As we all rapidly approach one of the busiest times of year, it is easy to get caught up in the rush - studying for finals, going Christmas shopping, planning the holidays, decorating the house, running children all over town for sports and parties - the list goes on and on.
But before all the hoopla and fanfare of the holiday season embraces us in its cold (or warm) wintry grasp, let us take time to reflect on our lives.
Every year is a lifetime unto itself. Families, friends, occupations, and lifestyles can change without warning - sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Babies are born as loved ones pass on; families are transferred out of town as new families move in to begin their lives again; one door closes as another door opens. Seasons change all too often, and with each new day comes new fear. Fear that we may fail, fear that we may succeed, or simply fear of the unknown. In an effort to escape this fear, people preoccupy themselves with trivial and temporary pursuits, attempting to bring stability to an unstable world. In all this uncertainty, it is hard to be thankful.
So let me be the first to say that I am thankful for the life that God has given to me. He has blessed me with a great marriage, wonderful friends (both old and new), opportunities to continue my education and pursue a career that is worthwhile and meaningful to me, and two families that love me unconditionally. My life is far from perfect, but based simply on the blessings above, I see no reason to complain.
I hope that everyone out there can take time out of their hectic schedules to be thankful this week. I don't know the details of everyone's life, and it may be extremely difficult for some people to muster a spirit of joy and gratefulness at this present time. But amidst all of the craziness of our lives, there is one constant for which we may be thankful. I would encourage everyone to focus their joys, worries, prayers, and anxieties on the cornerstone of our hearts; Jesus is here...now...and he always will be here. And if that's not worth celebrating, then I don't know what is.
Lauren and I pray that God may bless you and your loved ones this holiday season.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Until next time...
Good night, and good luck
--Jeffrey
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Saturday Morning Post
It's been a long time since my last post. I wrote an interesting political article last week, but then I realized that I didn't want this to be a serious, political, divisive blog, so I didn't submit it. But now I'm back...and ready to blog!
It would be a monumental understatement to say that Lauren and I are ready for Thanksgiving (and Christmas) break. Since we started school in July, we have yet to have any off days or holidays. Actually, both Labor Day and Veteran's Day were scheduled during some of my test weeks, meaning that instead of going dove hunting or celebrating war veterans, I had to study...interesting how the powers-that-be scheduled things, isn't it?
Yesterday, Lauren finished her last Anatomy lab of her life - HIP HIP HOORAY!!! Seriously, for all of you out there who have never had to smell or experience the depressing place that is the Anatomy lab, you may not be able to appreciate just how major this is, so just take my word for it - it's a big deal. To celebrate, we went out to eat at a real restaurant - not fast food - where we had a fantastic meal and molten chocolate cake for dessert. Needless to say, Lauren was quite fulfilled. And I would be remiss to not thank my grandmother or Mama Jenny - if it weren't for you fine ladies, we would not have had any money to pay for our dinner!
I would like to take this opportunity to call everyone's attention to the poor-excuse-for-real-music that is rap. Follow this link, and prepare to be amazed.
Click here!
I would now like to take this opportunity to call everyone's attention to just how wide the technology gap is in our nation.
Click here too!
And finally, click on this link to check out Lauren's new favorite TV show (and yes, she is officially crazy).
Lauren's TV show - click me please!
I hope you have enjoyed these videos this morning.
Until next time...
Good night, and good luck
--Jeffrey
It would be a monumental understatement to say that Lauren and I are ready for Thanksgiving (and Christmas) break. Since we started school in July, we have yet to have any off days or holidays. Actually, both Labor Day and Veteran's Day were scheduled during some of my test weeks, meaning that instead of going dove hunting or celebrating war veterans, I had to study...interesting how the powers-that-be scheduled things, isn't it?
