Sunday was diabolic. I don't say that lightly. Both of my computers crashed. My work computer in the morning. My home computer in the late hours of the evening. (Yes, I have two computers. It is extravagant and silly and absurd. I already know that.) The irony, the cataclysm of both crashes at the start of important conversation, encouragement, and proclamation of the Gospel can surely be interpreted many ways, but I think, I am truly convinced, it was a very lame attempt by the evil one to bury me in self-pitying woe, absurd busyness, and egotistical frustration.

Computers, cars, and people die.

As I write, my colleague in the Word is burying a friend, a man whose life has served the church, a man who gave more in his retirement from his professional field than many of those who are paid to serve.

Computers, cars, and people die.

Computers and cars bear no significance in my life. Sure, losing information, functionality, ease of transport, and funds is inconvenient and irritating. But that's it. Life is filled with general inconveniences and irritations. Have you visited a big box store parking lot lately? Those things epitomize the irritating side of life. I cannot complain about irritation when there are larger wounds to mend.

The temporary suspension of the blessing of technology cannot distract me from the reality that I have work to do. I have a hope that changes me, compels me, grounds me. It is a hope that heals and cares and sets aside the burn of irritation and self for the bigger picture.

Computers, cars, and people die.

As my fellow servant is buried in the ground this cold and brutal fall day, I am reminded that he will not be stripped for parts like a dead computer or car, but his brokenness will be made new. His scratches and bumps will be healed. His broken heart will be replaced. Love will course his veins.

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