My First Mac

I've been working with Macs since I was in grade school. I remember playing Oregon Trail and Sim City on PowerPC's, learning to type on the original monochrome Mac, and later on creating movies using animation programs and playing Starcraft and Unreal Tournament on the colored iMacs and G3 towers. Recently I've created digital music, used presentation software, and edited video using MacBook, MacBook Pro, and the new desktop Macs with the huge screens. To me, using a Mac is as normal as breathing.

That being said, I have a confession to make... I've never owned anything Mac. Ever. No iPods, no iPhones, no MacMini... nothing. I have always felt like quite the imposter, raving about how much better Macs are, while never being part of the club.

That has now changed, thanks to my soon-to-be father-in-law. He is pretty much a technical genius, and he scours Craigslist looking to pick off the weaker Mac owners like a sea bird on a baby turtle. He gets the coolest old Macs, and now he's bestowed one of those upon his daughter and I.

It's a G4, which is an older model, about two generations before the macbooks and such. That being said, this is one of the best G4's out there, although it's known for being loud (called "Windtunnel G4"). This computer is actually older than my PC, but it just looks so much cooler. I don't know how Mac has done that, constantly being cooler than everyone and everything else. It's crazy. I am pretty jazzed about joining the Mac world, even if it is with an older machine. Here's to no longer being a poser!

I was actually going to go into the whole "one man's trash..." bit and tie it to the way God can use us and love us even when we feel like we're too used and too useless, but I'm too sleepy, and I told myself I'd go to sleep after I set this computer up (we have it where the PC used to be... the PC is in front being used to watch Hulu on the living room TV), so good night!

Strays

Where I'm from, there were stray dogs everywhere. If you saw one that was particularly cute, or if you just wanted to have a pet, they would simply start coming as you left food for them. They were grateful and loving, but they each had their own issues. Each of them had been through pain, through abandonment or abuse. They would shrink back from, or bark angrily at, a certain type of person. They always seemed to carry that bit of suspicion with them, like a wound that would never quite heal.

To love a stray was to love an imperfect creature, a creature who may one day make a mess somewhere you didn't expect, who may carry the fear or anger of a past attack or abandonment for years. My grandmother wasn't very good at this. Dogs would suddenly be gone from our house, simply because they had ripped up a plant or barked at a cousin. Grandmother would allow these dogs to live within her gates because they were free, and because the pleasure she got out of them was worth the scraps of food she gave them.

God, thankfully, is not like my grandmother. The Bible shows us a God who prepares a feast for us, even when we don't even deserve His scraps. The Word reveals a Savior who will never turn his back on us or give up on us. We are shown a God who loves us despite the messes we make and the anger and fear that shapes our actions, indeed a God whose very love is the antidote for whatever aims to harm us.

This is the most beautiful news that a world full of Strays could hear. There is a God who will love us unconditionally, who prepares for us a feast and a new, beautiful life. All of the fear inside of us, from the pain and crushing heartbreak we've been through, is healed by Perfect Love. All of the anger that makes us lash out... this is the most beautiful part, because we have a God who holds us through our darkest night, with our teeth biting at air and biting at Him, our paws straining to escape what will surely be more pain...

I know this because I'm a stray. I still need a God who will hold me through my dark night, who will love me even though I just barked at his kid and pooped in his grass.

This one is for the strays.

Magic 8-Ball God

I've noticed many of my prayers start out as "yes" or "no" questions. If I am only praying for a little while, I'll pray really hard for a yes or no, then I'll go on about my day assuming whatever answer makes more sense to me. I may also consider a song on the radio, or a random conversation, to be the very voice of God.

Yet, when I really let myself speak to God, and when I lay my heart and soul to bear, I realize that there is something much more to my prayers than a "yes" or "no". I realize that there is a relationship I've been missing out on, one where I can laugh and cry with the Creator, and realize that He is listening. Answers to prayers come in their own time, but the answers are rarely the point.

It is during these times that I realize just how much we treat God like those "Magic 8-Ball" toys. We ask him a question, and do whatever it is we think is necessary for him to answer. Then, the first thing we see or hear must be the answer to our question.

We're adults. We realize that we can't base our lives on a children's toy. Aren't we setting ourselves up for failure and pain when we treat God like this?