Yesterday, Lauren finished her last Anatomy lab of her life - HIP HIP HOORAY!!! Seriously, for all of you out there who have never had to smell or experience the depressing place that is the Anatomy lab, you may not be able to appreciate just how major this is, so just take my word for it - it's a big deal. To celebrate, we went out to eat at a real restaurant - not fast food - where we had a fantastic meal and molten chocolate cake for dessert. Needless to say, Lauren was quite fulfilled. And I would be remiss to not thank my grandmother or Mama Jenny - if it weren't for you fine ladies, we would not have had any money to pay for our dinner!
I would like to take this opportunity to call everyone's attention to the poor-excuse-for-real-music that is rap. Follow this link, and prepare to be amazed.
Click here!
I would now like to take this opportunity to call everyone's attention to just how wide the technology gap is in our nation.
Click here too!
And finally, click on this link to check out Lauren's new favorite TV show (and yes, she is officially crazy).
Lauren's TV show - click me please!
I hope you have enjoyed these videos this morning.
Until next time...
Good night, and good luck
--Jeffrey
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Duh-Duh-Duh...Another one bites the dust
Yes, another fish has gone to that happy flushing ground in the sewer. It was Jeffrey, Jr, my sweet husband's namesake, and the fish who had lived an astounding month in my care. He was a fighter. He hung on til the very end. And he died upright...no belly-up submission for little Jeffrey, Jr. He faced death head on,and was found peacefully sticking to the filter, frozen in a little swimming pose.
What a fish. What A Fish.
Needless to say, I'm buying a new fish tomorrow. Maybe another black molly--then we could have little molly babies. Speaking of the black molly, though, I did some research the other day and found out that Dolly the black molly is actually a boy--oops! Pretty inappropriate name.
Sweet Debbie H posted some encouragement on the bottom of my last post. Thanks, Debbie--it helped me smile that day! Debbie also suggested that perhaps I should spend less time blogging and more time studying...touche, my lady. But think of my readers...should they suffer for my schooling? Should they be forced to return to reading the backs of cereal boxes, laffy taffy jokes, and trashy novels from gas stations? By no means. The show must go on--and the show will go on.
Viva la Blog!
What a fish. What A Fish.
Needless to say, I'm buying a new fish tomorrow. Maybe another black molly--then we could have little molly babies. Speaking of the black molly, though, I did some research the other day and found out that Dolly the black molly is actually a boy--oops! Pretty inappropriate name.
Sweet Debbie H posted some encouragement on the bottom of my last post. Thanks, Debbie--it helped me smile that day! Debbie also suggested that perhaps I should spend less time blogging and more time studying...touche, my lady. But think of my readers...should they suffer for my schooling? Should they be forced to return to reading the backs of cereal boxes, laffy taffy jokes, and trashy novels from gas stations? By no means. The show must go on--and the show will go on.
Viva la Blog!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Just for Sport
I've never been that great at sports. I mean, I played lots of them, had some good coaches, had some bad coaches, and above all--had a good time. But just because one does something doesn't mean one does it well (case in point--the studying I did for the test I took this morning).
Some of my favorite sports-related memories involve my parents yelling at me...
Regardless of the bad connotations associated with the previous phrase ("my parents yelling at me"), my experience with parents yelling (at least in the sports arena) were all humorous.
#1: Third grade. I was the point guard dribbling alone down the court. (At that age level, the point guard gets a "free pass" to cross half court without molestation by the other team, because let's face it: otherwise it wouldn't really get down the court, would it?)
I was looking over toward Coach (Dad) for the play, and focusing all my third-grader attention on trying to NOT dribble the ball off my shoe. As some sort of sixth sense, I was aware that someone was trying to tell me something, but it wasn't until I reached the center circle that the loud voice in my ear was suddenly understood. The "someone trying to tell me something" was my mom. She had been yelling repeatedly, "Lauren, TIE YOUR SHOE!" for about thirty seconds solid by the time the referee stopped the game to allow me to take care of my little wardrobe malfunction.
As a wanna-be-basketball-tough-girl, I was mortified. As an adult, I can look back at it and say, "Ahh...so that's why I always double-knot my shoes!"
