trip, and was generally frightened on just about all of the rides we took him on [Michelle notes that he loved the Winnie The Pooh ride, though I wasn't there for that]. Just imagine sailing through the dark water underground for the "Pirates of the Carribean" ride with little Coots (that's Jared) clinging to my chest, peaking out every so often to see the pirates sing "Yo ho, Yo ho, a pirates life for me!" only to bury himself again until he was brave enough to peek out once more.
I actually won't mind returning there when we do, though its contigent on being able to look past spending $30 on a pizza [and ignoring the fact that $30 outside of Disneyland would have gotten me 6 pizzas from Domino's]. We'll also likely skip the Pirates of the Carribean, and Mr. Toad's Wild Ride (which isn't nearly as wild as they let on).
* Years ago my parents promised to take me to Disneyland (or Disneyworld) once each of my siblings was old enough to enjoy it. With my youngest brother just turning 10 I think I'm finally ready to collect on the promise. But Alas! If my bar studies taught me anything it's that contracts not capable of completion within a year must be in writing to be enforceable--and I did not get it in writing [lets not get into whether the promise was part of a contract or not].
With Matt and Shelly we made trips to Disneyland and Sea World (with free admission). It was my first time visiting both places,* and I'm happy to report pleasant experiences.
Disneyland was a particularly pleasant surprise. We started the day on the Matterhorn, and some Buzz Light Year Adventure, and from there to all of the major rides--including Space and Splash Mountain. Their express ticketing allows you to swipe your entry ticket at a terminal, thereby reserving your place at the front of the line later in the day. I cannot tell you how much more pleasurable theme parks are when you don't have to spend most of the day in line.
Jared met Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger, protested vehemently when I would not let him row on a canoe trip, and was generally frightened on just about all of the rides we took him on [Michelle notes that he loved the Winnie The Pooh ride, though I wasn't there for that]. Just imagine sailing through the dark water underground for the "Pirates of the Carribean" ride with little Coots (that's Jared) clinging to my chest, peaking out every so often to see the pirates sing "Yo ho, Yo ho, a pirates life for me!" only to bury himself again until he was brave enough to peek out once more.
I actually won't mind returning there when we do, though its contigent on being able to look past spending $30 on a pizza [and ignoring the fact that $30 outside of Disneyland would have gotten me 6 pizzas from Domino's]. We'll also likely skip the Pirates of the Carribean, and Mr. Toad's Wild Ride (which isn't nearly as wild as they let on).
* Years ago my parents promised to take me to Disneyland (or Disneyworld) once each of my siblings was old enough to enjoy it. With my youngest brother just turning 10 I think I'm finally ready to collect on the promise. But Alas! If my bar studies taught me anything it's that contracts not capable of completion within a year must be in writing to be enforceable--and I did not get it in writing [lets not get into whether the promise was part of a contract or not].
Monday, August 22, 2005
There and Back Again Part II
Michelle can tell you that few things are worse than someone spoiling the ending of a Harry Potter book while you are in the middle of it.* Our recent Utah trip made me witness to two different instances where a group discussing the latest Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, ruined the ending for people who had not read it yet. Both scenes were certainly tragic, though I felt a morbid sense of comedy and entertainment.
In the first, my family was gathered round our living room talking about Book 6 with a visitor. I can't remember how well aware we were or not that my sister Alisha hadn't yet finished the book, though she seemed to be in and out of the conversation for those few minutes. At one point my Dad, who has not even read the book (but seems to delight in knowing the major plot development), spoke loudly enough about what happens at the end that we heard a shriek from a nearby hallway, followed by Alisha verbally assaulting my father for several minutes before sinking into despondency and wondering out loud if she should even finish the book. Then there was my dad, feebly trying to find some reason he should be absolved of any wrong doing (though he wasn't the first--just the loudest).
The second time was at a pre-wedding luncheon. There, Michelle and I were discussing certain elements of the book with our friend Matt, quite aware that his brother sitting next to us had 100 pages or so to go. Matt's wife, Laura, however entered the conversation midway through, apparently unaware of her brother-in-law's place in the book. Once she spoiled the book for Eric, he settled into despondency much quicker than Alisha. Laura understandably got a little red with embarrassment, but then also tried to find some reason for feeling not so bad about herself.
