... will grow strangely dim.
This week there was a moment. Actually, there were two, each providing a similar degree of lasting significance to the experience. The first one I'll call ‘despair’ and the second ‘sweet exhilaration.’
As background, you should know that this site is truly a labor of love. It began, and remains, an outlet for merging two of my favorite communities into one space. It continues to provide me with as much accountability, in regards to both running and faith, as it does reading pleasure to the handful of sleepless souls aimlessly wandering around the blogosphere. Besides, I am finding later in life a real pleasure in writing. I’m a novice, to say the least, but a novice work-in-progress. I might one day close this chapter of my journey, but I prefer that it would be my decision in the matter.
So, when the email arrives to inform me that I must update my domain registration account or lose the site effective April 1, it becomes a priority situation.
In a world of user names and passwords, one does not simply address this situation without knowing either. Let’s just say that many late night hours this week were spent attempting to rectify the issue. Let’s also just say that Google is not nearly as accessible as .... anyone else on the planet. Long story short, a chat board provided a covert support ticket process, a secret phone number, and a special knock, should I decide to travel to silicon valley. But to no avail. As of Wednesday morning, 11:30 AM, from a place of despair, I left it alone.
But then, something really powerful happened. Somewhere between the decision not to revisit 'operation domain rescue' anymore, and the decision to go with a six-inch BLT no cheese (eat fresh), I truly released it. And all I could keep thinking about were the words to a song I have been humming for the past week, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. Specifically, the line that says, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace. Powerful, indeed. Let it go and be free of despair. It was a good run (always pun intended) and if April 1 is the finish line, then so be it. To exert more energy toward this “strangely dim thing” would be more prideful than anything. I can continue to Run with Horses, just not in this way.
Now enter the BIG moment of ‘sweet exhilaration.’
Back at work ... 2:59 ... and the phone rings. An 877 number, hmmmm, usually I stay clear, but there are some health field contacts that I can identify as toll-free, so ok. “Hello, David?” She had me at hello. For the next few minutes, this very friendly Google technician explained that she received my information via message board informants and wanted to assist. She walked me through a few keystrokes, entered in a new id and password on her end, and said I was good to go. And just like that, I had spent roughly eight hours frantically researching and attempting every last troubleshooting trick I knew, and in a four minute call, resolved.
Never, in a million google years would I have expected to receive that call. And never would I have imagined how sweet the result would be having first released it as a burden. I am thankful, yet I do know that it’s not the end of the world should I not receive that mysterious lifeline call in the future. In fact, it’s because it is of the world that I can simply let it grow dim and move on.