#2: Eighth grade. I am not fast, but I run track. This is a problem, because only people who are fast are good at track. My little spindly legs, the coach sees, will never be bulky enough for me to even competitively run a short distance race. Some sadistic coaching assistant suggests that I try the 800. I, not knowing what the 800 is, agree to run it. Little did I know, I would be sooooo sad about that decision, say, 30 seconds into the race. Unfortunately, everyone else on the track team already knew about the 800 (affectionately called "The Death Race"), so I got stuck running it for the entire year.
At one bitterly cold and rainy track meet, I was just getting over a case of bronchitis. When you have bronchitis, you can breathe alright when you stand still, but any variation on standing still causes extreme difficulty in breathing. And so, while I just wanted to stand still, my coaches wanted me to run. The 800. In the cold rain. Nice.
Knowing from my experience with every other track meet that I would not be a contender for any points, medals, or ribbons to be won in that race, I decided just to try and give myself a comfortable race. I left my sweatshirt on so that I wouldn't get cold, and opted to begin with a nice jog rather than the breakneck pace set by the true runners.
About halfway through the race, I heard my parents yelling from the fence line. They had arrived late to this out-of-town meet, no doubt because they had had a different sporting event for another child to go to that morning. (Heaven knows why they came to my track meets at all. Watching me run the 800 against "real" runners must have been like watching molasses try to beat honey in a downhill race.) At first I thought they were just cheering me on as usual, pretending that I had some chance of regaining the family honor just by not coming in last place, but as I got closer to the fence, I heard Mom saying, "Lauren, take that sweatshirt off!" And Dad saying loudly under his breath, "It probably weighs as much as her by now."
It was true. In the time it took for me to make two laps around that silly track, my big warm sweatshirt had soaked up about 40 pounds of icy, heavy rain. Dragging all that weight and battling my aching lungs, I barely beat the girl who came in dead last and received the "pity-clap" from the crowd.
Nothing reminds me more of my history with sports than these final upcoming weeks of my first semester of dental school. I have the same feelings now as I did when I ran cross country. Cross country is an interesting sport because it's very personal, individual, and dependent on your mental strength. I used to have conversations with myself while I ran my races.
Good me: Okay, I think I have about half a mile left. That's not too far.
Bad me: Not too far? Do you not remember running the 800 in 8th grade? It's the same distance that was. And you've already run a mile and a half!
Good me: Right, but I can do this. I just won't let this girl pass me. I'll stay in the middle of the pack.
Bad me: Or you could step on that jagged rock and try to break your ankle. Then you wouldn't even have to finish.
Good me: You don't want to get hurt.
Bad me: You don't care about getting hurt. You just don't want to finish last.
Good me: Well, that's true.
Now I'm having these same internal battles with myself as I try to push through these final tests that stand in the way of Christmas break. (Except I'm not going to try to break my ankle on purpose. Mostly because my teachers would still expect me to take the tests.) All the tiredness and frustration and impatience is weighing me down like that big hooded sweatshirt that I wore in the rain. I sometimes have to just take a break and do something else--something not related to dentistry or school. Something that makes me feel good like getting a fresh hair cut or painting my nails. It's sort of like when I had to stop the game to tie my shoe. I need to get myself in order before the real fight begins.
Regardless of trials, the finish line is approaching, and I have parents to yell at me. I received calls from both my mother and my father in the last 24 hours, both encouraging me to finish this race. A little tough love, a little coddling, and a little reminder of the reward at the end.
So I'll keep on running...
Some of my favorite sports-related memories involve my parents yelling at me...
Regardless of the bad connotations associated with the previous phrase ("my parents yelling at me"), my experience with parents yelling (at least in the sports arena) were all humorous.
#1: Third grade. I was the point guard dribbling alone down the court. (At that age level, the point guard gets a "free pass" to cross half court without molestation by the other team, because let's face it: otherwise it wouldn't really get down the court, would it?)
