bite your tongue

Last week I bit my tongue. No, I wasn’t trying to keep silent when there was a temptation to say something, I genuinely bit my tongue. It hurt.

This morning I realised that the wound caused by my tongue gnashing was a lot better. I felt pleased about that, because it had been awkward, irritating, and made eating Salt and Vinegar crisps impossible.

At lunchtime today I bit my tongue. no, I wasn’t trying to keep silent when there was a temptation to say something, I genuinely bit my tongue. Again. It hurt. Again. I even managed to draw blood! No more Salt and Vinegar crisps for another week at least.

I don’t think my tongue has suddenly and unexpectedly grown longer. I don’t think my mouth has suddenly and unexpectedly got smaller. If I am honest I am at a loss to explain why I should suddenly start taking chunks out of my tongue.

I wonder if self-inflicted wounds hurt more than those caused by somebody else. I think they do because not only is there a physical wound, there is also injured pride and (if you have bitten your own tongue twice in a week) a sense of feeling rather silly.

Of course that’s not only true of us as individuals. Wounds inflicted within a family can hurt badly and endure longer because they are inflicted by somebody whom we love and trust. Wounds inflicted within a church can similarly seem to last longer and be more difficult to resolve because we share a common faith and a common sense of community and purpose.

That is where Grace steps in amazingly. If you have time, have a look at this video which contains images are set to the U2 song, Grace. I pray that I may be an agent of such grace: making beauty out of ugly things, finding beauty in ugly things, bringing the presence of the all gracious God to those who need it.

Be blessed, be a blessing

This is reportedly an actual phone dialog of a former WordPerfect customer support employee, included here to make me feel less silly for biting my tongue twice in a week:

Support: “Hello, Technical Support; may I help you?”
Customer: “Yes, well, I’m having trouble with WordPerfect.”

S: “What sort of trouble?”
C: “Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went away.”

S: “Went away?”
C: “They disappeared.”

S: “Hmm. So what does your screen look like now?”
C: “Nothing.”

S: “Nothing?”
C: “It’s blank; it won’t accept anything when I type.”

S: “Are you still in WordPerfect, or did you get out?”
C: “How do I tell?”

S: “Can you see the C:\ prompt on the screen?”
C: “What’s a sea-prompt?”

S: “Never mind. Can you move the cursor around on the screen?”
C: “There isn’t any cursor: I told you, it won’t accept anything I type.”

S: “Does your monitor have a power indicator?”
C: “What’s a monitor?”

S: “It’s the thing with the screen on it that looks like a TV. Does it have a little light that tells you when it’s on?”
C: “I don’t know.”

S: “Well, then look on the back of the monitor and find where the power cord goes into it. Can you see that?”
C: “Yes, I think so.”

S: “Great! Follow the cord to the plug, and tell me if it’s plugged into the wall.”
C: “Yes, it is.”

S: “When you were behind the monitor, did you notice that there were two cables plugged into the back of it, not just one?”
C: “No.”

S: “Well, there are. I need you to look back there again and find the other cable.”
C: “Okay, here it is.”

S: “Follow it for me, and tell me if it’s plugged securely into the back of your computer.”
C: “I can’t reach.”

S: “Uh huh. Well, can you see if it is?”
C: “No.”

S: “Even if you maybe put your knee on something and lean way over?”
C: “Oh, it’s not because I don’t have the right angle-it’s because it’s dark.”

S: “Dark?”
C: “Yes-the office light is off, and the only light I have is coming in from the window.”

S: “Well, turn on the office light then.”
C: “I can’t.”

S: “No? Why not?”
C: “Because there’s a power outage.”

S: “A power?!? A *power* outage? Aha! Okay, we’ve got it licked now. Do you still have the boxes and manuals and packing stuff your computer came in?”
C: “Well, yes, I keep them in the closet.”

S: “Good! Go get them, and unplug your system and pack it up just like it was when you got it. Then take it back to the store you bought it from.”
C: “Really? Is it that bad?”

S: “Oh, yes, I’m afraid it is.”
C: “Well, all right then, I suppose. What do I tell them?”

S: “Tell them you’re just too darn stupid to own a computer.”