A hard drive to bargain

I will warn you in advance that this entry is going to contain technical jargon that many readers might not understand. For those of you who like computers enough to understand it all, I'll warn you that it might make you cry. Here is a rough account of the past 48 hours:

Tuesday, 9 p.m.: My hard drive dies. During a break in the online broadcast of the Milwaukee Brewers game, I restart my 5-month-old MacBook to switch from the Windows operating system back to the standard Mac mode. My MacBook, my pride and joy since my parents gave it to me at Christmas, will not restart. I try over and over again to restart it in various ways, but it won't boot up beyond the blank "gray screen of death."

10 p.m.: The Brewers have finally won a game, but I don't care. After turning to my wife's computer and reading many MacBook-owners' accounts of a similar problems, it begins to sink in that my hard drive has died and that it has been seven months since I last backed up my data. I begin to fear that after more than 10 years of fanatically saving every photo, e-mail message, cool Web page and course paper that has crossed my various computers, I have finally become that poor sap who didn't back up his data often enough and lost a bunch of it. I pray and foolishly bargain with God that if he saves my hard drive, I'll receive the apparent message that my computer — my wife often calls it my "girlfriend" due to the amount of time I spend with it — should not be the most important thing in my world. I somehow fall asleep.

Wednesday, 3 a.m.: After hours of weird dreams, including one about a magical fairy who recreates dead hard drives, I cannot sleep any longer. I surf through various Web sites that further confirm the apparent death of my drive. I consider how my three-year warranty will replace my hard drive but not my data. I realize that virtually all my work at Luther Seminary, including a couple hundred pages of class notes and at least a few hundred photos, including those of my family's Christmas celebrations and parting shots of my wife's childhood home, are probably lost forever. After more than an hour of this torment, I struggle to go back to sleep.

8 a.m.: I keep myself busy at my new job with the Seminary Relations office. Four anxiety-filled hours of work follow.

12:30 p.m.: I arrive at the Apple Store in Roseville. A technician momentarily revives my hard drive before losing any ability to bring back the drive or its contents. I patiently wait through nearly two hours of diagnostic procedures until I give up hope. I walk back to my car, call my wife and my dad to update them and call three data-recovery companies suggested by the friendly Apple folks. The companies suggest that a complicated procedure to extract my data from the failed drive will cost between $200 and $2,500.

3 p.m.: Still in my car, I tell my wife that I am apparently out of luck. Tracy compounds my grief by sharing the news that the Brewers have lost at the hands of my favorite player, Brewers pitcher Derrick Turnbow. I start to freak out. I realize that my devastation is not as much with the loss of my precious files as my failure to back up those files amid my busy schedule. Tracy assures me this is not my fault. Amid some tears, I consider that this may indeed be a message from God that I shouldn't take so much joy in the world of computers, which is surely distracting me from the work I should be doing for God in the real world. I recall a recent conversation with my mom about how my dad, in near-poverty, used to eat a couple peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner every night in his years in seminary; I think about how lucky I am to not only have a great computer but, more importantly, to have a comfortable life with a great family and particularly a wonderful wife who feeds me like I'm a king. On the phone with my dad, I break down in admitting how ridiculous it was for me to be so concerned about my hard drive the same night that my Grandpa Don in Green Bay, my only living grandpa, is in the hospital with some thankfully minor heart concerns.

4:30 p.m.: There is some initial relief that many of my best photos and course papers and virtually all of my e-mail from the last seven months have survived, thanks largely to the miraculous technology of GMail. But when I plug in my old, external hard drive into Tracy's computer, I realize that out of some terrible fluke, that hard drive, too, has somehow lost dozens of gigabytes of data, including many files from my days as a college and professional journalist.