It's at that moment when I perhaps turned to the dark side by deciding that the great discourtesy in both situations, was not Dad's and Laura's loose lips, but Alisha and Eric's failure to read the book in a timely manner, and still associating with the rest of us. Their slothfulness (for there can be no other reason for such delay) robs the rest of us of the chance to discuss the book freely, when the details are freshest in our minds, and when we feel the most need for corroboration and consolation through conversation. Instead, we're either forced to refrain from discussing anything interesting all together, or secret away and talk in whispers with the rest as though we fear to do some great wrong. By the time the lolly-gaggers catch up with us, our memories are dim, the excitement is mostly gone, and we have little to say.
I have decided to take it as my rule that you have at most three weeks to read the book from when it comes out, or you bear the risk of having the book spoiled. Three weeks itself seems like a rather generous allotment of time, but is meant to accomodate the slow reader, or the person who is otherwise busy (for those not so burdened, even a week may be too long). To the rest of you, do not cry foul if you happen to be part of conversations that gives away key plot points. If you are keen on not having the book spoiled, remove yourself from the table or the room at first mention of the book! Hide yourself in your bedroom and under your pillow if you fear someone may speak too loudly! Above all, though, read the blasted book! The rest of us will not be held responsible for anything tragic that may spill over from our conversations.
(Obviously, though, I'm still trying to harden myself to the above. Just by the fact that I've still not mentioned the key plot point in this or any other post, one can sense the softness. If you are reading this and still haven't read the book, though, you have had fair warning. My next post may just be about the book--if by that time I still have any interest in discussing it. If I don't, I blame you for that.)
*Of course, nothing is worse than a sore throat.
In the first, my family was gathered round our living room talking about Book 6 with a visitor. I can't remember how well aware we were or not that my sister Alisha hadn't yet finished the book, though she seemed to be in and out of the conversation for those few minutes. At one point my Dad, who has not even read the book (but seems to delight in knowing the major plot development), spoke loudly enough about what happens at the end that we heard a shriek from a nearby hallway, followed by Alisha verbally assaulting my father for several minutes before sinking into despondency and wondering out loud if she should even finish the book. Then there was my dad, feebly trying to find some reason he should be absolved of any wrong doing (though he wasn't the first--just the loudest).
The second time was at a pre-wedding luncheon. There, Michelle and I were discussing certain elements of the book with our friend Matt, quite aware that his brother sitting next to us had 100 pages or so to go. Matt's wife, Laura, however entered the conversation midway through, apparently unaware of her brother-in-law's place in the book. Once she spoiled the book for Eric, he settled into despondency much quicker than Alisha. Laura understandably got a little red with embarrassment, but then also tried to find some reason for feeling not so bad about herself.
It's at that moment when I perhaps turned to the dark side by deciding that the great discourtesy in both situations, was not Dad's and Laura's loose lips, but Alisha and Eric's failure to read the book in a timely manner, and still associating with the rest of us. Their slothfulness (for there can be no other reason for such delay) robs the rest of us of the chance to discuss the book freely, when the details are freshest in our minds, and when we feel the most need for corroboration and consolation through conversation. Instead, we're either forced to refrain from discussing anything interesting all together, or secret away and talk in whispers with the rest as though we fear to do some great wrong. By the time the lolly-gaggers catch up with us, our memories are dim, the excitement is mostly gone, and we have little to say.
I have decided to take it as my rule that you have at most three weeks to read the book from when it comes out, or you bear the risk of having the book spoiled. Three weeks itself seems like a rather generous allotment of time, but is meant to accomodate the slow reader, or the person who is otherwise busy (for those not so burdened, even a week may be too long). To the rest of you, do not cry foul if you happen to be part of conversations that gives away key plot points. If you are keen on not having the book spoiled, remove yourself from the table or the room at first mention of the book! Hide yourself in your bedroom and under your pillow if you fear someone may speak too loudly! Above all, though, read the blasted book! The rest of us will not be held responsible for anything tragic that may spill over from our conversations.
(Obviously, though, I'm still trying to harden myself to the above. Just by the fact that I've still not mentioned the key plot point in this or any other post, one can sense the softness. If you are reading this and still haven't read the book, though, you have had fair warning. My next post may just be about the book--if by that time I still have any interest in discussing it. If I don't, I blame you for that.)
