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About Eric’s Wife

I am Eric’s Wife. I am also mother to two teenagers on the very cusp of adulthood, the founding director of Scripture from the Heart, an avid world watcher, bold and insecure at once. I serve a merciful God and I love a guy who makes my knees weak. This is where I write about it all.  Thank you for reading!

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How to Leave Facebook. Probably.

November 23, 2020

If you only joined Facebook to stalk other people and never posted anything ever, this is very easy. Delete and leave.

If you joined Facebook all innocent like and then suddenly found yourself locked in because it is your scrapbook, your contact list, and the only place you ever stored your kids’ best pictures, you might need more help. Since I especially love teaching people about things I only just recently learned, let’s go, shall we?

First, I have to say that I Facebook was very good to me. I met people I never would have known, stayed in contact with people I would have long lost contact with, and, as mentioned already, found a quick and easy way to store family memories and avoid blogging. Second, I have to add, Facebook was not always good. There’s a lot of negatives that I could let go of, but the loss of my and my family’s privacy to the hands of an unknown internet went from a nagging concern to a shouting worry.

I had several false attempts to leave Facebook, but always came back when it seemed like nothing but that platform would do. I knew that I needed to let it go so I could grow in other ways, and, after lots of trying, I finally did. Kind of. (Facebook doesn’t make it easy.)

The first thing I did was go to “Settings and Privacy” on my FB menu and select “Settings”. From there, I clicked “Your Facebook Information” and then, “Download Your Facebook Information”. This gave me a menu of everything I had ever posted, liked, looked at, friended, messaged, poked, or shared.

From that menu I first sat for 10 minutes, scrolling with my jaw on the keyboard at every little detail FB had on me. I ignored the option to see how much time I had spent on FB in 12 years, and selected each item I wanted to save forever; this included posts, pictures, messages, and notes. I was sad that I could not save comments others made on my posts and that gave me pause, but I carried on.

It took about four hours for FB to collect all my info. I imagined a tired clerk, lumbering around a massive library and slinging all my documents into a cart, because I couldn’t imagine what on earth would take a computer so long. After four hours, I received a zip drive to open. This is the part where I had my IT husband step in to handle the process and I got us a snack, so I cannot tell you what to do. What I do know is that the zip drive did in fact contain everything I had requested. If all you get is a zip drive, you are almost there.

Finally, I had everything all saved. Now the only thing left to do is to delete. Permanently.

Deep breath and then I go to “Settings”, click on “Deactivate or Delete Account”, and then click on “Delete”.

This is where FB starts its Bobby Brown song. “Are you sure?” “You can never come back if you leave now.” “Won’t you miss me?” “Girl, I need you.”

Feeling brave, I told Bobby Brown to stand down. I clicked “Delete”. And that was it. Done. The next screen that popped up was what any old non-member would see, asking me if I would like to create an account. No, thank you, Facebook. We are over. So over.

What’s this on another tab? An email from Facebook? They probably just want to say goodbye. Those dears.

“Dear Facebook user, unless you log back in, your account will be deleted completely in 30 days. Should you log back in, the deletion process will be canceled.”

No. No, no, no, no. Why, Facebook?

My immediate desire was to log back in and make a funny FB update about how weird it feels to delete my account and how FB would linger long after a delete, just in case you are weak, and I am weak. I held strong and texted a friend instead.

So, I am now 24 hours into my big Facebook Delete that isn’t really a delete until 30 days with no peeking passes. My thumb has mindlessly gone to the app on my phone, only to find the login page waiting. Nope. I will not log in. Why is my phone even in my hand? Shouldn’t I be making dinner? Or laundry? Where am I, even?

Clearly, it is a slow recovery. Good luck to you, should you decide to also take the leap. Should you decide not to take the leap, throw your old friend a favor and give a FB like and share. I’ll just be over here blogging, like the ghost of internet past.

My Reciter

November 22, 2020
I bought this t-shirt for my baby niece and it became the unspoken motto of our friendship.

Scripture from the Heart is a little homegrown worship ministry, seeded and nurtured by my church family at Highpoint Fellowship in Cedar Park, TX. I have had the distinct pleasure and honor of directing this work for 5 years. The work specifically is the presentation of great lengths of Scripture, memorized by one person. It’s not a common worship art, so we have worked in a kind of vacuum, figuring things out as we go along.