5 p.m.: Suddenly concerned with this new problem, I arrive at the apartment of my buddy, Jake, my only local friend with a Mac, to see if opening the external hard drive on a Mac will bring back its lost data. It doesn't. But I learn that Jake within the last week has bought a huge, external hard drive of his own and has installed the Mac operating system on it. This magnificent coincidence allows me to access my MacBook's dead hard drive and perform some further diagnostics. Jake, a true friend, sharing in my frustration, is happy to keep my MacBook overnight and let the diagnostics run their course. I drive home with some small amount of hope and call my grandpa, who is still in the hospital. He offers his regrets about my computer, and I full-heartedly assure him that I am just happy that he is doing well.

8 p.m.: After a "feel-better" meal of delicious Little Caesars pizza suggested by my dear wife, we sit down to watch the rest of "Sleeping Beauty," a favorite movie of Tracy's that we began watching two nights earlier in happier times. I realize that the manifestation of the Hard Drive Fairy was surely a result of this movie. More importantly, as we dance to the movie's music in the living room, I fully realize that even though the digital documentation of my last seven months might be gone, it is much more important that I still have my wife.

Thursday, noon: I take no small amount of solace in the empathy of my bosses and co-workers as they listen to my harrowing tale. Amid feelings that I have nothing to lose, I have developed a scheme of ideas about how I might save whatever data I can from both hard drives. My anxiety has changed into excitement about whatever little gems I might get back. My dad informs me that my Grandpa Don is leaving the hospital and is in good shape.

4:30 p.m.: I call Jake, who reports that the diagnostics on my hard drive came out better than expected. He happily agrees to install on his hard drive a file-recovery program that might somehow recover some data, despite what the Apple technicians told me. The long recovery process gets off to a promising start, and I insist that, while we wait, Tracy and I take Jake and his wife, Annie, out to dinner for being so hospitable. The four of us have a great time at Old Chicago. I stop back at Jake and Annie's place and find the recovery procedure working, slowly but surely. They invite me to stop back whenever I want on Friday to do move ahead with the file-recovery if and when it's possible. I am astounded at what awesome people they are.

Now: I realize that this blog entry has gotten way, way, way too long. I feel the need to congratulate anyone who has read the whole thing, to thank them for sharing in my adventure and to suggest that they back up their own hard drives ASAP if that is something they really care about. But I hope that they, like I, realize that there are more important things in the world. I prepare to go to bed, feeling hopeful that I might get some of my files back and assured that even if I have lost them all, I am still greatly blessed.

Amen.

All is not 'Lost,' Brewers

"Brewers" and "Lost." Separately and in the right contexts, they're two of my favorite words. Together, they're no good at all.

I had had the usual bad news for Tracy this morning when she woke up and asked, "Brewers lost?" in routine expectation. She's taking this even harder than I am.

In virtually any other season, a Milwaukee Brewers losing streak would be no surprise. But this year, fans of the long-embattled Brew Crew — particularly my wife, who is such a big fan that we have an old seat from Milwaukee County Stadium in our living room — really got their hopes up quickly. Twenty-five years after the Brewers' one and only World Series season (1982), the team had somehow secured the best record in Major League Baseball, at 24-10, as of May 9.

I have to admit that although my ridiculously long hiatus in blogging was mostly because of final exams at the tail end of my first year at Luther Seminary, it also had something to do with Brewers fever. Tracy and I hooked ourselves up with MLB.TV this season so that we can watch all the games on the Internet, and we were really tuned into all the excitement. I was proudly wearing around my Derrick Turnbow jersey to seminary like a real tomfool at least once a week.

Then the Brewers hit their slump. They've lost their last four series, and Turnbow — my favorite player, who came back from a meltdown last season that lost him his role as the closing pitcher — has been struggling as the set-up man. It has made for some of the unhappiest times in the week-shy-of-two-years that Tracy and I have been married. She has had the team in her blood since she was a kid (she threw out the first pitch at a game when she was 14), and I have developed some sort of psychological disorder whereby I somehow hold myself responsible when Turnbow loses a game (he sent me an unsolicited autographed photo last fall after I sent him a hang-in-there letter, and now I consider him a personal friend or something).