*Of course, nothing is worse than a sore throat.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
There and Back Again Part I
A few highlights and observations from our recent weeklong trip to Utah:
- Losing any sense of direction and discretion with my "diet" (not that I had much before getting there). This has become standard fare when visiting my parents, though sadly I found means to do it this year even when they had no cereal in the house. It's also standard fare to promise myself on Sunday evening to start over Monday morning. Tonight is no different.
- Attending the sealing of Layne Pederson and Elizabeth Lund on Tuesday in the Salt Lake Temple. Elizabeth and I have been friends for years, and I felt privileged to be among those invited to witness the sealing. The Spirit felt there and the counsel given by the sealer, though, added so much to that event that I hope I will never forget what I felt and remembered there. If I can remember nothing else it was that I need to attend the temple as often as possible to remember and make more permanent the things I felt then.
- Losing 20 or so of my brother Matthew's golf balls on my two golf outings. Since he's in Mongolia he'd had have been hard pressed to keep me from using them. And anyway, he did the same to my stuff when I was on my mission. Turnabout is fair play.
- Forgetting to put on sun screen for my mid-day round of golf on Wednesday. I had forgotten just how red I can get.
- Playing Home Run Derby with my little brother Peter with the wiffle ball in the back yard. It might not have been so memorable if we hadn't been playing "for Slavery": the winner on Saturday was entitled to make the other serve as his slave for the rest of the day. I won, but my most outlandish command was to make him do 10 pushups. I am a benevolent tyrant.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Contest Results
The 7th Annual Clark Family Milkshake Making Contest went down last night. Here are the results:
1. Melissa--Peach Milkshake
2. Bryan--Apple Crisp Milkshake
3. Leanne--Kiwi Strawberry Milkshake
3. Dad*--Chocolate, Chocolate Milkshake
* Denotes cheating by substituting Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Ice Cream for the generic Walmart Chocolate the rest of us used.
5. Alisha--Banana Bread Milkshake
6. Aaron--Mint Chocolate Milkshake
7. Peter--Strawberry Cookies & Cream Milkshake
We happened to get this year's on camera, complete with interviews and an expose of Dad's ice cream substitution scandal. We also caught much of 10 year old Peter's tirade when it was clear he wasn't placing this year (even an exclusive interview where he blamed Bryan for "insisting" that Peter make the Strawberry Cookies & Cream shake instead of the Peach Shake he wanted to make). I'd hoped to get his screaming and running into his bedroom on camera this year for posterity, and in this Peter did not disappoint. I can't wait to show that to his kids.
The mint shake obviously didn't place as high as I'd hoped. In retrospect I should've made the mint flavor (with mint extract) a little more subtle. I'd hoped to melt mint Lindor truffles and mix them in, but when I couldn't find them I settled for some Andes baking chips. The judges (Michelle & Sarah) gave me high marks for consistency and originality, but very few points for taste. I am ashamed, but not terribly discouraged.
1. Melissa--Peach Milkshake
2. Bryan--Apple Crisp Milkshake
3. Leanne--Kiwi Strawberry Milkshake
3. Dad*--Chocolate, Chocolate Milkshake
* Denotes cheating by substituting Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Ice Cream for the generic Walmart Chocolate the rest of us used.
5. Alisha--Banana Bread Milkshake
6. Aaron--Mint Chocolate Milkshake
7. Peter--Strawberry Cookies & Cream Milkshake
We happened to get this year's on camera, complete with interviews and an expose of Dad's ice cream substitution scandal. We also caught much of 10 year old Peter's tirade when it was clear he wasn't placing this year (even an exclusive interview where he blamed Bryan for "insisting" that Peter make the Strawberry Cookies & Cream shake instead of the Peach Shake he wanted to make). I'd hoped to get his screaming and running into his bedroom on camera this year for posterity, and in this Peter did not disappoint. I can't wait to show that to his kids.
The mint shake obviously didn't place as high as I'd hoped. In retrospect I should've made the mint flavor (with mint extract) a little more subtle. I'd hoped to melt mint Lindor truffles and mix them in, but when I couldn't find them I settled for some Andes baking chips. The judges (Michelle & Sarah) gave me high marks for consistency and originality, but very few points for taste. I am ashamed, but not terribly discouraged.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
A Milkshake Unrivaled
Over the last few years, few events have caused as much anticipation and excitement as the Clark milkshake contest. Each year, whenever most of my family can get together, we set aside one afternoon or evening where each of the kids, their spouses, and my parents make the finest milkshake they can imagine, to be judged by whomever is set to judge that year, in hopes winning "The Winner's Cup."
