Category: regular

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Digital traffic-cops.

Today I set out to download an ebook.  I was looking to get “The Shack” because I have heard much about it in recent months, and it is being harshly criticized by men and women I greatly respect, (while being lauded and praised by other men and women I greatly respect) and as a leader of college students I feel obligated to stay informed and on top of trends in pop-christianity, both good and bad. My motivation for purchasing the book is, however, not the point of this post.

I have an ebook reader on my phone that enables me to read books one handed.  It is fantastic.  I have used it to read one public domain book so far.  But that’s the problem.  Currently I can only legally download books that are public domain, as those are the only ones I can find that don’t have DRM (Digital Rights Management) encryption.  DRM is not a law, but rather a safegaurd put in place to enforce the law.  Currently the iPhone’s ebook reader is not able to read books without DRM.  So, I have the choice of obeying the law and not being able to download any current popular books, or illegally downloading those books that have been stripped of the DRM.  Nobody wins in either situation.  I break the law (or don’t read a book), the publishers don’t get paid, the writers don’t get paid, and our justice system completely fails. The only people that “win” are the criminals who get to read the book that I want.

If they had released it DRM-free, they risk losing control (what a figment of a concept) over who downloads the book.  They also lose the ability to enforce the “don’t steal” law.  But they would have made 10 bucks off of me today, and everyone else who finds themselves wanting to obey the law.  Criminals will always break the law.  No amount of legislation is going to stop them.  Guns were illegal on the campus of Virginia Tech on April 16th, 2007.  Didn’t stop the criminal from having them.  Just stopped the folks who obey the law from having guns and being able to defend themselves.

I realize that downloading an ebook and taking a gun on a campus are vastly different subjects.  But the principle remains.  When we try to police immorality by making it illegal, we only end up hurting those of us who would have obeyed the law before it was policed so carefully.  And I think it’s safe to say there are more of us who would not steal than there are theives.  In fact, I think DRM makes otherwise honest people into theives.  People who already have a handheld device that will read ebooks, but no way of legally obtaining ebooks to read on it are far more tempted to break a law they would have otherwise readily obeyed.  The red tape is choking the free market, and causing the black market to thrive.

I’m sure folks are working to enable my iPhone to work with DRM-laden ebooks.  But that misses the point.  Imagine how far programmers and developers could go if we didn’t slow them down by making them add digital traffic-cops to every piece of software and hardware?

It would work far better to just have them include a paragraph at the beginning of every ebook that explains to people how not paying for what they are reading is stealing from honest people, and ultimately will destroy the whole system.

If you need me, I’ll be reading something by Shakespeare.  It’s public domain.

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Skittles, Wedgies, and the Monthly Budget.

I used to pride myself on being a guy who didn’t worry.  I frequently said things like “stress is a waste of emotion,” which is true, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.  Now I wish I could go back and allow my 28-year-old self to introduce my 18-year-old self to a concept known as the “wedgie.”  Telling someone (intellect) not to feel something (emotion) is addressing the wrong part.

God in his infinite sense of humor has grown me to the point that now, with a wife, a child, and a host of other responsibilities, I have become more of a worrier.  And now my annoying 18-year-old self is telling me (intellectually, of course) that “stress is a waste of emotion” or “stress is the opposite of faith,” among other harsh truths.  Thanks for that, kid.  It was easy not to worry when the biggest decision of the week was “do I eat all of this bag of skittles or save some for later?”

With the aforementioned media hype regarding the economy (based in part in the realm of fact, for sure), we have had more than a bag of skittles to worry about, (but thankfully we have also had far more than a bag of skittles to eat).  We received a few short paychecks a few months back, but have been able to pay all of our bills.  God has continued to provide.  It looks like we are even going to be able to go ahead and pay off the bill from Little Ben’s birth (in just a shade under half a year), and turn our attention to the bills for his recent medical issues.

The problem looming at the back of my mind now is the fact that we don’t have enough monthly support coming in.  We have been floating along on some larger one-time donations recently and have not gone negative in our staff account (or our bank account), but again I see the funds dwindling, and I am prone to start worrying.

Jacqueline and I have been on the Dave Ramsey plan with our finances since we got married (and I was on it before, having paid off my $16,000 debt to the College Foundation of NC in under 4 years—on a salary of $16,200 per year—before we were married) and have been making it work.  I have found myself in the past few months avoiding the process of budgeting, though, because I worry less.  That’s not at all fair to Jacqueline, making her handle the budget all by herself.  Would you pray for me to engage in this process, and to avoid running from the issues, but instead to take those worries to Jesus?

Also continue to pray for our finances.  Praise the Lord with us for his provision thus far, and ask that He would increase our monthly gifts significantly in the next three months.  We currently need around $1500 in additional monthly support to reach a healthy spot.

As always, if you are interested in being a part of the answer to those prayers, check out this page for more info on how to give.

It turns out my 18-year-old self, though he is annoying, is correct.  But the way I am now admonishing myself and others not to stress is by giving myself a reason not to worry.  And that reason is Jesus.  He came and lived a perfect life that I couldn’t and can’t, died the death that I deserved and deserve, and made a way for me to be perfect in the father’s eyes.  That actually affects my wallet.  I still sit on my wallet, but it’s not my foundation.  My 403-b is still there, but ultimately I run to God to provide.  He provides again and again for his children.  What a joy to have a job that forces me to realize that.  I’m telling students on campus to trust Jesus, and at home I have no other choice but to heed my own advice.

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Dad’s Revenge.

Dad, this post is for you.