Tracy and I have been to two games at Miller Park in Milwaukee this year. One was a rare early-season loss against the Cubs that was quickly washed away by all the wins. The really painful one was last week Friday against the Minnesota Twins, my second-favorite team. I had been looking forward to that game throughout my struggle with finals, and the Brewers proceeded to get whupped. I took the photo above, which appears to depict the Twins' mascot, T.C. the Bear, taunting a dejected Bernie Brewer.

This sort of painful jabbing hasn't stopped — in the roughly 10 minutes that Tracy and I were listening to the Twins game at my grandma's house last night, the Twins' announcers spent about half that time talking about how badly the Brewers had fallen on their faces. The Brewers' loss against the Padres last night has them poised to drop their fifth straight series, at 28-20.

Whereas I've realized in my theological education this year that praying for a sports team is neither practical nor advisable, I have to admit that I've dabbled in it. I think, however, that what becomes of this season is going to be mostly up to the Brewers themselves, and I still have plenty of faith in their crazy-talented lineup. I'm sure Tracy and I will be on hand for at least one game when the Brewers come to the Metrodome in a few weeks, and we'll be cheering hard.

If nothing else, I have to remember that "Lost," my favorite TV show, survived similar struggles this season. It really seemed like it had run out of gas for a while, but it really came back strong and finished with a tremendous season finale on Wednesday. You hear that, Brewers? Take a lesson from "Lost." Uh, and win, I mean.

Yup, it's the last day

Well, I just came from my Comparative Confessions class where I handed in the last paper I wrote in my seminary career. It's officially over. Now all I can do is wait for the grades to be processed. OR all I can do is leave for Europe tomorrow, not worry about the grades, and just assume that I will be graduating when I return! I like the second choice better.

I think that this whole day is kind of surreal for me. For all intents and purposes this feels like any other Tuesday in the semester. I woke up late like always, rushed to History class, took an exam. Afterwards I put the finishing touches on my Comparative Confessions paper, and then went to that class. But every once in awhile it hits me that this is actually my last day of classes, maybe forever. That is strange to think about. I can't imagine not being in school. I have been in school for 22 of the 25 years of my life. I love school, always have.

Maybe some small part of me is worried that something will come up last minute and I won't actually get my diploma, though the rational part of me says otherwise. I felt the same thing when I graduated from college. Even in the months after I received my diploma, there was this little part of me which worried that I would one day get a phone call from St. Olaf saying, "Sarah, we've made a mistake and you are actually one credit short and you have to come back." But that never happened, of course. And now I am about to graduate with a Master's degree. As far as I know everything is in order. If it isn't, there is not much that I will be able to do about that in Paris, so I guess I just have to let it go. Maybe once I get on the plane tomorrow being all finished will feel more real to me. I guess we'll see.

Unicorns, Rainbows, and Balloons!

It's the end of the academic year next week which means the end of schoolwork, but it also means that it is time to attend lots and lots of end-o'-the-year celebrations and parties. On Thursday night the fabulous residents of Fulham apartments (one of the on-campus apartment buildings, where yours truly resides) gathered on the "veranda" for a barbeque/pot luck just for the fun of it. I made awesome artichoke dip, if I do say so myself, which I ate pretty much all by myself and then I proceeded to eat almost all of the fruit pizza that Fenecia brought as well. My sweet tooth thanks you Fenecia! Whew! I love potlucks! I was full and tired, but I got my second wind after a short rest and went salsa dancing with Kevin and a couple of friends at First Avenue in Minneapolis.

Then on Friday night I connoitered with the darling ladies of House #229 (an off-campus house where 3 Luther Ladies live together) and their guests for another barbecue/pot luck. Did I mention that I love potlucks??? This potluck was in honor of all of the May birthdays in the crowd, the finished theses, as well as the graduating seniors (Did I also mention that I love parties where I am a guest of honor? Because I do. Bonus.) This time I brought some kind of melon that I found at the grocery store that had a cute name which I can no longer remember. It was a fun night, filled with good food, side-burns, and ice cream cake. I also got to hang out with a bunch of people from Luther whom I have always liked, but never really gotten to know outside of school before. The good news is that several of them will be going on internship next year either in California or nearby, which means that I might get to see them next year too! (You know who you are and you'd better call me!)