The contest started six years ago, a few weeks after I got back from my mission. While on my mission I'd read an Ensign article that suggested milkshake contests between spouses as a good idea for dates. I thought it sounded like a good idea for our family--since the Clarks seem to thrive more on competition than cooperation (often to a fault).
I judged the first contest by myself, without any specific criteria for what I thought made the best milkshake. Leanne won with a plain but pleasantly thick chocolate milkshake. Over the years, though, the whole judging, scoring, and making process have evolved dramatically. Here are a few highlights:
The contest started six years ago, a few weeks after I got back from my mission. While on my mission I'd read an Ensign article that suggested milkshake contests between spouses as a good idea for dates. I thought it sounded like a good idea for our family--since the Clarks seem to thrive more on competition than cooperation (often to a fault).
I judged the first contest by myself, without any specific criteria for what I thought made the best milkshake. Leanne won with a plain but pleasantly thick chocolate milkshake. Over the years, though, the whole judging, scoring, and making process have evolved dramatically. Here are a few highlights:
- There are four prizes: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and Most Creative. The "Most Creative" category seems to have come about as a way to placate my youngest brother, Peter, who had a very hard time not winning.
- Both the 1st place winner and the Most Creative winner from the previous year become the judges for the following year.
- The judges each year are free to set their own criteria for what makes the best milkshake, though it has generally included such categories as: taste, color, texture, thickness, and creativity. The scores are put on score sheets now, with comments from the judges attached.
- For some years now the scoring process has been blind, meaning that the judges don't know whose milkshake they are judging. As one might imagine, before this was instituted outcries of favoritism were far most common than congratulations. Oddly, the institution of blind scoring has not all together diminished the cries of favoritism (and insinuations of secret deals between judges and contestants), though it does imbue the process with a bit more legitimacy.
- One key rule is that everyone has to have available the same base ice cream, as well as any add-ins. This keeps people like my Dad in check, who otherwise would buy Haggen- Daas for his base, while the rest of us compete with a generic tub of vanilla. (No--for those wondering, Breyer's ice cream is not a good ice cream for milkshakes. It's too airy. You want thick ice cream for milkshakes). This means that a few people every year take orders for what people expect they'll need for their milkshake and fill them with a pool of money--no high priced secrets are allowed.
- Michelle last year also instituted measures to make sure that everyone's ice cream is still frozen when the their turn comes up. This was necessary because with only 2 or 3 blenders (we try to borrow neighbors' blenders) we have to stagger the entries. What was happening was that earlier contests would simply leave the ice cream out for later contestants. It didn't take long for the ice cream to melt, all but ruining the thickness and consistency of the milkshakes of later entrants. Last year, Michelle pre-scooped everyone's ice cream and put them into baggies. These baggies are left in the freezer until needed.
- The judges score in secrecy, with a new milkshake brought every few minutes in a small cup (the contestants keep the rest). Once the scoring is complete and they've conferred with each other, they emerge to announce the winners in a suspenseful ceremony. All of the contests are then given their scoring sheets with comments attached.
- Nathan's dreadfully awful Yaqua Milkshake made only days after he returned from his mission in Korea. Yaqua is supposed to be an oily Korean "cookie" but tastes more bland than pleasurable. That year, it was all we could do to keep him from putting kimchi in his shake.
- Dad's insistence that my winning milkshake a few years ago had mango ("Wow, that tasted like mango"). Dad was all to easily deceived with my mixture of a few tart sherberts with a bit of apple juice.
- Pat Lefave's family crashing the milkshake making contest and submitting entries last year, only to have his wife finish in last place when she ill-advisedly put a purple popsicle in her milkshake. It might not have been so memorable if she had not spent so much time talking up the shake and her knowledge of the process before the ceremony. (Perhaps she'll be a bit slower next time to think she should advise any Clark on how to make a proper milkshake!).
