That particular day, between watching requests to “support the bond of brotherhood” and “keep our school spirit alive,” I set up a small-scale client called “The Miami Project.” Knowing nothing about them, I did my initial setup that I do for any new project and put all the appropriate video and image files where they should be and then browsed to the video to see if everything was working.

I was surprised to see that it was a fund set up to help cure paralysis (You can see for yourself here). The beginning of the video touched on how suddenly and without warning paralysis could strike anyone, and it was a bit cheesy, frankly; it reminded me of a newscast. I had it playing on the side of the screen while I was making a few tweaks to the page’s code, when the video cut from the voice over to a young boy sitting in a wheelchair with a tube coming out of his chest, making a visible effort just to speak.

“Hi… my name is Christian.”

In that moment, everything else stopped, and I completely forgot what I was working on. I was transfixed and overcome, and sitting at work, without warning or precedent, my heart broke and tears rose to my eyes.

There was a ten-year old boy, surrounded by the constant din of the machines that keep him alive, belted into his chair with a doll in his lap, struggling to get the air he needs to casually introduce himself. After which, he smiles as much as he is able and glances to his left, looking for confirmation that that take would be Ok.

“My name is Chrishen.” He can’t even fully pronounce his own name. His own name. Oh, boy. Here I go again.

Out of all the countless heart-tugging commercials and appeals I’ve seen in my life, Christian’s probably hit me hardest, and I’m not completely sure why that is. Whatever the reason though, it started me thinking and I haven’t been able to stop since.

Mostly, I’ve been thinking about how blessed I am with all those things that I daily take for granted; things that if Christian could somehow do tomorrow morning, would be the single happiest experience of his life.

Sure there are those typical things that years of inspirational daytime talk shows have trained us to think of. Things like hitting a baseball, playing with the dog in the backyard, or swimming in a creek. But what about those simple things that are so routine, we forget we can even do them? Christian’s never scratched an itch on his foot, woken up in the middle of the night and walked to the bathroom, written his name on a piece of paper, clapped his hands, scooped a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, or even supported his own weight.

If I want to simply stand up and walk to the other side of the room, I can, and that is amazing! Inconceivably amazing. Even if there weren’t any people who couldn’t, it would still be an incredible gift from God. But there are people who can’t, and merely acknowledging and appreciating the fact that I can does nothing to help them. While it’s essential to remember God’s incredible blessing, that in of itself can ultimately only affect me.

So, what do I do? I’ve been struggling for a week about how to respond, and I still don’t know. I can give money to support the fight against paralysis or any of the other countless conditions that afflict so many people the world over. But that just seems too easy; too passive. I’m tired of responding to injustice and misfortune out of a selfish desire to ease my own conscience.

In the meantime, though, I’m selfishly helping no one in any capacity. Apathy, in my opinion, is worse than poorly motivated action. God can use someone’s self-righteous contribution; there’s not much to be done with me sitting on my hands. I need to start doing something. I just haven’t figured out exactly what that something is. I’m trusting God to keep my heart true and to use what will begin as little more than a selfish response as an opportunity for me to grow. And, more importantly, to minister to people who are in desperate need.

Jesus met people where they were, and ministered to their day-to-day needs. He put just as much emphasis on tending to their physical ailments as he did on their spiritual sickness. I think we often overlook that fact when we think about Jesus. We remember the miracles, but I rarely think about the real impact they had on each individual person who was healed. On one hand, it was Jesus demonstrating His divine power, but it was also Him showing compassion and love in a very real, tangible way. As His namesakes, Christians should be carrying on that ministry. We Christians need to help the Chrishens of the world in whatever big or small way each of us can.

“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” -James 1:27

That unstained part is a different blog post altogether.

As much as I love it, my phone is getting one heckuva work out.  Of the 40 or so people that I follow on Twitter, I get mobile updates for about ten of them.  There are nights where I will receive upwards of 30 or 40 text messages over the course of a couple of hours, and send another dozen.  It’s only slightly less hectic than it sounds and infinitely more entertaining than it really has any right to be.

Fortunately, I’m on a phone plan that gives me 1,500 text messages a month. Unfortunately, even that exorbitant amount wasn’t enough for this past billing cycle.

@twitterbuddies You owe me 10 bucks.

Click for larger view

It’s a warning that consuming alcohol while pregnant could result in birth defects in your child. And it’s in Spanish. Inside of the Men’s restroom. In a pub in downtown Plano.

So, naturally, I ran back to my table as fast as I could and yanked the beer out of my pregnant Spanish-speaking wife’s hands. “¡Es un riesgo de los defectos del nacimiento!”

Crisis averted.

That’s right. Al’s Plumbing ripped off his mother. The one standing next to him.

Apparently, Al’s sent out an A/C repairman that quoted her repairs at $1,500, which she went ahead and wrote a check for. Another repairman came out later to actually fulfill said quote, and after rummaging around a bit, told her that it would actually cost an additional $7,000 dollars to fix it. She (wisely) canceled the whole thing and found somebody else that did it for $600. But stingy ole Al won’t give back her initial $1,500.