When we first started this work, my primary concern was with the congregation’s experience, keeping up with service lineup, and making certain my reciter felt confident. I call this work reciting, even though it is a mix of drama, first century teaching, and reciting, so the word doesn’t fit the fullness of it. I call the reciters “my reciters” because, after working with 40 plus reciters, I have grown a major stage Mama heart for each one and they are mine. As these years have gone on, I have found my greatest concern to be with the heart and work of my reciter. It is like a one person at a time discipleship work, which was a great surprise to me with my drama queen performer’s heart that withers without a large audience.

Way back before this work started for Highpoint, I was memorizing and performing Scripture on my own at some services and women’s retreats. One Sunday I shared the book of Esther and my three nieces were there. Afterwards, my middle niece, Claire, who was about 4 years old, came and wrapped her arms around me, saying, “Aunt Amy, one day I want one of those things for my face,” pointing to my headset microphone. She melted my dramatic little heart to a puddle and I knew one day it would happen.

It took some time, but, here we are. They are all my reciters, but this one is MY reciter. It gives me pleasure that can’t be described to see people I love consume and deliver the Word that breaks me and restores me. It is a powerful thing to meditate on Scripture and I think it takes every reciter by surprise. Seeing the Word buried so deeply into the heart of one so young should break and restore us all.

This is Claire Marie Dodd, age 10, with 2 Peter, chapter 3.

Know Thy Number

July 23, 2020

Some years ago I was reading an article about data storage. I don’t recall who wrote or what the “so what?” was of it. What I remember crystal clear was the story she told about her experience with personal data collection.

The writer was a journalist tasked with researching how personal information is stored and used by different companies. She decided to use her own self as a case study. As the story goes, she had a two year membership in an online dating site. She visited the site an average of once a week, offering bits of information here and there. To write her article, she went through a multiple hoops with the dating website to finally have them give her a copy of every bit of information they had on her. She printed it all out and it filled an office conference room with cartons of document.

Everything went fuzzy on me when I saw the picture of that conference room. So. Many. Boxes. And the stunner of it to me was that this was only one website. What if she got the same documents from Google? Facebook? The mind reels.

My initial thought was that, after 25 years of internet use, I could fill about three warehouses with documents, and I bet I’m grossly underestimating. I pictured those warehouses and then it occurred to me that those warehouses exist. Somewhere, in digital form, every bit of information about me exists. It chilled me. I’ve told Google every one of my darkest secrets. The internet knows every possible thing about me, to the point where it can now predict correctly what I’m thinking about.

Just as I was about to fall into a pit of anxiety about what the 1984 just happened, I had a second thought.

God

knows

more.

And He loves me.

God knows the me that I don’t even know. That’s terrifying; until I remember the dual reality that God knows me and He loves me. He has seen every millisecond of my life; every failure, every twisting of His Word, every swear, every casual back stab, every tainted good, and still, He loves me.

I took an Enneagram test today, after years of side eye for it. I dearly love people who highly esteem the Enneagram, so I want to be careful in sharing my thoughts. When I got my results, there was an offer at the bottom of the e-mail to take an Enneagram class to “help you learn more about yourself and others.” That quote, together with my thoughts about data collection, sealed my continued side eye.

God knows me. Every last detail. And, this is key, He defines who I am. Studying the results of the Enneagram for personal growth seemed to me to be about as helpful as taking down one of the cartons of documents on me in those 3 warehouses and studying just that box.

If you are a huge fan of the Enneagram, feel free to brush me off. I don’t want to try and talk anyone out of it. BUT, if you are like me and wouldn’t mind finding out what God knows about you, but you don’t feel comfortable about God+something else, here is what I do: I meditate on His Word. That’s it. I meditate on it and He tells me who I am, who you are, how I respond to you, how I should respond to you, why I act the way I do, why you act the way you do.

Enneagram if you must, but, if you are a Christian, do due diligence with time in your Bible.

For the Ennegram fans who are still with me, you’ll not be surprised to hear I am almost equally and heavily an 8 and a 5. See if that helps you figure out why I still have side eye. Are 8s side eye types? Maybe? I love you and I care. Zero judgement from me, but lots of opinions.