There's a lesson I learned a long time ago about Heavenly Father's plans for me: I have no idea what they are, but He knows best, so I should trust Him. Occasionally I need to be reminded of that.
Some people have said that God laughs at our best laid plans. I can attest that I've had that experience at times, but I've also experienced absolute silence after presenting my ideas to the Lord. Unfortunately, I doubt it's because He's nodding His head, contemplating my elaborate schemes and thinking, "Yes, this might work." No, it's more the silence of when a parent is covering their face, shaking their head, wondering what in the world is going through their child's head.
I've had an ongoing situation that I've presented to the Lord many times over these past few weeks. Due to my inability (or talent, depending on who you ask) to commit to things, I shouldn't have been surprised when the answer I received seemed almost non-committal. Sometimes you just a want a yes/no answer, but instead of evening getting a "maybe," you get "wait and see."
So, I've waited. I've seed (sawed? seen? whatever). I've retrospected. After some time I smiled to myself and thought, "Ah, I see how it is, I'm supposed to decide on what to do, then tell the Lord and He'll say yes or no then." Pleased with the conclusion I had come to, I began to think of my options. I prayerfully asked for assistance in recognizing what the options were to resolve this issue I was facing. All I got was more "wait and see." By this time I was thinking I could hear a little divine snickering.
More waiting. More seeing. More retrospecting.
Finally, I made a decision. This issue was going to be resolved once and for all, and I knew what I had to do. No more beating around the bush, it was time for extreme measures, enough was enough, the line was drawn in the sand I knew where I stood! Piece by piece I set out my game plan before God. A flawless plan, this will solve this problem once and for all!
I was mighty impressed with myself, and I figured Heavenly Father would be as well. After all, this decision had been a long time coming, and I'd made it! I had waited long enough, I had seen what I needed to see! Sound the trumpets, let loose the pigeons, start the parade, it was time to put this behind me and move on to better things!
After asking the Lord for feedback on my amazing plan I whipped out my scriptures to see what He had to tell me. I've had many prayers answered by randomly opening the scriptures, so I did just that. I expected something along the lines of, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant," or some verse referring to wisdom, or maybe I'd even experience a voice saying, "yes, you're right, do that." Instead I heard more of sigh. Then the shellacking began.
I opened my Book of Mormon, and my eyes picked a verse. The directness of the verse to my specific situation was incredible. Plain as day, like black on white, the answer was given that my plan was garbage. So, naturally, I chuckled to myself and said, "Silly me, I opened to the wrong place!" Luckily, I'm not too slow to learn. By the 3rd time I opened my scriptures and got a direct answer in the first verse I read on the page I got the message.
Looks like more waiting and seeing for me. My best laid plans were all for naught. But, as has been said before, we see only the thread right before our eyes, and though we may not like the color we see, only God can see the whole tapestry and knows the whats, whens, whys and hows that will turn us into an eternal masterpiece.
With that in mind, I think I can "wait and see."
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A Weighty Issue...
There is an object that some people fear more than any other. Some may call it a necessary evil, at least one being found in nearly every household. Some people hide it away, believing in the saying, "out of sight, out of mind." Others are so attached to this object that they may as well carry one around with them at all times. What is this item you ask?
The bathroom scale.
Shake your head if you must, but think back over the last month. How many times have you jumped on your own scale, with more than a little apprehension, wondering what the digital readout will say, or wondering when the little pointer will stop? That's what I thought.
As a side note, I've notice many people have bathroom scales sitting out in their guest bathrooms. Maybe it's just me, but I can't help but jump on it. Anyone else do the same? Anyone? . . .
The usual fear that people carry with them when they're about to weigh themselves is that the number they see will be the same as their previous visit to the scale, or worse, higher. I, on the other hand, am completely the opposite. My fear: the scale will show a loss in weight.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Kellan, that is so stupid, you should be happy that you can lose weight." Let me give you a little of my personal weight history. I have never been what we could call fat, large, or even temporarily big boned. As a boy there was a time when I was a little chubby, but even so, it wasn't a bad thing. I could do a wicked cool belly roll. Still can actually, but the 3-D effect is somewhat diminished. Before my mission my weight was around 145, and shortly thereafter grew to 155. I maxed out around 160, which was quite a shock to me. At the time I was working out in the mornings and eating the equivalent of a big Sunday meal every night of the week. I was quite disturbed, however, with the distribution of the weight. It was my first experience with having an underchin. After the mission things changed, and the weight fell off. As in I dropped to 135 in about 6 months. When I sit in a chair all day long for work my body decides to eat itself.
