Life is like a roller coaster–you’ve got your ups, you’ve got your downs, and just when you think you’re on a straight, level stretch, an unexpected curve throws you around a little. We have moments of anticipation as we climb the hill, and moments of either exhilaration or terror on the way back down.

The past couple of weeks have been a fine example of that roller coaster in action. First came the unexpected exhilaration of learning that I’m a finalist in the ACFW Genesis Contest (a national competition for unpublished novelists). The excitement came with a deadline: I had 48 hours to review the comments of the first-round judges and polish my entry before resubmitting for final round judging. Deadlines like this one are always adrenaline-laden thrill rides for me, and I honestly had a blast polishing and fine-tuning my entry.

Then, came a balancing heartbreak. Wookie, my long-time writing partner, creative consultant and quadruped muse, died.

Wookie has been a part of my writing life for eleven years. Back when the words “blog” and “Google” were not yet invented and I was sending out a daily email and playing with web site ideas, she provided many moments of inspiration and insight, not to mention stress relief–there’s great relaxation found in the purring of a kitten. She spent hours sitting on the back of my high-backed office chair, providing her creative services. Even in her old age, though terribly weak and frail, she provided consulting and therapeutic services from one of her favorite places of late, curled up on my lap between my belly and laptop.

I knew she wouldn’t be around forever. I even knew she was in her final days. What I didn’t know was how it would affect me when I stepped out of the bedroom and found her lifeless, furry form stretched out on the floor in the middle of the upstairs hall. Deep inside, I knew she was gone before I ever went looking for her, when I arose to answer nature’s call and she didn’t come into the bathroom and demand that the water dish be freshened. She hadn’t been snuggled on the bed with us either, though there had always been times when she preferred a bit of space and napped in the hallway. When my bladder awakened me, before I ever climbed out of the bed, I sensed it. When I found her in the hall, a wave of peaceful sadness hit me, but not one of surprise.

What did surprise me is how difficult it’s been to write in the five days since Wookie’s death. I’ve been incredibly busy with day-job projects, which provided a convenient excuse, but even in those moments when I’ve tried with all my might to make the words appear on the pages, what little has come forth has been nothing more than bilge. I’ve had so much that I’ve needed to write–thank you notes to Genesis judges, blog postings, the other 80,000 words of the novel I’m working on currently–and I’ve barely been able to write emails.

I sit here writing this, and I can almost see Wookie’s frail frame climbing up the chair, pushing with gentle authority until I move my left had out of the way and let her through to her destination. I recall the way she took over my lap at will, even in the trembling weakness of her final days, settling gingerly into her spot, struggling against her discomfort, determined to hide it from my notice. The way she purred when she found just the right spot, and looked up at me with as much adoration as a cat could stand to express. We understood each other, and even on the last evening of her life she inspired me as we shared what would be our last such moment of closeness.

Writers often find healing in their craft, and I’ve found healing in writing this little blog entry. I’m sure it’s grammatically imperfect and rife with the wickedness of excessive adverbs and passive voice, not likely to win any contests or impress any publishing power brokers. But as I write these words and contemplate my empty lap, the tears I so desperately needed to shed have come forth. While Wookie would certainly offer critique and editorial input, I believe that she would approve. I know that tomorrow, when I open my laptop to write, the words will come again, and Wookie will join the gallery of faithful felines who’ve taken up residence in my heart over the years and took a sliver of my heart with them when they left.

Wookie, however, took more than a sliver–she took a whole slice.

An incredibly encouraging sign appeared in my kitchen this morning. It was something I haven’t seen in a while, a phenomenon that spoke to me loud and clear about God’s grace and His passion for “healing the broken hearted and bandaging their wounds.” (Psalm 147:2)

As I doctored my coffee, Wookie asked for–in her usual demanding tone–a taste of half-and-half.

Well so what, Dan? Your cat asked for cream. Big deal!

Yes, it was a big deal. Wookie hasn’t asked for a drop in nine days. I gave her a little one morning a few days ago, and she didn’t waste it (she’s never met a dairy product that she doesn’t like), but she was rather half-hearted, as though drinking her cream out of obligation rather than desire. This morning’s demanding tone warmed my heart the way the bell on an ice cream truck warms the heart of a child.

You see, nine days ago, we lost a dear friend and family member. Blondie, one of Wookie’s feline cohabitants, was sick and went to the kitty doctor for help… and she didn’t come home. Reading what I’ve just written, it strikes me how we humans tend to soften the reality of death with quaint little phrases like “passed away” or “at rest” or the ever-spiritual “gone home to be with Jesus.” But this is one of the ways in which cats are smarter than humans: Wookie knew, the minute I walked in the door (if not before), that her sister Blondie was dead. So did Tingy and Marconi.

