Office Romance

Alright, I promise this is my last post about The Office for a while. But everyone, whether you’re a fan of the show or not needs to read this.

You’ll remember a post I did for Valentine’s day this year about true love at the movies. Among the few that made the list, Pam and Jim Halpert from The Office were given honorable mention.

I’ve always said that just because a movie or show ends in a wedding or engagement, doesn’t mean it’s a happy ending. I’ve written about this on a post called “Marriage – A Beginning, Not an End.”

When questioned about their struggling marriage that has just been watched in the fictional documentary, Pam’s response is pitch perfect.

“When the documentary started airing, people on the street told me I had this fairy tale romance. But there were a lot of times last year where it did not feel like a fairy tale. But then it got deeper, and stronger, and now it’s better than a fairy tale. It’s like a long book that you never want to end. And you’re fine with that because you just never ever want to leave it.”

I’m proud to announce that Christianity Today feels the same way many of us do about Pam and Jim’s fictional relationship. It’s nice to see your ultimate favorite show condoned in a Christian magazine:

For me, it wasn’t love at first sight. The first time I ever watched The Office, the scenes felt awkward and the staff of Dunder Mifflin seemed weird. But it didn’t take long before I fell for those quirky characters, and I’ve been watching ever since.

Sure, The Office has been through its ups and downs (most notably, the departure of Steve Carrell as Michael Scott), but in its ninth and final season the show has gained momentum by way of two characters whose relationship hooked us from the very beginning: Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly.

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“There’s a Lot of Beauty in Ordinary Things”

Waking up. Morning routines. Commute. Coffee breaks. Homework.

These are all ordinary things. None of which will ever be the topic of a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

We all have ordinary routines strung throughout our days. And more often than not, they can grow redundant, monotonous, and just plain boring.

That’s why a lot of us turn to other vices in order to shake things up a bit.

Last night I was lucky to get off work early enough to make it home in time to watch the finale of The Office with Sarabeth. Ironically, it was the first time we’d ever seen our favorite show on NBC the night of its airing.

My mini-review of it is at the bottom of this post.

The last line of the show was Pam’s words: “There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things.”

Sarabeth and I used to commute to work together, and though that got ordinary after a while, I still missed it when we no longer could do that.

When I took a job that required me to be there at 4 a.m., the first day I left was really sad for us because we could no longer have our routine breakfast together.

Our case study worker made her second visit night before last and she is going to recommend us for approval with the state! That doesn’t mean we’re approved yet, as they’re still waiting on some out-of-state paper work, but let’s just say we went ahead and ordered a pack-n-play and will be picking it up in a week or so!

But I am sure the novelty of having a child in the house will wear off at some point, and I’m sure I’ll grow tired of waking up every ten minutes to rock him or her back to sleep, and those things too, will become routine.

But may I heed the legacy that The Office left behind in our home, and remember that there’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things.

I’ve been trying to capture and remember those seemingly dull moments, because I know they won’t last.

Just this morning I found myself just standing outside the bathroom staring at our four year old puppy. She was just sitting there, staring back at me. It was dull and ordinary, but it was special. (Of course, Sarabeth had no idea what I was doing, so she ran over to give Pixie a hug and said I was just being weird, acting like a creeper/stalker… I captured that, too.)

So moral of the story is, people might think you’re weird, like pulling a George Banks at every sentimental or inconspicuous moment. But when you start shifting through memory lane down the end of your road, I doubt you’ll regret taking so many mental snapshots of your daily life.

NOW… about last night’s final episode: “Spoiler alert.”

All I can say is two words: Michael Scott.

He came back! Like a lost dog whom we’ve missed for so long. And it was perfect - absolutely perfect - that he only had two lines in the whole episode. It showed me that his character was so developed that even in his two year absence, he grew and matured. He no longer found his identity in front of the camera… He had matured and grew wiser in Colorado (our dream state) – and he has kids!!

As far as the rest of the episode goes, I think it went smoothly. It wasn’t quite Return of the King great, but as far as wrapping everything up and bringing each character to its closing, I felt like it was very satisfactory, and I was left with no questions.

Oh, and I’d like to point out the irony, that in yesterday’s blog post I mentioned how the finale would be like the actual burial of the show, and Dwight and Angela stood in their graves to be married. Thought that was kind of funny.

