I drove up to the big blue building thinking that a quick fix for my computer, which has not wanted to shut down lately, was just inside the doors. Once inside, I was asked to leave my computer overnight to enable "them" to run diagnostics on the hard drive.
I wasn’t prepared for that. To leave my semi-journal with people who don’t know me but who may want to know me. I immediately thought of adding password protection to all my documents, but then I realized that would be like trying to lock my doors to keep the locksmith at bay. I was leaving my computer with computer geeks. Ones whom I’m sure can crack open password-protected documents all day long, if they desire.
So I drove away empty-handed, worrying about what these computer geeks would think of my writings. Worrying about how much of my soul I had poured into documents. Wondering what they would think of me.
A few hours later, I arrived at another big building hoping for a quick fix for my automobile. Just a tune-up. I thought that I might get my Bible study homework done while I waited. However, the desk clerk thought it was the perfect time to share his life story, including the gory details of how his mother was killed by a serial killer many years ago. My desperate glances toward the mechanics did not bring the help I sought. And so I sat politely listening to his awful story. After all, it fit with the day’s theme of vulnerability.
As I later learned, my worrying was all for naught (as usual). My phone call before closing time proved that no one was interested enough to peruse the files on my computer; it was difficult enough to get anyone who knew where my computer actually was or what its status was. And my phone call today revealed that the mother board crashed during the diagnostic test and may have taken my writings with it.
Thankfully, a dead motherboard can be replaced. So can the soul writing. It just may take a while.