A few weeks ago I moved my blog from Blogger to WordPress. I wish I had done it sooner. WordPress is not only a better blogging platform, it belongs in a whole different plane of blogging platform. Here are some of the reasons I switched.
This morning my girls asked me to read the words on a coloring sheet they’d gotten at Sunday school. The text was familiar but as I read I realized they wouldn’t understand it.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Words like “begotten,” “whosoever,” and “perish” would have gone right over their heads. Even “believeth,” though based on a familiar word, had a peculiar appendix dangling from one end.
So I changed it on the fly.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him won’t die, but will have everlasting life.
Best I could do in a pinch. Then I wondered: Who is still printing Olde English on children’s coloring sheets in the 21st century?
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I teach a course at the Southern Methodist University’s Guildhall program on Software Development for Games. In the syllabus I have a section entitled Cryptic Advice. One of the bits of cryptic advice offered there is this: “Practice contempt for shoji.”
My students usually get around to asking me what this means by the middle of the second term. Here’s what I tell them.
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I often hear people say they would have faith if God would only show himself. If God is real, and God is love, why does he lurk hidden above the clouds?
It almost makes it worse to read about miracles in the Bible. Elijah proved Yahweh’s presence and power by calling down fire from heaven. Jesus healed innumerable people, even raised them from the dead. He fed 5,000 families, then another 4,000. How can we get some of this action?
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Another new song from the wayback machine. I wrote this for Chris and Sonia Branscome’s wedding in 1996 and recently rediscovered an old tape of it.
If this song makes you think I’m soft-hearted and sweet, just stop. It was a long time ago.
Jeff Wofford – This is Your Heart
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I’ve been making iPhone apps for over a year now and I have one thing to say: Don’t do it.
The iPhone looks like a dream platform. A large user base (about 30 million). An excellent attach rate, with most users downloading dozens of apps. Lots of “cool” factor. It’s a place where you want to be seen.
But look a little deeper and you’ll soon realize that almost nobody is making money on the App Store. Why is that? Could you become one of the exceptions?
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I’ve resolved to blog every morning this summer. If you look around this site a bit you’ll see I have plenty to say. In fact it hurts to hold it in. So it’s a kind of relief to get some thoughts down each day.
I enjoy the interaction as well. Getting thoughts down is one thing. Getting them out is another. Blogging is most rewarding when people send messages and post comments. Thank you.
My dearest hope is that some of my posts help people. Yesterday I posted about my own experience with depression and the miracle that resulted from it. Naturally I have no reason to expose that part of my life except in the hope that others find encouragement from it. Fortunately, a couple of people have written back and let me know that that post touched them.
But overall, I’ve got to tell you that the processing of blogging—and Christian writing in general—is quite discouraging. Let me show you why.
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When I was eleven I saw the film The Dark Crystal. My mother took me on a Friday during the Christmas holidays. I had looked forward to it for months. I saw it and loved it.
The movie haunted my thoughts all the next day—the long-legged striders, the magic, the music. I went back two days later with a friend.
When I came out the second time something had changed inside me. As we rode home in the car my friend chattered away, but I barked at him and leaned my head on the window and felt something dying in my heart. We didn’t play anymore after that.
I lay on my bed until nightfall, gritting my teeth against a pain I couldn’t describe. One by one, my sisters, mother, and father came in and asked me what was wrong. I tried to put words to feelings deeper than words.
The world disappointed me. I wanted a new world, full of excitement and power and possibility. My father pointed out that our world had wonder and adventure of its own—knights and Indians and canyons and caves. I felt sick as he said it. These wonders were too small, too mundane. Is this all the world had to offer? My family left me alone. I writhed away the night.
Something new moved in that day. I didn’t know what to call it; I still don’t. Was it depression? Depression is too gentle a word. The other day I heard a girl say she felt depressed about her shoes. No, this thing wasn’t depression. This was a dark and ancient god moving into my ribcage, playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse, making a kite from my skin and tendons and bones and flying me from the bottom of the sea.
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Man, I have discovered a really sweet deal. There’s this free service that helps me get connected with like-minded people in a relaxed social atmosphere. I’ve made business contacts, cool friends—even scored a couple of dates. It gives me safe, high-quality babysitting at least once a week. And damn it, it makes me feel good. I learn about love, relationships, money, time management. I feel like this thing is helping me to become a better person.
It’s called “church,” and I tell you—it’s the bargain of the century. Tons of benefits. Virtually no cost. I haven’t felt this taken care of since I was at my mommy’s teat.
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Last Christmas I was digging around in a closet and came across a stash of old cassette tapes. Most contained 4- and 8-track recordings of songs I had written in the ’80s and ’90s. I had a grand old time recalling past glories, and resolved to digitize them before time eroded what was left of them.
I thought I’d share one of them with you today. This is the Artist Formerly Known as Jeff Wofford, circa 1995, performing a little number called “Emotional Thing.” I wrote this not long after getting married. This weekend I played it for the woman about whom it was written, and she pointed it that it sounds like Hall & Oates—not the music exactly, but the general sentiment.
Jeff Wofford – “Emotional Thing”
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