- Melissa's peppermint milkshake (a great idea, though a little too much peppermint extract) narrowly losing out to Sarah's cheesecake milkshake last year. These entries signaled how much more refined the contest is becoming.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
A Lesson From Narnia
I've had a little over a week since taking the California bar, which leaves me with about three weeks before I start working. This is, I suppose, my last real chance for a summer vacation.
I've tried to take care this week to do something worthwhile every now and again. I'm careful not to play too many video games, which also keeps me in Michelle's good graces. I've also been quick to suggest family trips to the zoo, the beach, or elsewhere. And I've been crafty enough to play golf in the very early hours of the day, so that my absence for such outings is minimally noticed.
Lately, too, I've reacquainted myself with reading for pleasure--which has made it a good deal easier to turn off the TV in the evenings (though now having a DVR and having the Cubs blow yet another baseball season helps with that immensely too--but I'll leave that for another post). It started when I read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince a few days before the bar exam.
After the exam, I decided to pick up the Chronicles of Narnia again. I read them quickly after my mission, and have meant to read them again but never made the time. C.S. Lewis called them childrens stories, and they can be enjoyed on that level. His allusions to God and Christianity, though, are what have me coming back to the books even at 27. I think Lewis intended that. In some of these books he's able to make points about Gospel Principles and about the nature of God that perhaps he'd not adequately be able to do outside the context of the story.
Anyway, yesterday I read The Horse and His Boy and my mind has been lingering ever since on that portion of the story where Aslan walks with Shasta up the mountain in the darkness. It's a touching moment where Shasta and the reader learn of Aslan's mindfulness of Shasta, even though Shasta had no notion of it until then.
I caught myself thinking about that very same moment again today as I watched Jared while he was in nursery and I was between the 2nd and 3rd hours of church. Jared, you see, has had great difficulty adjusting to the nursery. Up until today he has either cried himself out of the room or required Mom or Dad to be there with him.
Today, though, he was trying to manage it without us, though not willingly. Michelle asked me to stay back in the hall and watch him for a bit from the window to make sure he'd be all right. I watched him for some time as a nursery worker read him a story, as he tried to play by himself, and as he coped with another child screaming. I watched him anxiously for signs that he'd be ok, and felt ready to rush in to comfort him if the need arose. All throughout, he never knew I was there watching.
As I thought on that, my heart nearly burst to realize that God had been doing the same for me, only He had waited with me longer, with perfect patience, perfect care and concern, and a perfect ability to comfort. He has been just out of my view in my worst and best moments, but He has been there. And He will be waiting there for me still for years to come, though I'll sadly probably never quite adequately acknowledge His hand, either in what has been or in what remains.
At that moment, though, it was enough to be reminded that He is there. I felt glad to be a parent, if only because the responsibilities of parenthood lend insights into mind and character of God toward His children. I felt glad, too, that that brief moment earlier today helped me more willingly turn to Him, and feel more confident that my earnest petitions for aid would be readily answered--regardless of whether I'm cognizant of such answers.
I've tried to take care this week to do something worthwhile every now and again. I'm careful not to play too many video games, which also keeps me in Michelle's good graces. I've also been quick to suggest family trips to the zoo, the beach, or elsewhere. And I've been crafty enough to play golf in the very early hours of the day, so that my absence for such outings is minimally noticed.
Lately, too, I've reacquainted myself with reading for pleasure--which has made it a good deal easier to turn off the TV in the evenings (though now having a DVR and having the Cubs blow yet another baseball season helps with that immensely too--but I'll leave that for another post). It started when I read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince a few days before the bar exam.
After the exam, I decided to pick up the Chronicles of Narnia again. I read them quickly after my mission, and have meant to read them again but never made the time. C.S. Lewis called them childrens stories, and they can be enjoyed on that level. His allusions to God and Christianity, though, are what have me coming back to the books even at 27. I think Lewis intended that. In some of these books he's able to make points about Gospel Principles and about the nature of God that perhaps he'd not adequately be able to do outside the context of the story.
Anyway, yesterday I read The Horse and His Boy and my mind has been lingering ever since on that portion of the story where Aslan walks with Shasta up the mountain in the darkness. It's a touching moment where Shasta and the reader learn of Aslan's mindfulness of Shasta, even though Shasta had no notion of it until then.
