A slight change of plans

It’s all good.

Well, okay, it’s only mostly good. There was that whole yellow jacket incident. The past 72 hours or so have been very interesting. Almost nothing has gone according to plan, but the best explanation for that is that I didn’t really have a well-developed plan in the first place, just a convicted thought about needing to improve my productivity. For a guy who spends most of his time writing, I don’t get nearly enough real work accomplished.

I had the initial impulse to permanently delete my Facebook account primarily because of my own lack of discipline, as far as productive work is concerned. I announced this decision to the general public before discussing it with my wife, which rarely works out for the best because she’s not as quick to jump to hasty conclusions.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, she’s the real brains in our family. Lisa’s first concerns were the pictures of the grandkids our daughter posts on Facebook all the time. Didn’t I still want to see them? She then asked, what about your high school English teacher and the friends you’ve made in Australia, and those connections you truly care about? She reminded me the problem with Facebook isn’t the people as much as how I’ve been using the medium. I’ll admit that I was more than a little surprised that her reaction wasn’t anything but, “Thank God!”

Changes had to be made, though, and changes have already occurred. Changes NEEDED to be made because I just can’t spend the rest of my life arguing with idiots on Facebook. It doesn’t produce income. Liberals and atheists tend to make arguments based on emotion rather than evidence. With the exception of my friends on social media, most liberals and atheists simply aren’t logical thinkers.

The biggest immediate change will be that I’ve permanently deleted my membership from every Facebook forum where I’ve argued religion or politics, which was almost all of them. It was truly astonishing to discover how many groups in which I’d become a member without being asked or invited to join. Another change in my approach to Facebook is when I do visit the user interface to interact with my friends, I will be keeping track of my time and putting myself on the clock. Most of the time I can continue to post articles and jokes to Facebook without actually visiting the website, so I will try to entertain my friends like I always have.

Deleting myself from all the Facebook groups wasn’t the only important change…I’ve also customized my computer so that my default browser is no longer Google but DuckDuckGo. To reach Facebook itself and read what people have been saying to me or about me, I’m going to have to type in the words instead of simply clicking on a link from now on.

Wasting time will now require a conscious effort on my part.

Today has gotten off to an excellent start. There isn’t a Facebook icon visible on any screen, and I’ve been writing uninterrupted for several consecutive hours instead of responding to taunts from functional idiots. I’ve allowed too many unworthy people to waste too much of my precious time here on earth.

The slightly below average, smart-aleck atheist still living in his mother’s basement probably doesn’t think about death as often as I do these days because he probably has more time left to waste than I do. As the Pink Floyd song suggests, every day I’m a little shorter of breath, and one step closer to death. Or if you prefer the poetry of Robert Frost, the woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. In other words, I don’t have the luxury of time to waste casting more pearls before swine.

It helps to remember when you mud wrestle with a pig, the pig is having fun.

Speaking of swine, one of these internet trolls visited the website earlier and left a snide comment in reply to my previous post, noting my account was still active and said, “Figured it would be,” insinuating that I’m a rather predictable liar. In the past, I might let that bother me. But today I realize that my mere presence bothers him far more than the thinly veiled insult he lacks the courage to deliver in direct confrontation. Even if I died today, my books will continue to exist and annoy people like him for the rest of his miserable life. Two of my books were written for spiritual reasons, not material gain. I’m certain my work will eventually find its audience, even if the attention turns out to be posthumous. So I will say this to that unhappy atheist whose name I don’t even recognize: suck it up, buttercup. On second thought, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t come into your safe space to get in your face, but I probably won’t need to, either. One of my friends will probably share my link in your forum. In any event, your misery no longer requires my company.

The rules of engagement may have changed and I won’t come looking for you, but my work had apparently attracted your attention long before you caught mine. Thanks for confirming this is the right decision. I can annoy atheists without even trying. Hell, apparently I was aggravating you long before I even knew you existed, effortlessly. Just imagine how easy it could be now that you’ve demanded my attention and briefly managed to get it.

I don’t recognize your name, but I certainly recognize the tone. You’re one of the nameless, faceless, and spineless opponents unworthy of my time. I must confess that I’m loving the idea of living in your head rent-free, which can only mean you aren’t as confident about your atheist worldview as you’d like to be, because if you didn’t care you wouldn’t have put in the time and effort to make the comment. Of course, it isn’t unusual for internet trolls and people with nasty dispositions to hide their true identity because they are nothing more than bitter, angry cowards, so it is possible that I do know you, but by another name. If I cared, I’d try to figure out who you really are.