I long for Your presence
both fearful and lovely
Brighter than the dawn
louder than the oceans
Your voice is sweet music,
a song I have missed
and Your words are
the cure for my pain
the answers to my questions
the comfort in the chaos...

I ache for Your song
to be heard on my lips
I yearn for Your will
to be done through my hands

I cry out for help
and I pray that You hear me.
I can't do this on my own.

Magic Vs. Mundane (a best-of-7 series)

We are kept alive by the pursuit of adventure.

I struggle with the balance between adventure and responsibility. I worry constantly, that I am either being too responsible and not taking the risks I should, or that I am being too adventurous and putting myself in unnecessary situations. I remember moving out here to Arizona, I had a constant conflict for the first few months, about whether I was being responsible coming all the way out here for only an internship. I remember feeling so alone those first few weeks, and wishing I'd stayed in Dallas with an apartment full of friends. Yet, when I was in Texas, I longed for the day when I'd be doing something great in some strange place.

Now I am on a bigger adventure, about to start my life with the woman I was made for. I wonder how we will find the balance between the magic and mundane. I wonder how I will fare as a leader, being so prone to moving and leaving, so used to a life in flux. I wonder how I will provide stability for my family, when all I've known is seismic shifts and periodic eruptions. The desire of my heart is to be a responsible, dependable husband and father, but I worry that I will forget what adventure means, and what a daring life feels like.

There is worry in adventure, and that leads me to believe that perhaps this will be the biggest adventure of all.

23 days.

Drama is Stupid

This is my very scientific deduction, after observing different forms of drama for about 26 years. I think most of us know that drama is stupid. I think that, sometimes, even those who love and live for drama must acknowledge how stupid drama is.

There are many ways to excuse your propensity for drama, many socially acceptable disguises for the fact that you either can't or refuse to control your emotions. "I'm passionate" they might say... but I've known very nice passionate people in my life. The only thing dramatic people are passionate about is obtaining and keeping attention on them. "I wear my heart on my sleeve" is another one... but if that is your heart, perhaps it is better to keep it hidden.

I've heard countless stories, and been witness to several epic displays of dramatic selfishness. The person who refuses to let the wedding day be about the bride and groom... the "friend" who tries to get people to go out with her because she is bored, instead of celebrating a milestone with someone else... that person who seems one wrong word from losing control at any moment... the person everyone is counting on, suddenly deciding that they are going to become cold and selfish and undependable.

Stupid, Stupid, and Incredibly Stupid. There is no excuse for the selfishness that is inherent in dramatic actions. Drama, by it's very nature, is a cry for attention. No person deserves unmerited attention at the expense of others, but some just don't get that. I am sure there is some sort of deep-seated emotional issue driving each of those actions, but I still bristle at the thought of even acknowledging this possibility because of the attention these selfish people may derive from it. I'd rather just stick to the surface level, and call Stupid when I see it.

I suppose I'm very frustrated with the drama I see in my life, the drama that hurts those I know and love. I wonder how much more joy could have been had in each moment, were those instances of selfishness replaced with selfless love and support. I've always loved those people who refused to let drama get into their life, those who know how to be selfless and loving... those who look at dramatic people, shake their head sadly, and move on with their lives.

If you are one of those selfless people, there is probably a reason you are my friend. If you are a drama queen, or whatever the male counterpart of that is... you probably don't want to hang out with me any time soon, because I'll probably call you out, no matter where we are.

And knowing you, that will probably just cause more drama. :-P

Communication

Sometimes I wish that my body would tell my brain how tired it is, so I could get some sleep.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't ashamed to tear up at movies and TV shows.
Sometimes I wish I knew where a money tree was.
Sometimes I wish I was a pilot with an awesome plane that I could take anywhere.
Sometimes I draw airplanes at work. I'm 26.
Sometimes I make up games to pass the time at work. I'm 26.
Sometimes I wish I was the person my mom thinks I am.
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and live life more awesomely.
Sometimes I wish I was already a father.
Sometimes I wish my car was a Transformer, so that in traffic, I could press a button and have my transformer start running down the expressway. It's probably a good thing I'm not a father yet.
Sometimes I wish I knew the difference between "fine" and "fine". Since I've gotten engaged, this has become a more pressing wish.
Sometimes I wish I knew when to be quiet.
Sometimes I wish I knew when to speak up.
Right now, I wish I could fall asleep. I'll probably go try again.