A few good men

I'm not sure what I'm about to relate to you is scriptural, but I believe it to be true. Maybe in 3rd Thessalonians or someplace. Maybe in Genesis II or somewhere else.

I believe that when things are going real, real, real well, that's when Satan is gonna stomp on your ankles. Just pulverize your kidneys. Bomp your head. Trip your feet. Gonna, gonna just, just you know, hit you below the belt. There, said it. Meant it. So tttthhhhwwwwwwppppp.

Yesterday I was tired. I had worked so hard last week I was actually tired from actually working. Let's face it, though we pastors might work long hours if we're really, really working, it ain't heavy lifting physically no matter what any of us tell you. The hardest thing I did last week physically was jog around an empty piece of land and put ice cream scoops on the heads of children (don't ask, don't ask).

And I typed -- a lot. Did a lot of thinking and reading and such.

But did I work outside? It would kill me. Really kill me.

So I brainstormed so much two things happened: 1) I got tired; 2) the Devil noticed.

Now, liberal theologians might tell you there is no actual Devil, but to do so they have to discount Jesus saying there was and once you take out the parts in red, well, there I draw me a line being on the moderate side theology-wise.

So, I believe the Devil (the D being capitalized because I reckon I don't really know his name though I thought about using Lucifer but since I don't want to seem like I know him all that well though I know his minions and his policies all too well) noticed what was going on in Eunice.

I got tired. And when you get tired, things occur that are, well, not that good. Bad might be another way of looking at it. Evil? Don't know if I would go that far, but on a bad day you can see the big E from there.

Dogs were barking outside. Seemed like it went on for an hour, though Mary said it was five minutes. I stood up to put and end to all this barking that was disturbing the master-mind at his desk in his office doing all that heavy lifting that I told you I was known for and it happened. Just happened.

I tripped. Fell like a, well, like a harpooned whale. You can make your own sight metaphor there.

Fell and took the laptop with me.

The Devil laughed, I'm sure, but he didn't let the worst of all things happen. That's not the way this works. I think that's in Ephesians II. The laptop didn't break. That right-arm of the budding genius didn't shatter like cheap dreams. It stayed together, unlike my dignity.

But ...

And this is the way this works. The cord that allows electricity to crawl into the charger that keeps the battery working somehow, someway, bit the bigun. Broke. Or it bent like Beckham till I tried to straighten it and it broke. Broke. Won't work. Won't give computer life, or it put the computer on life-support for say a few more hours. No more ideas flowing like spring thaw in the mountains. No more great, great inventive things to do at the church. NO MORE wonderfully written pieces to go out to 30 or 40 people a day. NOOOOOO MOOOOORRRREEEE.

I was incensed. The dogs did this. Mary did this. The Devil did this.  Yep. The Devil assaulted me, head-butted me. Me. Saw his opportunity to stop the changing of an entire church. Saw me and assaulted me.

What will I do? What can I do?

Then it hit me. SLAP.

I didn't want the truth. I couldn't handle the truth.

I didn't want the truth because deep down in places I don't talk about at parties, I didn't want me on that wall, I didn't need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it ...

Oh, excuse me. My inner Jack Nicholson comes out every time I go all frenzied for a second. Happens when I get all antzy.

Truth is, maybe the devil (little D because that's who his is beside Jesus) does attack us at those moments of inner success. But the vast majority of the time, the culprit is (drum roll please) US. Me. My.

I tripped. I was uncoordinated as usual and I tripped. ME. I did it. I snapped because I was tired, I reared up in anger and I tripped. ME.

Was I pushed? No so I could tell. Was I shoved? Not so anyone could see, feel, taste, touch or even hear except for the yell I made as I went to the floor.

Point is this: The devil might have done the tempting in the garden, but the folks who did the sinning handled much of that on their own, by themselves, with great relish as they went down.

And we've been trying to put the cord back in the laptop ever since.