On the first call front, things are moving along swimmingly. I don't want to divulge too much information until I know what is happening exactly, but just know that things are looking very good! Also, Kevin and I have been planning a trip to Europe and we will be leaving on Wednesday! I can't believe it is all finally here!

Celebrations and Parties left to attend: Schola Cantorum Ice Cream Social (seminary choir) at Dr. Westermeyer's, Graduating Seniors Barbecue, and GRADUATION!

Maybe I should get back to those last looming assignments so I can actually enjoy these parties...

The Students are the Softball Champions!

Last Wednesday it was a battle of epic proportions. Once again the students and the faculty/staff faced off in the annual softball game at Sandgren Field. As Student Life Coordinator it was my job to make sure that the hot dogs were ready and waiting and that the teams were good to go. I even got to purchase pom-poms for the cheerleaders! The nice part about planning this event though was that it was so incredibly easy. I hardly had to send out any information before people were lining up to play on their respective teams. We also had an excellent fan base turn out-- though it did seem to help that it was a beautiful spring day.

Now if I had any sports knowledge at all, I'd offer a play by play of the game, but I have just recently learned that a double play is not when a person makes it to 2nd base. (Obviously, I still have a lot to learn about softball, or any sport for that manner.) The faculty/staff started out strong, with good pitching and some impressive third base defense by El Presidente Bliese. However, by the last inning the students just kept getting good hits and scoring runs. The final score ended up being Students: 21 and Fac/Staff: 15. All in all it was an excellent afternoon of fun and "healthy" competition. (Though a few faculty members in particular seemed to take the game pretty seriously.)

Unfortunately I cannot give myself any credit for the student win, in fact I believe we won in spite of me. I struck out when it was my turn at bat and then put myself so far in the outfield that the ball never even came near me. Trust me. It was for the best. But I still had a great time and I realized that we have some real athletes on campus. That, and the hot dogs were pretty good if I do say so myself.

Boston of my Salvation

There is a certain weightiness that comes with uncertainty about the future. I would be writing a paper, or walking to class, or reading a book and anxiety would cut across my consciousness. "What about next year? What are you going to do?" These near random bites of angst would distract me from the task at hand, quickening my pulse for that fretful moment, like an imp pinching my ear, pulling my head aside.

My shoulder imp of anxiety was Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE). And each time this gremlin would claw my brain I would begin to twitch with doubt: "What if I don't get a CPE site this summer? Then I'll have to do CPE in the fall. Then I won't be able to take a full class load. Then I'll have to take an extra semester of classes. Then I won't get financial aid. Then I'll have too much debt. Then I won't get a congregation and I won't be a pastor!"

This characterization of my thought pattern is a bit exaggerated but I think it captures the irrational nature of my fear. An uncertain future unsettles our present.

This uncertainty hit its high after I had sent out all my applications and I waited for a response. I was totally at the mercy of the CPE supervisors. As the acceptance letters came in, however, I felt my fretfulness letting go. When I knew what was going to happen tomorrow, I could focus on today.

Beth-Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston invited me to join their program and I sent my deposit in as soon as I could. That's where I'll be headed this summer. I look forward to continuing my education there.

What if I hadn't gotten a site, however? What if my efforts at securing my future let me down? Would I be forever chained to the monster of undetermined days yet to come? Why were all my eggs of hope in that CPE basket? Would that be a trustworthy place to put them? The snares of the devil so easily entrap us.

As I continue to walk through this life Luther's understanding of sin, i.e., sin is our distrust of God, makes more and more sense. Going to Boston may have given me assurance and new life for the moment, but ultimately that rest is only found in God. God's faithfulness is my unchanging future whether I'm in Boston, St. Paul, or Pennsylvania.