Around 3 AM this morning, I passed a new milestone of life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  The story starts 12 years ago.  It was a Saturday morning.  Being a 16-year-old kid, Saturdays were sacred.  Our school board was under the mistaken impression that it was smart for older kids to go to school earlier than younger kids, and so my weekdays started at 6 AM, and I was showered and sitting behind a desk by around 7:40.  I longed for Saturdays.

My dad has a great sense of humor, and having purchased top-of-the-line stereo systems for both my older brother Andy and myself, knew just how to put them to use on this particular  Saturday morning.  Around 7 AM he sauntered into my room, pilfered the remote control to my stereo, tuned the radio to his favorite bluegrass station, and gave the volume knob a good whirl.  He had already done the same in Andy’s room, and for good measure he had also turned the stereo in the living room (with the two-foot-tall speakers sporting a rear-ported 12-inch woofer in each one directly through the wall behind my head) to the same loving tones of banjo, dobro and high tenor.  There are some things that two pillows can’t muffle.

Yes, on Saturday morning I ended up not-showered and sitting behind the steering wheel of a lawn mower by 9 AM.

But the curious thing is that Dad always called it “just getting payback for all the times you got me out of bed.”  And I never really knew what he was talking about.  Sure, he had explained that when I was younger I woke him up.  But there is a difference between being told the stories and living them.

Last night I lived it.  Benjamin is on an antibiotic that we think is the culprit keeping him awake at night. He sat wide-eyed and staring at me from about 1:55 AM until 3:07, when I passed the milestone, and got to see a glimpse into my father’s world.  In addition to that time, he probably sat awake for more than 3/4 of the rest of the night.

So here’s to you, Dad.  I think we can call it even now.  I’m shopping online for stereos for my son’s room.

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Just as I am, without one melody.

On Saturday night I had a worship-leading experience that was totally new to me.  We were participating in an outreach with Blanket Appalachia, and about 150 of us (approximately half youth, half adult) gathered at the end of it to share what God taught us, etc.  There was also a speaker who shared with us from the word.  Standard Christian pep rally.  Good stuff.

I was sitting literally on the second-to-last row in the rural Baptist church sanctuary, playing solitaire on my phone waiting for the meeting to start when one of the leaders of the shindig leaned over the pew in front of me and asked if, while we waited on someone to show up I could lead folks in a few songs.  Not a problem.  I’ll get my guitar.

Three hymns later (the words are in the hymnal that way, and I only have to remember chords—which I did a woeful job of, as I am addicted to lead-sheets) I retreated to my spot on the second-to-last row and focused on staying awake (we’d had a really long, really good day, and I didn’t know how much preachin’ I could handle).

When we got to the end to the “every head bowed, every eye closed” portion of the event, I cheated and kept my eyes open so that I didn’t fall asleep and knock my head on the back of the pew in front of me.  The preacher got done praying and we all stood (he asked us to).  He pointed at me and asked if I could come down and lead the group in a few verses of “Just as I am” while he did an altar call.  Actually, more accurately, he just pointed at me and then motioned the “come up here” two finger deal while explaining to the entire group that we were going to sing “Just as I am.”

Let’s pause now and cover the basic information that makes this an awkward situation.  I grew up going to a Methodist church, and now I go to a Presbyterian church.  This is an entire room full of Southern Baptists, who have sung “Just as I am” (all 295 verses) at every event they’ve ever been to.  I’ve sung the song “Just as I Am” roughly three times in my life, and exactly zero of those times involved standing in front of a group.  Nothing against the song, I just don’t have it on my iPod.

At this point, walking forward, I am flipping frantically in the hymnal to find the song so that I can at least sight-read a few of the notes.  There is suddenly a pang of regret at not having paid enough atention during the sight-reading portion of music classes growing up.

I am literally blanking on the melody of this song.

To my utter joy, I learned that there was going to be a piano player helping me, as I got to the front of the room.  I silently prayed that as a prelude he would play all the way through the verse, and not just do the typical “last line of the song” lead-in.  I intentionally didn’t look back at him for a cue when to start, silently hoping that some loud singer in the back of the room would bail me out.

God in His grace provided just that.  I was bailed out by a handful of people who could probably tell I was in a “worship-leader-as-hostage” situation.  I missed about 5 notes in the first verse(singing just barely audibly), but by verse 4 I pretty much had it down well enough to sing at a reasonable volume without fear of serious embarrasment.

It’s funny how I react to situations like that.  I am so insecure, under my facade.  I’d like all of you to think that I have it all together.  And I’m pretty good at it.  I’d wager that 70% (or more) of the room was unaware I was even nervous.  I’ve got a good mask.  And when my mask starts to crumble off I make a joke to distract you from that fact.  Clever.

I long for the day, in heaven, where I will be able to truly worship the Lord without pretense.  Until then, I’ll just come to the Lord as I am, without one plea.

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Obama and McCain

Fear often helps us reveal our idols.  If I am inordinately afraid, it is often because an idol of mine is being threatened.  If the thought of Obama winning scares me, it because an idol of mine (free-market capitalism? lower taxes for the wealthy?  smaller government? defense against terrorism?) is being threatened.  Likewise, if the thought of McCain winning scares me,  it is because and idol of mine (the environment? a regulated economy? affordable healthcare? saving face internationally?) is being threatened.

So, as we all sit and watch the election results roll in (and it looks like it’s going to be a landslide for Obama!), we need to ask the question “why am I nervous when it looks like “my candidate” isn’t winning?”  And in answering that question, we will find our idols.

And the thing to do with idols is to turn from them to the only God who can actually save us.  Repent, Americans.  Obama can’t save you.  Jesus can.

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