becomes evident is that right from the start, Jobâs legendary patience is only skin deep. He is a fair-weather optimist, an unrepentant complainer. Sure, at first he tries to be a good sport, all the while thinking, maybe this is just a mix-up. Mistakes happen. Wires get crossed even now, so you can imagine how it was back then, with CNN, Google News, Facebook, and Twitter still several thousand years away. So take a deep breath and relax, Job. And, while youâre at it, cut the Almighty some slack. Almighty is really just a nickname. In the first chapter, Job is still in a daze when he famously says: âThe Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.â The words sound as if they were spoken by someone in deep denial, someone still waiting on a recount or, at the very least, a good reason. But one isnât forthcoming, and a few pages later Job changes his tune. Who can blame him? Job had it all: the camels and goats, the big, devoted family. What must he have been thinking when it finally sunk in that all of it was gone? Only one thing: It wasnât supposed to be like this.
THE RECORD OF JONAHâS earliest days is incomplete. My sisters bought a new video camera the day he was born and started filming. Often, they would leave the camera with us on the condition that we record every moment of potential cuteness. Iâm pretty sure we had tape of that spot of mucus on his forehead. But one day they took the camera home with them and made the mistake of leaving it in plain sight on the backseat of the car. The next morning they found the carâs back window smashed and the camera, along with its case, containing several other videos of Jonah as a baby, gone. I remember we kept expecting the tapes to be returned. That a classified ad would be placed in the community newspaper or that weâd receive an anonymous phone call saying we could pick up our valuable property at some out-of-the-way spot. We expected the thieves to go to considerable effort to find us. Maybe because they knew how much those early images meant to us and that weâd pay a ransom for their return. Or maybe because Jonah was so adorable and this record of his babyhood so endearing that theyâd have to be utterly inhuman, in a way we hoped that penny-ante thieves werenât, to resist making things right again. The Tightness of thingsâof which Jonahâs birth seemed to be the main proof in those daysâwas out of whack, and the camera thieves would know, as we did, that it needed to be restored. No such thing happened. We took solace, instead, in old photos, but it wasnât the same as seeing Jonah in action, even if his actions were limited to sleeping or nursing or bathing. My sisters were heartbroken and, after that, became super-diligent. They bought another camera and took it with them everywhere, filming every move Jonah made for the next three years. The filming stopped abruptly then. Nobody can say why exactly, but I have a hunch. Iâm guessing we didnât want to look at Jonah too closely, not once our complicated concern for him started to outdistance our simple pleasure.
I had forgotten about those videotapes until my older sister told me the other day she was thinking of transferring them to DVD so we could watch them more conveniently on our television set. She wanted to know what I thought of the idea, if I had any objections. Normally, she would have gone ahead and done this sort of thing without asking permission, the way, for instance, she and my other sister bought Jonah clothes. They are responsible for purchasing almost everything he wears, in fact. Cynthia and I trust them with those decisions. We trust their good taste and unrivalled shopping skills. But this decision about the DVDs was fraught, the way so many simple decisions are now. Besides, Iâd blown up at my sisters more than once over the last seven years, launching into a rant about one
THE RECORD OF JONAHâS earliest days is incomplete. My sisters bought a new video camera the day he was born and started filming. Often, they would leave the camera with us on the condition that we record every moment of potential cuteness. Iâm pretty sure we had tape of that spot of mucus on his forehead. But one day they took the camera home with them and made the mistake of leaving it in plain sight on the backseat of the car. The next morning they found the carâs back window smashed and the camera, along with its case, containing several other videos of Jonah as a baby, gone. I remember we kept expecting the tapes to be returned. That a classified ad would be placed in the community newspaper or that weâd receive an anonymous phone call saying we could pick up our valuable property at some out-of-the-way spot. We expected the thieves to go to considerable effort to find us. Maybe because they knew how much those early images meant to us and that weâd pay a ransom for their return. Or maybe because Jonah was so adorable and this record of his babyhood so endearing that theyâd have to be utterly inhuman, in a way we hoped that penny-ante thieves werenât, to resist making things right again. The Tightness of thingsâof which Jonahâs birth seemed to be the main proof in those daysâwas out of whack, and the camera thieves would know, as we did, that it needed to be restored. No such thing happened. We took solace, instead, in old photos, but it wasnât the same as seeing Jonah in action, even if his actions were limited to sleeping or nursing or bathing. My sisters were heartbroken and, after that, became super-diligent. They bought another camera and took it with them everywhere, filming every move Jonah made for the next three years. The filming stopped abruptly then. Nobody can say why exactly, but I have a hunch. Iâm guessing we didnât want to look at Jonah too closely, not once our complicated concern for him started to outdistance our simple pleasure.
I had forgotten about those videotapes until my older sister told me the other day she was thinking of transferring them to DVD so we could watch them more conveniently on our television set. She wanted to know what I thought of the idea, if I had any objections. Normally, she would have gone ahead and done this sort of thing without asking permission, the way, for instance, she and my other sister bought Jonah clothes. They are responsible for purchasing almost everything he wears, in fact. Cynthia and I trust them with those decisions. We trust their good taste and unrivalled shopping skills. But this decision about the DVDs was fraught, the way so many simple decisions are now. Besides, Iâd blown up at my sisters more than once over the last seven years, launching into a rant about one
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