I was looking over toward Coach (Dad) for the play, and focusing all my third-grader attention on trying to NOT dribble the ball off my shoe. As some sort of sixth sense, I was aware that someone was trying to tell me something, but it wasn't until I reached the center circle that the loud voice in my ear was suddenly understood. The "someone trying to tell me something" was my mom. She had been yelling repeatedly, "Lauren, TIE YOUR SHOE!" for about thirty seconds solid by the time the referee stopped the game to allow me to take care of my little wardrobe malfunction.
As a wanna-be-basketball-tough-girl, I was mortified. As an adult, I can look back at it and say, "Ahh...so that's why I always double-knot my shoes!"
#2: Eighth grade. I am not fast, but I run track. This is a problem, because only people who are fast are good at track. My little spindly legs, the coach sees, will never be bulky enough for me to even competitively run a short distance race. Some sadistic coaching assistant suggests that I try the 800. I, not knowing what the 800 is, agree to run it. Little did I know, I would be sooooo sad about that decision, say, 30 seconds into the race. Unfortunately, everyone else on the track team already knew about the 800 (affectionately called "The Death Race"), so I got stuck running it for the entire year.
At one bitterly cold and rainy track meet, I was just getting over a case of bronchitis. When you have bronchitis, you can breathe alright when you stand still, but any variation on standing still causes extreme difficulty in breathing. And so, while I just wanted to stand still, my coaches wanted me to run. The 800. In the cold rain. Nice.
Knowing from my experience with every other track meet that I would not be a contender for any points, medals, or ribbons to be won in that race, I decided just to try and give myself a comfortable race. I left my sweatshirt on so that I wouldn't get cold, and opted to begin with a nice jog rather than the breakneck pace set by the true runners.
About halfway through the race, I heard my parents yelling from the fence line. They had arrived late to this out-of-town meet, no doubt because they had had a different sporting event for another child to go to that morning. (Heaven knows why they came to my track meets at all. Watching me run the 800 against "real" runners must have been like watching molasses try to beat honey in a downhill race.) At first I thought they were just cheering me on as usual, pretending that I had some chance of regaining the family honor just by not coming in last place, but as I got closer to the fence, I heard Mom saying, "Lauren, take that sweatshirt off!" And Dad saying loudly under his breath, "It probably weighs as much as her by now."
It was true. In the time it took for me to make two laps around that silly track, my big warm sweatshirt had soaked up about 40 pounds of icy, heavy rain. Dragging all that weight and battling my aching lungs, I barely beat the girl who came in dead last and received the "pity-clap" from the crowd.
Nothing reminds me more of my history with sports than these final upcoming weeks of my first semester of dental school. I have the same feelings now as I did when I ran cross country. Cross country is an interesting sport because it's very personal, individual, and dependent on your mental strength. I used to have conversations with myself while I ran my races.
Good me: Okay, I think I have about half a mile left. That's not too far.
Bad me: Not too far? Do you not remember running the 800 in 8th grade? It's the same distance that was. And you've already run a mile and a half!
Good me: Right, but I can do this. I just won't let this girl pass me. I'll stay in the middle of the pack.
Bad me: Or you could step on that jagged rock and try to break your ankle. Then you wouldn't even have to finish.
Good me: You don't want to get hurt.
Bad me: You don't care about getting hurt. You just don't want to finish last.
Good me: Well, that's true.
Now I'm having these same internal battles with myself as I try to push through these final tests that stand in the way of Christmas break. (Except I'm not going to try to break my ankle on purpose. Mostly because my teachers would still expect me to take the tests.) All the tiredness and frustration and impatience is weighing me down like that big hooded sweatshirt that I wore in the rain. I sometimes have to just take a break and do something else--something not related to dentistry or school. Something that makes me feel good like getting a fresh hair cut or painting my nails. It's sort of like when I had to stop the game to tie my shoe. I need to get myself in order before the real fight begins.
Regardless of trials, the finish line is approaching, and I have parents to yell at me. I received calls from both my mother and my father in the last 24 hours, both encouraging me to finish this race. A little tough love, a little coddling, and a little reminder of the reward at the end.