And I love that they danced to the Cars 2 theme song. With the exception of Brave, The Office has made a reference to every Pixar film. Yes, I’ve personally verified that myself.

All-in-all, Michael Scott’s two little lines cracked us up, and were funnier than the entire last season put together. But it was very well worth the wait.

Even as a writer, it’s not possible for me to put into words how much I will miss this show, and how happy I was to see Michael Scott one last time.

Casting Stones

I was driving to work yesterday, just a regular 80′s-music-induced drive. I drove the usual speed limit, dealt with the usual traffic not knowing how to merge, and then it happened.

I was singing along with the Cranberries (don’t judge), and I actually saw the white pebble slip out from under the truck in front of me. That’s how big it was. And even though I watched it shoot toward me, the impact on the windshield still made me jump.

I was angry. Even though there wasn’t yet a visible crack, I know that sometimes it takes time for those to appear and grow. I thought about writing down the truck’s license plate number so I could sue him when it comes time to paying for my windshield repair.

What a dumb thing to think, right? But all sorts of possible scenarios are permitted to play out in one’s imagination.

I thought about how this truck driver has absolutely no idea how angry he made me, and how he will never know that he totally destroyed my Toyota Scion. He’s just going to go about his day oblivious to his negative impact on my life.

What a jerk.

And then it happened.

I know it was a bird because I watched as a flock of them soared toward me from the bushes as I slowed down toward the end of the off-ramp. It wasn’t like the sound of a rubber ball on my windshield. It was softer – and more feathery-er.

It’s the first time I ever hit an animal that I know of. Even though in my younger days I actually tried to hit squirrels. I’m not very proud of that, and lucky for them I’m a bad aim.

Well, it was a bird this time alright. Just for confirmation I looked into my rearview mirror.

5…4…3…2…

Aaaand, thud. It landed right in front of another car, making it swerve a little. (“I swear, Honey! A bird hit a UFO and fell right in front of me as I was gettin’ off that dere freeway!” – I usually think of the average Ketuckian sounding like Mater the Tow Truck.)

Well, I thought about that bird. And the stone from just a minute before.

You see, I got really upset that someone caused a loud noise on my windshield, which never cracked, by the way.

But I had a negative impact on that bird’s life. So negative that I killed it.

I thought about that Bible verse that says God sees every sparrow fall to the ground. Matthew 10:29 I believe.

After I repented, I realized God was teaching me something.

Someone might cast a stone or two at me, and I have no reason to complain. Two reasons:

1) I probably (and I mean definitely) deserve to have stones cast at me.

2) Instead of complaining about the stones thrown at me, I should focus more instead on how I can avoid being the boulder that crushes someone else.

Doors, Dogs, and Doubt

So it has finally begun. I realize I’ve been quiet on the topic of our adoption journey since I’ve first started this blog early last year.

Well, with our classes out of the way (not much to blog about there), the paper work filled out (most of if), and house made as child-proof as can be (the picture here is of our future child’s room), I am thrilled to say that we had our first home study visit yesterday evening.

We’ve been worried sick over this visit for the past couple of months. When we brought it to the attention of the foster-to-adopt class that we live in a loft – a home without doors – we were practically laughed out of the program.

It was humiliating, for sure. But it only angered me. First off, Sarabeth had drawn a perfect blueprint of our home (as instructed) showing that the two bedrooms are completely separate – each at the end of our U-shaped loft. There’s lots of privacy.

The second thing that angered me was how quickly the minds of our fellow classmates – prospective foster-to-adopt parents – sunk into the gutter – hence all the laughter.

We could put up a door, separating the nook and bedroom from the living room, but it would significantly devalue the worth of the loft. So, in the interest of financial planning, that was not feasable.

The second thing we were worried about was our three dogs. Dachshunds. And if you know dachshunds, they’re known for four things: cuddling, sensitive backs, barking, and lots more barking.

It’s stressful having people over knowing the dogs are going to spend the first ten minutes barking their fool heads off. So, over time we’ve learned different strategies of keeping them at bay (locking them up) and shortening the length of barking time (bribery with treats that require perseverance and time to get through).

So needless to say, we were prepared for the home study visit to end with, “Call me when you get some doors up, and you get your dogs under control.”

