Computers, Typewriters, and Hot Pink Elephants

Today’s Fun Fact: I learned how to type on a typewriter.

No joke. When I was in high school, Mom got a well known typing program for the computer. I HATED it. It made me want to chuck the computer out the window, or smash it with a baseball bat. (The theme of my adult life; in college, I had dreams of throwing my demon possessed laptop from my 3^rd story window and watching it smash into a million pieces. Someday…)

My Mother, the human recipient of my ire, decided a switch needed to be made. So she got out her old college typing book and the typewriter. I was much happier. I’d actually work on it and not just avoid/ignore it like math.

The interesting thing about typewriters is that your mistakes are harder to correct and much more noticeable. Even on the new ones that let you go back and white-out your mistake, there’s still an imprint of the letter. With a computer, you can erase mistakes like they never happened.

So much of our lives revolve around computers. Take me for instance, I’ve had extra time on my hands so what do I do, spend lots of time on Facebook, responding for once, and write multiple blog posts because it gives me something to do and lets me feel creative and connected.

But every word, even the tone can be edited and dictated. To be real, completely manipulating our image would be too much work for most of us. At least it would be for me, but we do it self consciously to a lesser extreme. We edit our lives, showing the fragments we want others to see; in both good and bad things.

If we decide a comment, status or photo was a mistake we delete it and hope not too many people saw it. Poof problem gone.

Sadly, life isn’t as convenient as a computer. People are more like typewriters. You have to adjust the tabs to match the form, and the mistakes never seem to fully go away. They may be covered and like a zit fade with time, but the evidence faintly remains.

My problem, I like being able to Photoshop my life, I’m afraid to be less than perfect. By perfect I mean, my life is together, I have a noble ambition and direction. I am confident in my ability to handle any situation that may come up in work or life. I have the answer you’re looking for, the solution. I’m the one you want on your team because I’m that dynamic individual who will get stuff done and always knows the right thing to say.

 But I’m not perfect. I might pretend to be, I might come across as sarcastically cocky or self-confident, ok, maybe I sometimes am, but I am also very aware of my faults. However dwelling on those in a job interview is not ok. The golden rule of interviewing, turn a negative into a positive. Let’s face it, who wants to hire someone with no self confidence, and is going to mess up all the time. That get’s you fired, not hired.

So we edit our resume, our Facebook, our interactions at work or church. Hide our doubts, fears and pain and turn that negative into a positive. Not that that’s a bad thing, trust me, staying cynical doesn’t help you move on. But the reality is my life looks more like a glue job by my 5-year-old self. The pictures are slanted and the paste is all over the page, and my mouth; (yes, I was the kid that ate paste), a page of crooked text, covered in mess ups, full of white-out.

The thing I can’t always wrap my head around is God is like a mega computer. He sees the mistakes, and doesn't mind. He doesn't expect us to be perfect, that's why Jesus died, to permanently erase the splotches. Instead of saying, "call me when your act's together" He proudly hangs my failed “art project” on the wall and says, “Now, draw me an elephant.”

I sit there wallowing, glaring at the garish eye sore I worked so hard on. “I can’t draw an elephant; I couldn’t even get the stick figure right.”

He grins, “But I can, I did invent them after all.”

“Even with your help, this is going to be a scribbled disaster.”

“Maybe, but I want you to learn to draw an elephant.”

“Why?”

“Character building.”

“Seriously?”

He simply smiles as I moodily eat the words I told my 10-year-old sister all summer in the field. “Fine, give me the crayon; I’ll try to draw a stupid elephant.”

He hands me hot pink. I shoot Him a glare that would have done my teenage self proud, “Pink, really? I hate pink.”

“This is the color I have chosen.”

“It’s a crummy color.”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

Grumble, mumble, colorful metaphor or 6.

He ignores it and hands me a new sheet of paper. “Shall we begin?”