Over the last 3 years I've worked myself back up to about 145, and I'm in the best shape of my life. Just a few months of tennis has toned the untoneable. My body is on a self appointed search and destroy mission, seeking out every bit of fattiness it can and getting rid of it. While that may sound nice, it has drawbacks. First of all, it leaves me dang cold in the winter. Secondly, I've got no natural cushioning when I sit on a hard chair. I know, such a hard life I live.
Oh well, it's the only body I've got, so I suppose I can put up with it.
The bathroom scale.
Shake your head if you must, but think back over the last month. How many times have you jumped on your own scale, with more than a little apprehension, wondering what the digital readout will say, or wondering when the little pointer will stop? That's what I thought.
As a side note, I've notice many people have bathroom scales sitting out in their guest bathrooms. Maybe it's just me, but I can't help but jump on it. Anyone else do the same? Anyone? . . .
The usual fear that people carry with them when they're about to weigh themselves is that the number they see will be the same as their previous visit to the scale, or worse, higher. I, on the other hand, am completely the opposite. My fear: the scale will show a loss in weight.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Kellan, that is so stupid, you should be happy that you can lose weight." Let me give you a little of my personal weight history. I have never been what we could call fat, large, or even temporarily big boned. As a boy there was a time when I was a little chubby, but even so, it wasn't a bad thing. I could do a wicked cool belly roll. Still can actually, but the 3-D effect is somewhat diminished. Before my mission my weight was around 145, and shortly thereafter grew to 155. I maxed out around 160, which was quite a shock to me. At the time I was working out in the mornings and eating the equivalent of a big Sunday meal every night of the week. I was quite disturbed, however, with the distribution of the weight. It was my first experience with having an underchin. After the mission things changed, and the weight fell off. As in I dropped to 135 in about 6 months. When I sit in a chair all day long for work my body decides to eat itself.
Over the last 3 years I've worked myself back up to about 145, and I'm in the best shape of my life. Just a few months of tennis has toned the untoneable. My body is on a self appointed search and destroy mission, seeking out every bit of fattiness it can and getting rid of it. While that may sound nice, it has drawbacks. First of all, it leaves me dang cold in the winter. Secondly, I've got no natural cushioning when I sit on a hard chair. I know, such a hard life I live.
Oh well, it's the only body I've got, so I suppose I can put up with it.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Fall fell, right on my head
The long, warm, pleasant days of summer are behind us, let us shed a tear. Actually, let's not. Due to drastically changing temperatures in Utah those tears might freeze before they hit the ground, further depressing us all.
I've noticed the changes over the last few weeks. Leaves changing colors. Wardrobes changing. Melancholy faces. A proliferation of Christmas Decoration Disease in various stores, spreading from 2 to 10 aisles. The harshest realization came last night, when this blasted season had a significant impact on my summer-long addiction.
Tennis.
The match was going well, I had won the first set and was well on my way to claiming victory in the second. That's when it happened. I aged 50 years in about 5 minutes. Hunched over, grabbing my back, limping around the court, I looked more like a geriatric ward escapee than an athlete. Okay, maybe I looked a little like a golfer, but that fits both categories.
Yes, I know many of you are saying, "But Kellan, with that sexy, fit body of yours how could that happen?" Alas, it is the curse I must carry, the trade-off for these dashing good looks, svelte bod, and charming personality. These bones ain't gotst no fat to insulate me!
I've noticed the changes over the last few weeks. Leaves changing colors. Wardrobes changing. Melancholy faces. A proliferation of Christmas Decoration Disease in various stores, spreading from 2 to 10 aisles. The harshest realization came last night, when this blasted season had a significant impact on my summer-long addiction.
Tennis.
The match was going well, I had won the first set and was well on my way to claiming victory in the second. That's when it happened. I aged 50 years in about 5 minutes. Hunched over, grabbing my back, limping around the court, I looked more like a geriatric ward escapee than an athlete. Okay, maybe I looked a little like a golfer, but that fits both categories.