I won’t bore you with the details, but let me just say that last night’s visit couldn’t have gone any better. The case worker, who was a wonderfully nice person – to our surprise – didn’t see any problem with us having no doors as our bedrooms are indeed very separate from each other.

…And she was a dog lover! She had two of her own – a collie and a something Shepherd (Australian, German, I forget – either way, the kind of big dogs I would like to have one day).

So all this to encourage you, if you’re living in a world of worry, or anxiety is keeping you up at night, and you don’t have the strength or faith to pray about it (like me), keep your friends in the loop and they’ll pray on your behalf. Many of our friends and family members prayed for us, and we’re so thankful.

So, with just a few more things to check off our list, we’re almost approved to be foster-to-adopt parents – and so, so excited, and shocked, and simply thankful.

Yeah, despite all the worrying, things are starting to fall into place. I bet it’s that way for most other people as well.

Marriage – A Beginning, Not an End

“Do you remember when I wanted to keep my tennis bag in your closet? It was our worst fight of 2006.”

“I remember that. I hated that. What if I needed to get my snorkel, okay? And I had to lift your dumb tennis bag to get it?”

“Imagine that times a million. That’s marriage. Except the closet is your entire life, and the tennis bag is a guy. And sometimes you will find his toenail clippings scattered around your toilet.”

[From The Mindy Project]

It seems marriage has become the topic of ridicule and mockery. I’m not bashing the new show the above quote is from – it’s actually quite funny and enjoyable, created by Mindy Kaling of The Office fame.

But it seems like the prestige and honor of marriage has been replaced by the glamor and dazzle of bachelorhood and promiscuity. Not that this is anything new.

But honestly, when is the last time you’ve heard a good word spoken about marriage? When is the last time you’ve spoken honorably about your spouse?

I’d say it’s funny, but it’s not. We spend the whole first part of our lives searching for our significant other – someone to spend the rest of our lives with. And then, when we find that person, we grow tired, and spend our time wanting out.

(The Man in the Box is a great book for those who feel this way.)

I, myself, often forget that marriage takes work. I take for granted that I don’t have to stress over who I’m going to take out on Friday night (not that that was often), or figure out some clever way to score a girl’s phone number (I got numbers to Bill’s Plumbing and Domino’s quite often).

Then I met Sarabeth. I achieved the Big Yes. I said “I do” …At 25.

If I live to be a hundred, I’ve still got 75% of my life to live.

We get this idea in our heads that marriage is the end-all goal, when in fact, things are just beginning!

For you 21st-century, Generation-X thinkers, think of it this way. Marriage is:

* R2D2 and C3PO delivering Princess Leah’s message to Luke

* Batman meeting Robin

* Woody finding Buzz Lightyear

*Signing the Constitution

* Microsoft buying out NBC

*Just the beginning!

I love Disney movies. But they repeatedly got one thing wrong with their classic princess movies:

Marriage is once upon a time. Not happily ever after.

Happily ever after is years of commitment and devotion and love in the wake of an elderly couple still holding hands … not the first kiss after slaying the dragon.

The dragon invades our marriages in the form of finances, late oil checks, dirty diapers, dirty kitchens, morning breath, unseemly hair, gas, burnt food, the Hallmark channel, etc.

So, a reminder to married people and to myself: let’s begin to treat marriage as the midst of a journey we’re trekking through, each bounding toward a certain goal, warding off the dragons together.

To those of you not yet married, start ingraining it into your heads that marriage is the start of a new life, not some early retirement.

I’m thankful to be married to my wife. Her corrections sometimes sting, and my attitude toward her often needs to be checked. But with her help, I am growing and learning, and without a doubt, I am a much better person today because of her, than I was eight or ten years ago. (I dress better, too!)

And no matter what, I know she loves me, and I love her, and we never have to worry about who we’re going to spend Friday night with.

The Loss of Innocence

A few weeks back, Sarabeth and I attended our first Andrew Peterson concert – one of the better concerts I’d ever attended. During it, he told the story of his son whom he found crying in his bed. When asked what was the matter, his son responded by holding out a book toward his father.

The book was The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.

Like any good father, Andrew picked the book up and began to read it to see what had troubled his son so badly.

As Andrew would have it, he found himself out on the front porch a few days later finishing the book in his hands that his son gave him. And, as he would have it, he was bawling uncontrollably.