So I'll keep on running...
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Rearranging
To those of you who have never had the pleasure of being a dental or medical school student, allow me to educate you on the feeling you get when you get out of anatomy lab...
It's a strange mix of light-headed euphoria (which could be connected to the fact that you are suddenly breathing non-formaldehyde air) and extreme fatigue. My parents worked as a youth minister and a teacher for most of their lives, so I would say the feeling is somewhat like how my mom feels after trying to motivate and teach high school kids all day, or how my dad feels after being in charge of 50 kids all night at a lock-in.
It is after such a trying time that one just wants to come home and rest. Instead, last Thursday, Jeffrey came home from anatomy lab to his sweet little wife asking, "Honey, could you help me rearrange some furniture in the guest room?"
Being the great husband that he is, Jeffrey agreed. I thought it would only take a few minutes...70 minutes later, we were done! My poor husband. It was totally worth it for him, though, because now he is so happy with how it looks that he often goes in there just to admire...no, wait--that's me.
Luckily, we were going to see the new James Bond movie on Friday (yesterday), so all was not lost. I would tell you more about the movie, but it's sort of Jeffrey's "thing," and I don't want to steal his thunder.
Speaking of thunder, though, I would like to officially announce that we have made the switch from Dr. Pepper to Dr. Thunder or Dr. B, the generic brands found at Walmart and HEB (Dad, please don't disown me!). Honestly, they taste the same, and they're so much cheaper. We have also changed from Diet Coke to HEB Diet Original Cola. (We're not crazy about that name, but the taste is right on the money.)
And lastly, but most importantly, the weather report.
"Thanks, Lauren. Well it's a little over a month until Christmas and we have definitely felt the chill of winter coming in here in San Antonio, Texas. Make sure and break out your coats and scarves, because after this cold front moves in, San Antonio will be seeing highs in the mid-to-low seventies, with lows in the night reaching a record fifty-two degrees! Brrr! Bundle up, San Antonio. Back to you, Lauren."
Wow. I wonder if we'll ever use our fireplace...
It's a strange mix of light-headed euphoria (which could be connected to the fact that you are suddenly breathing non-formaldehyde air) and extreme fatigue. My parents worked as a youth minister and a teacher for most of their lives, so I would say the feeling is somewhat like how my mom feels after trying to motivate and teach high school kids all day, or how my dad feels after being in charge of 50 kids all night at a lock-in.
It is after such a trying time that one just wants to come home and rest. Instead, last Thursday, Jeffrey came home from anatomy lab to his sweet little wife asking, "Honey, could you help me rearrange some furniture in the guest room?"
Being the great husband that he is, Jeffrey agreed. I thought it would only take a few minutes...70 minutes later, we were done! My poor husband. It was totally worth it for him, though, because now he is so happy with how it looks that he often goes in there just to admire...no, wait--that's me.
Luckily, we were going to see the new James Bond movie on Friday (yesterday), so all was not lost. I would tell you more about the movie, but it's sort of Jeffrey's "thing," and I don't want to steal his thunder.
Speaking of thunder, though, I would like to officially announce that we have made the switch from Dr. Pepper to Dr. Thunder or Dr. B, the generic brands found at Walmart and HEB (Dad, please don't disown me!). Honestly, they taste the same, and they're so much cheaper. We have also changed from Diet Coke to HEB Diet Original Cola. (We're not crazy about that name, but the taste is right on the money.)
And lastly, but most importantly, the weather report.
"Thanks, Lauren. Well it's a little over a month until Christmas and we have definitely felt the chill of winter coming in here in San Antonio, Texas. Make sure and break out your coats and scarves, because after this cold front moves in, San Antonio will be seeing highs in the mid-to-low seventies, with lows in the night reaching a record fifty-two degrees! Brrr! Bundle up, San Antonio. Back to you, Lauren."
Wow. I wonder if we'll ever use our fireplace...
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