(There are a (lot) of par(en(the)se)s) in this (one)!!!

First of all, I feel an update is in order. No, I'm not pregnant. I have had so many of you asking about whether I was, and I figured I owed both of my loyal readers an update. Oh, and also my computer and other things have NOT been found. Well, at least not found by anyone of repute, specifically anyone in law-enforcement or anyone with an over-inflated sense of justice.

So yeah, I was looking forward to saving up for a lot of the software and things I'll need for video/audio editing, software I didn't have because of a recent (if short-lived) switch to a new Apple MacBook Pro. Alas, for some reason still unknown to me, my computer, iPod, an external hard-drive, and my lovely Peterson tobacco pipe were all stolen. Perhaps this is some sort of incarnation of having all your eggs in one basket, though because of the cost of the equipment lost, these eggs may have to be Fabergé eggs in a basket made from the soft bone of baby Pterodactyls, painted with a mixture of gold-leaf and the blood of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius by Captain Gladys Stoutpamphlet and her Intrepid Spaniel Stig Amongst the Giant Pygmies of Beckles. (My most insincere apologies for that last statement, but I think I've made my point.) Irregardless (to be said with a thick Boston accent) I lost a lot of things all at once, and while I must admit some rather unpleasant words were said in the chill of the moment, I have decided to take this all in stride. (Fortunately I have long legs, so I can take a LOT in stride.)

I've had a couple weeks to think about the loss of my valuables, and have come to a series of scattered conclusions. First and five-most, I am much more American than I would like to admit. By that, I mean I love my stuff, and feel entitled to having nice and expensive things. Within the first few hours of losing my Fabergé eggs, I lamented the loss of my iPod because I couldn't have every scrap of music I owned with me at all times. Good grief, Charlie Brown. How ridiculous is that? (You may take the question rhetorically or otherwise. Sometimes Captain Obvious comes to town with humorous results.) As much as I wish I were above this ridiculous commercialism, I'm right in the thick of it, taking it all in. (Greed is so often described in visual terms, green-eyed, black-hearted, but I think it may be best described as a pile of rotting meat drenched in saccharine perfume. Or like air-freshener in the bathroom wherein a large deposit has been made, and in a frantic attempt to hide their business, the depositor has not covered anything up, but has added extra foulness to the already-pungent aroma.) This sense of entitlement is a killer.

I do not claim to have problems of Biblical proportions, but I feel like I have a new understanding of the book of Job. God allows what we would deem an injustice to take place in the interest of testing the individual. God allows the devil to take everything of earthly-meaning from Job, injust by our standards, but he doesn't curse or turn his back on God, despite having done nothing to deserve the pummeling he receives. Then physical aliments, boils and such, and still no back-turning to be found. And all the while, he has this wonderful support structure of friends telling him he must have done something to deserve this, and that he needs to repent so it'll all go away. (Nothing like chastising those we care about when they could use some support.) So I was telling my mother about how I was feeling the tiniest bit like Job, except that I hadn't produced any boils or sores. She quickly reminded me of my physical ailments due to a certain recent cycling-accident, the repercussions from which I'm still daily feeling. So that confirmed my decision to change my name to Job, and replace my fantastically supportive friends with ones who know better than I do, and chastise me at every turn. I'm looking into putting out a bulletin on Craigslist to that effect:"Wanted: friends to lend me goofy theology and kick me when I'm down. Also must have experience with boils." So it feels like I'm being tested, and I'm actually a little excited about it. Not so much excited about the testing, but excited to see how far God has taken me in recent years so that I'm actually a little surprised to see how I'm taking this negative turn of events. I'm becoming more convinced that God tests us not for His benefit, but for ours. Seriously, we're talking about the omniscient, omnipotent king of the universe who not only created us, but KNEW us before we were conceived. He knows where we are, spiritually speaking. I, on the other hand, don't always know where I am, spiritually speaking. (Sometimes physically speaking too, especially in the nonsensical labyrinth that is North Portland.)

If someone were to take my reactions to negative experiences in my life and analyze those reactions, the expected response to losing my dream-computer would be falling into a deep depression, which would not only consistently affect me, but would cast a pall on anyone brave enough to try to be around me. My good friends know exactly what I'm talking about. In a pivotal moment of darkness in my own life, someone told me "You bring death into the room." Now that may not have been a particularly compassionate thing to say (perhaps recommendation to see a counselor or look into drugs for clinical depression would have been more constructive) but it stuck with me, as you might imagine it would. So my life graphed to an average would predict long-lasting depression from this kind of loss, this kind of blow to my own productivity. However, much to my surprise, my depression was a little less than 24 hours, followed by disappointment and bewilderment of a lesser nature for the following days. God tested me, and I got to see the results. It's like one of those "progressive" schools where students grade their own work (Anyone remember the episode of Arrested Development where we got to see Maybe's self-given grades, pictures for grades. Brilliant.) and on the other side of things I've had to give myself a B+ (An A seems a little too generous.)

Now that this blog is reaching brobdingnagian proportions, I should stop and say that things are good. My dad is letting me use his laptop until I can afford a new one, I have several opportnities to potentially make money using my gifts, and the sun is shining. I have some exciting things that really should wait for a new blog, so I'll save them. Thanks so much to the network of people who so diligently prayed for me in this loss, and thanks to the creator who says that nothing he created can bring death into any room. (And extra special thanks to whoever created parenthetical statements, as they let me whisper funny little rabbit-trails without going too far off the beaten path.)