Like a little boy.

His son came out onto the porch and said two words that bound father and son together in a mutual understanding: “The Yearling?”

Andrew Peterson nodded and said, with a choked voice, “The Yearling.” 

Being a sucker for sappy stories, I took this book recommendation as a great challenge. Many movies may move me to tears, but I can’t recall ever crying over a book.

Folks, if you read this book,

no matter how hard your heart is,

no matter how tough you think you are

…brace yourselves.

It’s a story more about the loss of innocence than about the loss of a childhood pet (whose death is quite more graphic in depiction than even Old Yeller, and anyone who reads it will be haunted for a while). 

The final few pages brought me back to my own innocent childhood and how that innocence has, somewhere behind the thick veil of time, flown away “somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks … and gone forever.”

It takes a few chapters to get past the Swamp People-esk dialect, and even a few more chapters for things to begin to unfold, but that’s not to say I ever really got bored. I enjoyed the lush descriptions of the Floridian sawgrass and swamps. I loved reading about the silly antics of Jody’s lovable father, Penny. And I savored the few moments Jody had with Flag, his yearling.

Andrew Peterson was so moved by this book that he wrote a song called, “The Ballod of Jody Baxter.” You can listen to it here.

I encourage anyone who needs to be moved, stirred, or even reminded of the carefree days that lay just in calendars past when all was well.

On a personal note, I know this was a timely book for me, as I’m struggling with accepting the corruption of the world, much less in myself. The Yearling taught me to remember days gone past when things were good. And even though they may be gone now, there is a day when I, when we, will share good days together again in the future…

A Brilliant and All-American Documentary

It’s snowing outside the coffee shop right now as I write this. March is just struggling to hang in there, and determined to go out leaving a legacy of the coldest March Louisville has seen in quite some time. (And yet, I still slurp on my ice-cold frappuccino because I couldn’t do a hot drink even if I were sinking with the Titanic.)

It’s snowing in late March. And despite that, baseball charges forward.

In just a few days, Robin’s words will seem almost prophetic: “Crackerjacks, Batman!”

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks.

Come March 31, the MLB will make its grand 2013 appearance.

The corn will be popping,

The Thwack of ball on glove will soon be heard by young Major League hopefuls,

The infield grass, whether laden with snow or not, will be mowed to code,

Freshly pressed uniforms will be donned for the first time since October.

And Ray Charles will echo the dazzling fizzes and pops of fireworks against star-lit nights with “God Bless America.”

Even though Sarabeth doesn’t celebrate America’s true pastime in her heart like I do, she still is gracious enough to tolerate my obsessiveness. I don’t follow any team in particular, and I don’t even keep up with the latest scores or modern-day greats, but I follow the history of baseball.

I love reading about the longest game ever played, learning about the scandals, and seeing how pop-culture icons can still use the game to re-spark a general interest in it by the public by telling freshly spun stories surrounding the game and how it relates to life.

I love baseball of old.

That’s why I’m recommending Ken Burns’ documentary simply entitled, Baseball. 

It’s a ten-part series, each episode two hours in length, and available to watch on Netflix Instant Watch.

Ken Burns literally picks the story up well before Baseball was even called that – Cricket, rounders, bat ball, ball, base-ball, baseball. The documentary tells about the game bringing Confederates and Unionists together during the Civil War, and early-day entrepreneurs attempting to introduce the game to Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and England where it was denounced as “Just a fancy form of the otherwise deplorable and infantile sport, rounders.”

Baseball.

It’s hard for me not to get choked up during the National Anthem being sung before a perfectly-cut diamond set in a bright green field.

Even though you’re covered in snow in this part of the country, welcome, Spring. Welcome. Curse us with your snow, but we will still lick cotton candy off our fingers, paint our hot dogs with red and yellow, and dress our burgers up with all the gifts that spring farms bring – freshly cut tomatoes, crisp lettuce, crunchy onions.

If, for some reason, you can’t make it to a game this summer, gather around the TV and watch history unfold on the baseball field, in the dugout, in the ticket booth, and in some of the greatest stadiums ever built upon this free land.

Check out Ken Burns’ Baseball. And relive America’s greatest pastime with those you love.

[Image Credit]