These two were there most of the morning, but shortly before lunch, a police officer stopped by and talked to them for a little while and they left a few minutes after he did.

Sooooo?! Did the woman get her $1,500 back? Did Al finally see the folly of his crooked dealings? What is Al short for anyways? Alfred? Albert? Maybe Allison? Does Al even exist? Or is he just a figurehead or mascot created by some Franks or Rogers to make their business more personable? Maybe Al’s just a representation of “the man” for the purposes of this story to further illustrate the suppression of the common man by big business?

There goes my sleep for the rest of the week.

Exhibit A: Caleb recalls the ordeal:

This afternoon, I was trying to launch an e-mail campaign that had been on hold because of various technical issues. The issues were finally ironed out, and we got approval from the client to send it out. Matthew S___, the account manager for this particular client was pulled into a meeting right after approval, but he said that he’d have his laptop with him, so he could check it and give the final thumbs up after I had it all tested and approved on my end.

Let the record show that Caleb had absolutely no idea what the meeting was regarding, who was involved, &c, &c.

A little while later, everything was set to launch the campaign save for Matthew’s final go-ahead, so I sent him an IM letting him know it was ready.

About 90 seconds later, he stepped out of the meeting, and walked very purposefully my direction with an expression that I couldn’t quite read. He leaned over my desk and chillingly said, “Dude… my computer was hooked up to the projector, so that popped up on the screen… and those are Jewish clients in there.”

Exhibit B: Transcript of the IM that Caleb sent Matthew:

Caleb: Hey, have you looked at the final tests yet?
Stuart signed off on them
And so did Jesus Christ himself
…
Yeah, that last part was a lie

The Prosecution rests.

No, no… I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your concern. I just had the remnants of a migraine left over from Tuesday night. All is well, though. It was a pretty nice day, actually. I wasn’t cripplingly sick. I was sick enough to not have been very productive at work, but not too sick to just lie unconscious all day. I watched some TV shows on my laptop and read a bit. All-in-all, one of the most relaxing sick days I can remember.

I might need to get sick more often.

With regard to my college education, it seems like every time I take two steps forward, the universe erupts. And then through the rubble, I take three steps back. The latest setback: finances.

Little did I know, but tuition at UTD does not use a base per-credit-hour pricing scheme. They instead charge by the semester, with a set semester price based on how many hours you take. The more hours you take in any given semester, the less each credit hour costs. For example, a semester of 4 classes costs $3,350, which comes out to about $837 per class, plus a few extra fees here and there. A semester of one (1) class, on the other hand, costs $1,200 plus those same fees. That’s almost a third more. My final bill for one (1) class comes out to $1,400 exactly. I paid $2,700 for 3 classes just this Spring. Those two extra classes were less than I’m paying for the one.

I had no idea. Had I known, I probably would have tried to knock out 12 hours this past semester as opposed to 9. It would have cost me $735 instead of $1,400. Yeah, that’s right. Half price.

Nuts.

I was planning on paying for tuition with my initial three-month bonus from work, which could be anywhere up to $1,000. Unfortunately, even if I do get straight A’s in my review, I’m still $400 shy. As luck (and God almighty) would have it, UTD lets you pay in installments. So, I only need to pay $700 up front, but I’ll still have to come up with $350 a month for the following two months. I realize that $1,400 is really nothing compared to most college tuitions, but considering that I was expecting to have a little cash left over after paying for my Summer class, this all adds up to equal a significant, long-reaching setback.

Thus begins the aptly named Summer of Ramen.

Today is also exactly three months since I started working here at Pursuant. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I thought I’d look back at what I’ve been listening to these past three months. Through the magic of technology (and the iTunes Play Count feature), we can go back and see exactly how many times I’ve listened to every song on my computer. Instead of listing every song that I’ve listened to, and how many times I’ve listened to it, I figured it’d be a little more “reader friendly” to just include the top 25.

So, as you can see, I have been on something of a piano kick lately. My top 12 songs are either solo piano, or piano-lead songs, and only six of these 25 aren’t “piano” songs. Number one, Tifa, is the song that I’m learning right now on the piano, so I’ve had it on the brain of late. Hence me listening to it almost a dozen times more than the number two. Obviously, I’m also quite a fan of Coldplay, Eisley, Mat Kearney, Keane, John Mayer, and Elton John. And Final Fantasy piano music.

Nerd in the strictest sense.

Yeah, that’s the VP’s stapler in Jello.

I love my job.

Thoughts so far: The new office that they moved into the day I started is awesome. Very big, very unique, and 15 minutes from home. The people here are equally awesome. Very friendly, easy to get along with, etc. Unfortunately, though, I’m not used to getting up at 7:15 and being at work until 5:00 for several days in a row. My attempts to counter this by going to bed at 10:00 last night were unsuccessful.

I’m looking forward to having a little more consistent work, though. ‘Cause right now, I have a decent amount of down-time between tasks. Hence me writing on my blog.

American efficiency at it’s finest.