If you own stuff, you have broken stuff. The more you need it, the higher probability it will break.
My husband isn’t the programming kinda’ computer geek, but he works in the industry.
People that know my husband associate him with computers.
People that know me, know I can’t live without a computer. We make a good couple.
So aren’t you surprised to find a computer like this in our home? I’m not talking about the dirty screen, look down. At the keyboard. See?
It was one of those Slick Willy Salesmen kinda’ deals. Mr. P bought me a brand new computer for school several years ago.
The enthusiastic salesman bragged about their warranty. ”Yeah, anything happens to this, and we’ll give you another one. You can drop it or the kids can spill milk on it, and we’ll give you another one.” He was just revving up his motor mouth. “Yea, you could walk out into that parking lot right now, drop it in a mud puddle, drive over it with your minivan, and we’ll give you another one.”
To the mother of six who weekly has precious items altered, broken or “borrowed.” Like a sage, he predicted the future of my spankin’ new computer, and promised protection. That warranty was my armor. Nothing could touch me now.
I began filling up my Jiggabites, or whatever they’re called, with my grade program, my assignment sheets, and all my homeschool business. The hubbster imported all the data crucial to running my world from the desktop. I was golden.
After a few weeks, the #5 popped off.
Just like that. Decided it didn’t like his new home and ran away with a spoon, or single sox. Not sure.
I’m a sport. I can live without #5. If the pioneers could live in dirt houses, I could live without 5.
Then the D took a dive.
Now, I do type nearly 100mph, I mean wpm, thanks to Mr. Short my Typing I teacher, but even my smokin’ speed on the keyboard shouldn’t have burned off those little keys.
When the space bar started freaking out on me I was done with my martyrdom. I drove my mini-van back to the computer store.
I found the nearest salesman and waved my keyboard in front of his face. ”I want my new computer. Look, not even a month old and the keys are popping off. My kids didn’t even have anything to do with this. Nobody dropped it or used it for a skateboard ramp. Those keys just fell off.”
“OK. We can send that in for you today to get fixed.”
“Send it in? No. I want my new computer today.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he explained. “These are minor problems. They don’t justify a whole new computer.”
“But the guy who sold this to me said if anything happens I get a whole new computer,” I explained.
I could tell he was getting a little uncomfortable. “Well, he…ummm…ummmm… he didn’t mean it that way. You must have misunderstood.”
“No,” I forced myself to smile at the kid who didn’t know how to correctly tie a tie, “he promised me a new computer no matter what. He said I could even drive over it in the parking lot and you would give me a new computer.”
I recognized the conscience squirm. He recognized his mother in me.
“I’m sorry, but he was wrong, we have to send your computer away,” he explained.
”Can’t you fix it in the store?” I asked.
“No. We don’t have technicians in the store, we send all our repairs out.”
“How long will this take?” I asked while mentally calculating how this would set back my school calendar.
“Oh, about a month.”
“A MONTH? You want my computer for a whole month? I can’t live without it for a month! I homeschool and all my assignments and grades are in here. Can’t you find someone to fix it locally?”
Desperate times make for desperate mothers. “Can I take it out in the parking lot and drive over it with my mini-van, bring it back to you and get a new one?”
“No,” he said. “That kinda’ wouldn’t be right.”
“But, the guy said!” I was doing the conscience squirm and he was staring at me like he was my mother. “It was his idea in the first place.”
He just stood there, eyes shifting around the store, looking for reinforcement.
“So you won’t give me a new computer even though my salesman promised one for anything that went wrong,” I repeated.
“And if you send it away it will take a month?”
I walked out.
The hubbster, being the nice guy that he is, bought me a different computer from a different store. We had wanted one for the kids, so we figured they could live without the 5 and the D and with a jiggly space bar.
Then, we kinda’ forgot about it.
The thing is built like a tank, weighs enough to use for a weapon, and gave us absolutely no other problems. The guts are great, so we keep using it for games, email and watching YouTube videos.
The other day Boy Wonder, our 16-year-old college freshman said, “Dad, did you know you could just order a new keyboard?”
“Oh?” I could see the wheels churning. Hubby was trying to remember why we needed a keyboard.
“For our kids’ computer,” Boy Wonder explained. “I can just order a new keyboard.”
Hubbster and I exchanged “OH, DUH” looks and told him to order away. Why did it take so long to figure this out?
The computer-Geek hubbster and I are in good company, with our policy of using broken things.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and a contrite heart—
These, O God, You will not despise.
The Lord accepts brokenness as a sacrifice we lay on His altar, and allow Him to alter. Then He uses brokenness to display His glory through healing.
This is my favorite line from “Everlasting Love” by DeGarmo and Key.
When tender hearts hold broken dreams
Somehow You use broken things
What do you have that is broken?
He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
I know how to get it fixed.