Yes, I know many of you are saying, "But Kellan, with that sexy, fit body of yours how could that happen?" Alas, it is the curse I must carry, the trade-off for these dashing good looks, svelte bod, and charming personality. These bones ain't gotst no fat to insulate me!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Don't call me Buddy
I work in customer service, all of which is done over the phone. There's quite a variety of people that speak to me each day, and boy oh boy do I have some stories about the crazies that live in Utah! Along with the good people and the crazy people, there are the ones that just get to you.
This goes beyond how I'm treated at work, expanding into the realm of school and social life. There's one particular group that gets under my skin more than any other.
The Patronizers.
You know the type. In conversation they try to place themselves above you, attempting to establish themselves as superior, the master of your interactions.
It's nothing bold like outrightly saying they're more intelligent or experienced. No, they change their tone of voice, so it sounds like they're talking to a child. They use small words, thinking big words will confuse you. And, worst of all, instead of calling you by name or a respectful title, they reference you in a way that blatantly shows that they think of you as inferior.
The titles:
Buddy - I am not your buddy. I will never be your buddy. Buddy is what you call the young neighbor child who is consistently coming to your house and asking you questions about what you're doing while his parents spend the afternoon at Walmart. Call me buddy again and you lose a kneecap.
Pal - This is similar to buddy, used in reference to an acquaintance with whom you are friendly, but most of the time you just want them to go away.
Kiddo - You don't know how old I am, do not try to establish yourself as the dominant adult in any situation with me. I'll show you the respect you deserve, and by calling me kiddo you're demonstrating your immaturity, and lack of confidence as an adult. Yes, that is embarrassing for you, so please, don't call me kiddo and I won't have to point it out.
Joven - This is Spanish word, literally translated to mean lad, junior, or young person. It's not meant to be derogatory, but for some reason it makes me bristle.
Some of you may be saying that I shouldn't worry about it, it's no big deal, or I'm overreacting. Most of the time I would say you're right, however right now I'm feeling immature, so I feel like expressing my immature thoughts.
I'm all about respect. In nearly every situation in life there are disagreements and disappointments, but there is always room for respect. The moment you try to satisfy your primal urge to be the dominant individual in conversation, relationships, what-have-you, you begin to lose my respect. Especially because as you try to take charge you begin to show less respect to everyone around you.
There, I'm done ranting, at least for now. If you disagree with my statements I'm OK with that. Just don't disrespect me. If you do, then, to quote a famous anchorman, "I will fight you. That's no lie."
This goes beyond how I'm treated at work, expanding into the realm of school and social life. There's one particular group that gets under my skin more than any other.
The Patronizers.
You know the type. In conversation they try to place themselves above you, attempting to establish themselves as superior, the master of your interactions.
It's nothing bold like outrightly saying they're more intelligent or experienced. No, they change their tone of voice, so it sounds like they're talking to a child. They use small words, thinking big words will confuse you. And, worst of all, instead of calling you by name or a respectful title, they reference you in a way that blatantly shows that they think of you as inferior.
The titles:
Buddy - I am not your buddy. I will never be your buddy. Buddy is what you call the young neighbor child who is consistently coming to your house and asking you questions about what you're doing while his parents spend the afternoon at Walmart. Call me buddy again and you lose a kneecap.
Pal - This is similar to buddy, used in reference to an acquaintance with whom you are friendly, but most of the time you just want them to go away.
Kiddo - You don't know how old I am, do not try to establish yourself as the dominant adult in any situation with me. I'll show you the respect you deserve, and by calling me kiddo you're demonstrating your immaturity, and lack of confidence as an adult. Yes, that is embarrassing for you, so please, don't call me kiddo and I won't have to point it out.
Joven - This is Spanish word, literally translated to mean lad, junior, or young person. It's not meant to be derogatory, but for some reason it makes me bristle.
Some of you may be saying that I shouldn't worry about it, it's no big deal, or I'm overreacting. Most of the time I would say you're right, however right now I'm feeling immature, so I feel like expressing my immature thoughts.
I'm all about respect. In nearly every situation in life there are disagreements and disappointments, but there is always room for respect. The moment you try to satisfy your primal urge to be the dominant individual in conversation, relationships, what-have-you, you begin to lose my respect. Especially because as you try to take charge you begin to show less respect to everyone around you.
There, I'm done ranting, at least for now. If you disagree with my statements I'm OK with that. Just don't disrespect me. If you do, then, to quote a famous anchorman, "I will fight you. That's no lie."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)