Okay, so I don’t actually know that, but I bet you probably are . . . and to be honest, I kind of hope you are. It would make me feel better about how totally self-centered I am.
I went to a Cardinal game last night—a thing I truly love. I know it is slow and hot and all that, but I think that is part of the beauty of it. It drags along, and enables a plethora of stories to unfold on the field, in the stands, and allows one many a moment to contemplate things beyond the diamond below. For me, it was in these moments that I contemplated myself, and I spat my sunflower seeds in disgust at the thought.
There I was, sitting in the exact seat I wanted to sit in. I got to choose it because I was there first—I made sure to be for that privilege alone. We were in an area in which one gets to pick their place, and I chose one down on the end. My reasoning—fewer people would come talk to me. I reasoned that I cared more about the game than the others in our party, so it made since to isolate myself . . . just me and my passion down on the end.
We were there with my in-laws, and my father-in-law, who had come straight to the game from work, asked if someone had taken his beloved dog out back at home. I hadn’t because I had been too busy at his house—watching the World Cup and enjoying the last of MY mini-vacation, and, in truth, I hadn’t really even considered it. It isn’t MY dog after all.
Of course, I felt bad about the dog and how my wife had said it would probably ruin her father’s night—he’d be worried about Duke and the tenuous state of Duke’s bladder (or their carpet). Part of my bad feelings though, I hate to admit it, came from the hidden fear that now we may have to leave the game earlier than I would have liked.
Ashamed, I began to think of my decision-making that day, and the conclusion was staggering. In my own personal people rankings, I was above-and-beyond holding the number one spot, and it wasn’t even close.
But I want to be less so. I want to give my life for others. I want to choose the worst seat, and think about others—I even want to think about their dogs, for Duke’s sake!
I know I have a long way to go in this, but luckily I don’t have to go far. There are people everywhere to make much of, to serve and to love. Might as well get going on that . . .