I caught myself thinking about that very same moment again today as I watched Jared while he was in nursery and I was between the 2nd and 3rd hours of church. Jared, you see, has had great difficulty adjusting to the nursery. Up until today he has either cried himself out of the room or required Mom or Dad to be there with him.
Today, though, he was trying to manage it without us, though not willingly. Michelle asked me to stay back in the hall and watch him for a bit from the window to make sure he'd be all right. I watched him for some time as a nursery worker read him a story, as he tried to play by himself, and as he coped with another child screaming. I watched him anxiously for signs that he'd be ok, and felt ready to rush in to comfort him if the need arose. All throughout, he never knew I was there watching.
As I thought on that, my heart nearly burst to realize that God had been doing the same for me, only He had waited with me longer, with perfect patience, perfect care and concern, and a perfect ability to comfort. He has been just out of my view in my worst and best moments, but He has been there. And He will be waiting there for me still for years to come, though I'll sadly probably never quite adequately acknowledge His hand, either in what has been or in what remains.
At that moment, though, it was enough to be reminded that He is there. I felt glad to be a parent, if only because the responsibilities of parenthood lend insights into mind and character of God toward His children. I felt glad, too, that that brief moment earlier today helped me more willingly turn to Him, and feel more confident that my earnest petitions for aid would be readily answered--regardless of whether I'm cognizant of such answers.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Palmeiro and Steroids...Where's the Love?
I was as taken aback as anyone on Monday with the news that Rafael Palmeiro had tested positive for a banned substance and would be serving a 10 day suspension. I've never particularly cared for the guy, and wasn't happy with him a few years ago when he refused to waive his no-trade clause when with the Rangers to complete a deal that would've brought him to the Cubs. That said, I was watching the game when he got his 3000th hit (in ESPN HD no less), and I was glad for him. I did notice and remember thinking to myself at the time that his happiness for the moment seemed more forced than genuine--as if something else was on his mind. Of course, we now know he'd already been informed of the positive drug test and was in the process of an appeal.
What gets me about the situation isn't necessarily the positive drug test, but the media's response to it. My initial reaction was "I hope it's not true." And as I listened to his own prepared statement about never knowingly taking an illegal substance, I wanted to believe him--even if the rest of me had to remain skeptical. I wish I could say I sensed the same from the several sports pundits who've had opportunity to comment on it. Instead, what I've noticed more and more is an almost gleeful asassination of Palmeiro's character by most, who feign outrage and disgust at Palmeiro's apparent hypocrisy.
Now, I'll readily admit that the situation looks dire for Palmeiro, especially given the leak that the steroid he tested positive for was an especially "potent" steroid. This apparently is of the kind that won't accidentally find its way into a nutritional supplement, and the very same that Ben Johnson lost his gold medal for years ago. Given that, his story that he unknowingly took it into his body seems to probably either make him a liar or a fool. I hope he's telling the truth, but that's looking less and less likely.
That said, do commentators have to relish so much the opportunity to take him down? Do those people brandishing Palmeiro a cheat and a liar have to seem so excited when they do so? I don't deny that it probably has to be done (and should be done)--I just wish there was more lament by the people doing so, rather than a pitiable sense of vindication.
What gets me about the situation isn't necessarily the positive drug test, but the media's response to it. My initial reaction was "I hope it's not true." And as I listened to his own prepared statement about never knowingly taking an illegal substance, I wanted to believe him--even if the rest of me had to remain skeptical. I wish I could say I sensed the same from the several sports pundits who've had opportunity to comment on it. Instead, what I've noticed more and more is an almost gleeful asassination of Palmeiro's character by most, who feign outrage and disgust at Palmeiro's apparent hypocrisy.
Now, I'll readily admit that the situation looks dire for Palmeiro, especially given the leak that the steroid he tested positive for was an especially "potent" steroid. This apparently is of the kind that won't accidentally find its way into a nutritional supplement, and the very same that Ben Johnson lost his gold medal for years ago. Given that, his story that he unknowingly took it into his body seems to probably either make him a liar or a fool. I hope he's telling the truth, but that's looking less and less likely.
That said, do commentators have to relish so much the opportunity to take him down? Do those people brandishing Palmeiro a cheat and a liar have to seem so excited when they do so? I don't deny that it probably has to be done (and should be done)--I just wish there was more lament by the people doing so, rather than a pitiable sense of vindication.
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