faith, Information, Wonder

God is in the Details, Too

I sat outside this morning wondering about Life and all of that, and as I wondered if God thought I was doing a good job, a chickadee alit upon the deck railing and regarded me as though they had a question, or maybe an answer.

Maybe chickadees are just that.

The little thing hopped up onto the deck light, and then fluttered around my upstairs window (as though to say, maybe, get back to work!), then over my head and onto the clothesline, to regard me again, before sailing off on some new chickadee quest. Whatever those might be like.

I know, I know. life is full of “patterns” and “coincidences”. I get it. If I roll a die enough times, a string of 1’s or 4’s or 6’s will come up and seem quite unusual, even though all they are doing is proving they are truly random. As random as random can be.

I nonetheless see things happening in good timing, sometimes, and I am here, in any case, to take of things what I will – and then hopefully give back better than I’ve been given, at some future point.

My point is – from my point of view – God came to me this morning on the wings of a Chickadee, and told me to say hello, from Him (or Her), to you.

And now that is what you’re reading me do.

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A/B, Decision, faith, Information, Opinion

Ode to the Bots Who Follow My Blog

And the Alts and Such Too: I Should Not Forget You…

These days, it is impossibly hard to know what is real, and what is not-so real.

I know real people are real, and feelings are real… and thoughts are real (at least to other thoughts).

But are the Bots?

Who has created the creations that convince me I’m being followed here? Should I write to the created, the creator? Or neither, or both?

How many real people on the real Internet of Things have at some point wondered if I, too, am not who they think that I say that I am?

I could give you my street address, and my health card information, and tell you where I grew up and who my childhood best friend’s name was, or is.

I could tell you my phone number.

I could send you a photo.

But what would any of that do, but appeal my improvable reality, to you?

My name is not BB Butterwell – it’s Mike. I might erase that later, because on here, I like being BB. I miss my own grandmothers and so I guess she’s the grandmother I would have been, had I been one to be. So I will be BB. At least here. Don’t tell anyone.

That doesn’t mean I’m an Alt though, with a capital A – or a Bot, with the B. Not in the way those things are often used on the Internet anyhow – to make people wonder about their situation, and who’s watching, and why. To question their metrics. My alt is a vanilla pseudonym. I don’t mind saying it. You just have to read my posts and eventually you’ll find the cross-linkiness. There is no additional subterfuge beyond that.

But of course you can’t know that, can you? “Mike” is a pretty suspiciously common name, isn’t it? Blame my parents. Also, I’m named after a frickin archangel. I will not complain, because, if nothing else, I do not wish to be rude to archangels. I will share and shorten his name, sure thing.

I’ll tell you my plan for this blog: I’m going to eventually remove all the clues as to who BB is, and let the Reader assume she’s BB, and not me. I’ll try writing more as though I’m older. Some small number of exceptional folk who found this blog first will know I’m actually Mike, and that will be the joke.

I’m not really a comedian. Maybe that’s funny, I don’t know.

I’ve had two beers. This might be why I’m writing like this. I have been cutting back, so apparently I’m now quite efficient at getting a buzz on.

I did not say BB was a Teetotaller.

This post went off on its own rails.

I hope you’re staying safe.

You’re a good person.

How do I know?

I just do.

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