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Today my computer died.
I wanted to write about Valentine's Day, but it's not easy to find the right mood when you have a dead computer.
I rushed it to an Apple Store "E.R." in Fort Worth, Texas. The young tech shook her head knowingly, "It doesn't look like it's working." "That was my guess," I said. "You'll have to leave it with us for a few days," she told me. "I live in Seattle," I said. "So do you want to leave it with us?" she asked. "I will if you personally bring it home to me," I said. She looked at me to see if I was serious. I was.
This morning I preached three services in Hurst, Texas. This afternoon I soaked up some Texas sunshine, took a nap, and then settled in at a friend's house to write a Sabbath Moment. And then, the screen went blank.
Is most everything I need on the computer? Probably.
Can it be retrieved? I don't know yet.
Are there worse fates in life? Most assuredly.
Even so, did it derail my day? Yes, I'm afraid that it did. More than I want to admit. And no, I didn't handle it very well.
Have you ever had days where there has been just "one thing too much?"
Many years ago I spent time each month at St. Andrew's Abbey in Valyermo, CA (out in the high desert above Los Angeles). On one visit I was jogging (yes, it was many years ago. . .). A school bus passed by, pulled over and dropped off a young boy (maybe 10-years old). As I jogged by, he shouted, "Hey mister, let me jog with you."
"Okay," I said.
For the next few minutes the boy rattled and prattled (note to self: 10-year-olds are not recommended for silent retreats).
Then he stopped, dropped his arm load of school gear and insisted, "Look at this!" In his hands he held a laminated 8 1/2 x 11 piece of paper, with calligraphied letters, "Fourth Grade Math Wiz."
"Look," he says excitedly, "I'm a math wiz!"
"That's great," I tell him.
"Yep. Last year my sister was the math wiz, but this year, I'm the math wiz."
"That's great," I tell him.
"Yep. But you know what's really great?"
"No, what?"
"When I get home my dad's going to be really proud!"
I stopped. Literally. On the side of the road.
Why? Because I was over three times his age, and I was still doing what he was doing. Only my math wiz cards are on nicer paper. And I have custom frames. And if I were to 'fess up, most of my emotional energy went into maintaining that image.
It really is amazing isn't it?
No matter how far we travel. . .
No matter how much we accumulate. . .
No matter how many math wiz cards we achieve and frame for others to admire. . .
The truth is inescapable. . .life is, and will always be fragile. But then, maybe that's the gift: our strength lies precisely in our weakness.
Here's the deal: there is a part of me that wishes it wasn't the case. It's after midnight now, as a I write this. And I need a break, so I step outside to look for the moon. It is almost three-quarters full, hanging languid in a black-liquid sky. And I laugh at my need to make "sense" of the things that went awry today. Maybe it's okay to just "hold it"--this day--and let it be, without any need to figure it out or put it in a box or control it. Maybe it's okay to accept the gift of life even without a happy ending, even on Valentine's Day.
Today, my computer died.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen
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