Friday Nite . . . Life

My grandparents watched Jonah tonight while Krist and I went out. We met the Fullens at Cattle Company and then hung out at Starbucks in "the soft chairs." I'm almost thirty, so I guess ending my dates in a coffee shop is par for the course. Now all I need is pseudo-hip jeans, thinning/graying hair and a pair of worn-out New Balances and I'm good to go.

Blogging is a strange thing, because it's so unpredictable. Like the waitress at our table tonight. You think she's given one thought to the possiblity that she might be named or discussed on the world-wide web? Or what about Jason or Rachel Fullen? They're sitting across from me and we're talking and having good old Christian fellowship - they aren't censoring anything they say for fear that I'll be typing it up three hours later. (Maybe they should be, though.)

It does sorta' say something about impact, though, doesn't it? Blogging takes the patchwork design of a given day and judges it against the template of one's life. Blogging reminds me that I impact (and I am impacted) constantly. At the end of each day, we are great evidence in the field of spiritual forensics - the words and deeds of those around us, perhaps even those unknown to us, mark us like so much DNA. We are "printed" daily by the experiences around us.

Journaling - here on a free web site, scratched into a flappy spiral or cursived in a little pink diary - says not so much about what's been done to me, but rather what I am capable of doing to others.

So, if you're bloggin about me tonight, so be it. I could say that I hope it's good, but that's not right.

Hope I was good.