My true identity is no great secret because I’m not the least bit ashamed of what I say or think. On rare occasions I may apologize but only when I’m sure I’ve made a mistake. The persona you see on Facebook is not much different than the guy you’d meet in real life. I can be stubborn, outspoken, opinionated, curious, strong-willed, and I’m probably smarter than most of my adversaries would ever admit. I’m quick-witted, with a sharp tongue and naturally sarcastic sense of humor. I’m often called arrogant, but I prefer to think of myself as confident and very comfortable in my own skin.

I’ve been humbled many times, most recently by an angry swarm of insects with yellow and black stripes on their butt. However, actions have consequences, and earlier this morning, I exacted my revenge. I was both cautious and ruthless. A quart of lighter fluid went directly into the nest.

Fire in the hole! Yellow jacket problem solved, with malice aforethought.

I grasp that atheists don’t like me because I speak as if I know something is true that they sincerely believe is false–because I do know things they either don’t know or refuse to believe. Natural explanations simply do not suffice when applied to existential questions. There is much more to life (and death) than meets the eye, and atheists don’t like to be reminded of the consequences of their worldview. If atheism is true, then nihilism is true, and life could have no purpose or meaning.

Now, I’m not going to promise that I’ll never engage in debate with another atheist as long as I live, because that could be another three decades, for all I know. You never know when a guy like Ed Buckner, Sean Carroll, or even Keith Augustine might decide that I need to be humbled and challenge me to a public debate and I won’t refuse a worthy adversary. But I’m not going to invite a challenge from an unworthy opponent.

I must confess there is a bit of schadenfreude when I think about one of the pinheads about to celebrate my imminent departure from Facebook are now wailing and gnashing their teeth because my profile remains active. And it will.

One rather unpleasant person of slightly below average intelligence whom I’ve never even met and wouldn’t recognize on the street in a million years cheerfully admitted that he hates my guts because of what I write. In return I can only summon pity and mild disdain for that same man for admitting he would have his own child aborted. He’s a lost soul, a truly hopeless cause, and ultimately a waste of my time. Only Jesus can save him now, and that goes way above my pay grade.

On the flip side of that unpleasant exchange with a total stranger, I’ve also had someone compliment my writing in the immediate aftermath of a funeral service. I’ve also been in a fierce debate with an atheist who suddenly realized I’m the same person who wrote Always a Next One, turning what was rapidly becoming a hostile exchange into a very nice surprise.

It’s not always about me. Most of the time it is, sure. Not always. Sometimes it’s about a dog. I’ll also confess, while I’m in confessing mode, that Facebook can be emotionally taxing when friends ask me to intervene in an easily solvable situation just a little too late for me to do anything. I still haven’t found out what happened to Bear, a black German Shepherd puppy whose picture reminded me of my wonderful, devoted Ox. He was halfway out the door on his way to animal control before someone thought of me, but I’ve got a current foster and couldn’t commit to taking him. I found a friend who wants to adopt Bear but can’t get animal control to return her calls. Two weeks have gone by and I haven’t been assured that Bear is safe and happy in his new home, and every day I think about him.

To be brutally honest, I care about that dog’s fate a lot more than these Facebook malcontents determined to spread their misery like a cancer. I don’t mind comparisons to Oddball if they will acknowledge they are Moriarty, always complaining and emitting negative waves.

Serious and polite conversation is a two-way street that requires listening and speaking in turn. If one party is only interested in speaking without listening, it’s not a dialogue, it’s a soliloquy. There are no more Facebook icons on my laptop. It will now take a conscious effort for me to engage in another ridiculous argument on Facebook.

Some things will never change. There will always be someone on social media who wants to feel better about themselves by making others feel bad. That’s not the way I roll.

One final thought–occasionally an atheist or liberal will ask a decent question, and those I never mind contemplating. The most recent example is when an atheist friend wondered why God allows suffering in this world. My first response rejected after I mentioned free will, and my friend specifically separated the problem of evil from the problem of suffering. He was right: human nature does explain the existence of evil, but doesn’t seem to explain why innocent creatures are allowed to suffer in a world created by a loving God. Basically this friend was asking me to explain God’s overall plan in the grand scheme of things, which in essence was asking me to explain the mind of God.

Yesterday gave me new insight about an potential answer to that question. Why does God allow suffering? Here’s an even more specific question: why did God create yellow jackets? My most honest and sincere answer is a philosophical concept–we learn from our experiences. Without pain, what is pleasure? Without sorrow, what is joy?

Sorrow is getting stung by an angry swarm of yellow jackets. Happiness is a flyswatter.

My best sarcastic answer to the mystery of the yellow jacket would be those vile insects only exist in order to be destroyed by a Georgia Bulldog, though I do feel a mild sense of compassion for their fans.

Go Dawgs! Sic ‘Em!