How important are my words? I often ask myself that question. The stuff I do at Graceland takes time and effort. It sucks up most of my free-time and some of my sleep. In November of 2006 it will be ten years since I started Graceland. That is almost an eternity on the net—particularly for a personal site.

As you can imagine, from time to time the question arises—why bother? How important is this internet stuff that I do? Does the impact and satisfaction justify the work and sacrifice? Many days I am not quite so sure. Some days I am absolutely positive that it isn’t! This past week God gave me a bit of a perspective nudge with a virtual 2 x 4.

Some of you might have noticed that earlier this week “Cold Feet” went AWOL. My buddy and net mentor Rod inadvertently zigged when he should have zagged and a redirection on his site rendered my blog invisible. Given the scope and technical nature of all that Rod does, it amazes me that this kind of thing is such a rarity.

So, for a day and a bit my “Cold Feet” was replaced with Rod’s “Dog’s Nose“. Trust me—it was as uncomfortable as it sounds! While such a switch may have been a welcome break for most of you, it was unsettling for me. I would love to say that I kept calm, cool, and casual about the whole thing and that I didn’t jump to any conclusions, but that sadly isn’t the case. My reaction was more like a two-year-old in a daycare: “Don’t touch! Mine! Mine! Mine!”

My insecurity started to stir. From my perspective, I couldn’t see how a redirection could be anything but intentional. Then the questions came. Is this censorship? Did I offend someone? Did Rod get sick of me and my techno- whining? My heart started to pound; my mind started to swim in an ugly cesspool of my own making.

I am so thankful that I prayed and that I didn’t make any accusations or become angry in my anxiety before I heard back from Rod. He has enough on his plate without having to deal with an angry bonehead. Dealing with a docile bonehead is trouble enough!

Here is what I learned during this brief blackout:

• First, words, my words, are very important, at least to me, and hopefully a smattering of the discerning. I had no idea how important they were to me until I started to consider that my thoughts were no longer available. To be honest I felt violated. Even though it didn’t make sense, based on what I know of Rod, I still felt that way. I couldn’t help it.

• Second, you are what you say. Sure “actions speak louder than words” and “words are cheap”… yada, yada, yada, but words: what we say, and how we express ourselves, communicate who we are and what we care about. For good or for bad, our words represent us. With that in mind, phrases like: “I was only kidding,” “I didn’t mean it,” and “I’m just having a bad day” should never have to be uttered. Your mouth is loaded, make sure you are careful about where you aim and shoot it off. Your fingers are loaded as well, so be careful about what you type and send in e-mail and chats. Often the Net increases our cruel carelessness and it also allows us to jump to conclusions at hyper speed.

• Finally, we need to give each other the benefit of the doubt and wait on the facts. I knew that some of the conclusions I was coming to about Rod had no basis in experience. They didn’t make sense. Rod wouldn’t do what I was, in my anxiety, imagining. To be honest with you, I am ashamed about some of my imagined “gems”. My emotions were on caffeine overdrive all day—all for naught. What a waste of time!

Have you ever felt like you were part of a different species, or the result of a terrible test tube tragedy involving clumsy hands, a mop, and a strainer?

Yesterday that is exactly how I felt as I visited a plastic surgeon’s office for the first time in my life. (That’s right, just like the Ten Commandments, my chiseled features come directly from the finger of God, unfortunately I think someone dropped me as well.) Why was I there? I got a growth thingie (ganglion, I believe it is called) on my left pinkie finger that is bugging me and apparently plastic surgeons are all over them ganglions.

As I walked into the surgeon’s office, it felt and smelled like I was walking into the exotic land of the Amazons, you know, those mythical beauties with the bows and bods. All the women in the office created a cluster of breathing airbrushed ads. I didn’t know where to look. I felt like at any moment I might be turned into a pillar of salt, so there I sat feverously highlighting my way to distraction in my favourite commentary on the Gospel of Mark.

I didn’t know that doctor’s offices like this existed. I mean, to me a doctor’s office is a place for germs and geriatrics, with a significant population of sniffing, sodden kids. I certainly never considered the doctors office to be like a fashion shoot for the “Arian Today” swimsuit edition. Truly my eyes were opened to a new reality (although I am not sure that anything in the room was really real).

What shocked me most about the whole deal was that the majority of stuff going on in that office was pay-as-you-go. People pay big bucks to go under the knife. They suffer through the pain and puffiness of recovery and then they come back for more. You have to admire the drive and dedication. My only question is: what happens when gravity has its way? It always does you know! Thousands of dollars and tons of pain and sacrifice are spent for a fleeting moment of beauty.

I guess that’s a good deal for some, but not me. I’d rather sacrifice for something that lasts beyond what age, gravity, ministry and McDonalds does to my body. At the same time, I am humbled by the level of focus and commitment I saw in that room. Shouldn’t I be at least as willing and committed as they—especially when the pay off is being re-created in the image of God — instead of the re-creation of an image in a magazine.