What She Said

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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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Story Time: On Big Mouths and Cute Shoes

November 25, 2020

One Sunday morning I was talking to a friend of mine about current world events. Our conversation was made tricky because we were both wearing masks. The wearing of masks as a blanket rule for all was a very recent thing in our lives, so it wasn’t something I was used to and I felt like there would be no overcoming masks in order to have a full and honest talk. My friend, a licensed counselor and big picture kind of person, spoke positively about the masks and I spoke, er, not positively.

During the worship service that followed, I made the decision that I needed to find my friend after service to apologize for my saltiness and promise to have a better attitude going forward. It’s not that I was a swearing, foaming at the mouth rager about it. It was just that my friend was trying to be reasonable and I was having none of it. Ever been there?

Before the service ended I saw a visitor in the lobby and thought I should go and greet them. I slipped out and went to have a lovely chat with the woman and her wiggly toddler. The adorable little 2 year old with her ran to me immediately and wanted to be friends. I never turn down such offers, so I sat in the lobby with them both and held that sweet baby on my lap. There was a donut involved in our introduction and I found that I would need to wash my hands before returning to the service.

As I washed my hands in the ladies room I looked in the mirror and saw my friend to whom I owed an apology. Well, that is, I saw her very distinct shoes in a stall behind me. I smiled, “I see you!! I know who that is! Don’t be shy! Listen, come and find me later because I have something I HAVE to tell you. Also, I love those shoes.”

My friend sniffed, like she was crying. Oh boy. I should have known better than to speak through a bathroom stall. My friend is clearly in some sort of distress and here I am being goofy. Feeling sheepish and like I had done enough harm, I slinked out of the restroom.

Back in the lobby and my new toddler friend made a dash for me and insisted I pick her up. I’m no dummy, so I picked her up and went back to chat with her Mom. I figured that this way I could wait for my friend in the restroom to pull herself together so I could talk to her and make sure she was okay.

The door finally opened and I looked to see my friend’s amazing shoes, but they were not attached to my friend. No, they were on the feet of a whole other person that I had never met before. This person was a poor woman in the middle of a major seasonal allergy attack.

Of course.

After services I found my friend, still wearing her amazing shoes. “Hey. Did you know that there is a lady here in your same shoes?”

“Oh yeah! I saw that. But her outfit is way cuter.”

“And she has really bad allergies,” I added.

“Oh? So you talked to her?”

“Kind of.”

Sometimes I wish I was shy. I bet I would get in a lot less trouble and would owe far fewer apologies if I could be even just a little nervous about opening my mouth.

Listen Here, Sheeple

November 24, 2020

Sheep are dumb. Sheep scare easily and fall into pits. Sheep are helpless when ungroomed and require constant vigilance to keep healthy. Sheep don’t do well in the world on their own. When a person is referred to as a sheep, it is meant that that person is a clueless trend follower, one who is not well read, is not educated, will not listen to reason, and is unaware of their condition.

Fun fact: Jesus said we are sheep and He didn’t say that our job here was to grow beyond being a sheep. He said that we. are. sheep and He asked us to be aware of our condition and let Him be our Shepherd. He said we would always follow someone; He asked us to follow Him, because He promises to be gentle and kind.

We must be a tragically comical sight, bumbling around down here, bleating at one another that the other one is a sheep. “Baaa. You’re such a sheep. You’ll follow anyone who speaks powerfully and agrees with your rhetoric. Baaa. I’ll just be over here, with the slightly smarter dumb sheep. Baaa.”

This is what I think every time I hear someone proudly declaring that people who disagree with them are sheep. Calm down, Lambchop. You are a sheep. I am a sheep. We are all sheep down here.

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.