Just like the affected humans, each of our three remaining felines grieved in their own way. Tingy paced around the spare room, where Blondie was hiding out when I went to take her to the vet. Marconi, strong man that he is, withdrew to his office (under the bed) and mourned in solitude. Wookie lost her taste for cream. I came home and quietly put the empty cat carrier away, sat in my favorite recliner (where Blondie was fond of joining me for lap-time), and wept in temporary solitude. It wasn’t long before Wookie and Tingy joined me, Wookie in my lap and Tingy on my chest, nose-to-nose.

Blondie was a gentle soul. She was rescued as a kitten by Helping Hands for Little Paws, our favorite animal rescue organization. She was one of only two who survived from a diseased colony of feral cats. She was a beautiful and elegant feline, one that I couldn’t even begin to imagine in the wild, though her instincts were strong. Her personality was quiet; she would sit with us in the same room for hours and could come and go undetected. Every now and then she would crave a little lap time, and climb whatever obstacle stood in her way to have her place in my lap. And then, when she was finished, she was finished, and she moved on.

Blondie spoke infrequently, and of course only when it served her purpose. Most mornings, she would appear in the kitchen as I prepared our morning coffee, and request her morning portion of cream in a gentle and unassuming voice. Being who I am, the only reason she ever had to ask twice was her own impatience. But she was a generous and giving soul, as well. You see, there are times when we don’t give Wookie cream because she… well, let’s just say she seems to have her moments of lactose intolerance. If we set a bowl of cream out for Blondie and not for Wookie, Blondie would have just a taste and leave the rest for her elder sister. I’ve seen days when Blondie didn’t even sniff at the bowl–she just gave Wookie the high sign and walked away.

I miss Blondie tremendously. It took me these nine days to come to the place where I could write this. But when Wookie came to me this morning and asked for cream, I knew this would be the day. Just as Wookie is finding healing from her broken heart, I am finding healing for mine. And yes, writing critics, I used passive voice there on purpose–we are finding, not have found. Because healing isn’t an event, it’s a journey.

It’s a sad day for me, a day of mixed emotions and inner conflict. Today, the remains of one of my dearest friends in the world, Christopher Kota, will be laid to rest here in central Arkansas. I miss my friend, and that in itself is enough reason for sadness. My inner conflict stems from the fact that, as my family, friends, and church are celebrating Christopher’s life, I will be somewhere between Cincinatti and Ashville, North Carolina, my bountiful frame crammed into a far too small airplane seat, and my grieving heart still in Little Rock. I’ll be on my way to the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers’ Conference in Ridgecrest, North Carolina. The trip has been planned for nearly a year now, and it’s where I need to be . . . but still, I wish I could be with those who will be celebrating Christopher Kota’s life. His is a life worth celebrating.

I’ve known Christopher for around five years now. Ours has been a wonderfully indefinable relationship; we bonded almost immediately, and even when separated by great distance he’s been close to my heart since the day we met at Parkway Place Baptist Church.

Christopher loved a good debate, and at times, we were nearly polar opposites on the issue of the moment. But, we had the sort of rare and delightful brotherhood where we could disagree in love without harming our friendship. We saw the world through the filter of our own life experience, and the paths that our lives took prior to our meeting were much different. Yet there was always a sense of unity in our diversity. We shared a common passion—the “wonderful grace of Jesus, greater than all our sin,” to quote the old hymn.

And now, my friend Christopher, the dearest and best friend I have, is gone. The hole in my heart is so great that it defies description, and if you know me, you understand how very significant it must be to render me speechless.

The mourning of my heart today is overwhelming. Tears come easily, but my tears are not shed for Christopher. They are shed for nine year old David, who has lost his grandfather, his male role model, and his best buddy all at the same time. They are shed for Margaret, who has lost her husband, and for Manju, Sekhar (aka Bobby), and Jen, who have lost a father. Any my tears today are, selfishly, for me, and for all the rest of us who have no choice but to go on living in this world without Christopher Kota.

But I will not weep for Christopher Kota. Today, as we are learning to cope without him, he is dancing and rejoicing before God’s throne, free from all of the limitations of his earthly body, celebrating the one who gave him life, who sustained that life for 66 years, and who brought him safely home to live eternally in the presence of his Lord. How could I begrudge him that wondrous joy?

Proverbs 10:7 says that “The memory of the righteous will be a blessing,” and Christopher’s memory will certainly be a blessing to me. Even from the grave, his passion for the things of God challenges me to grow deeper in my spiritual walk. I will warmly remember his smile and his hearty laugh. But the most precious memory will be the delight of his hugs and his greeting whenever we would see each other. He would wrap his big arms around me in a warm embrace and say, “Oh, my God!” to thank God for our friendship. I will live the rest of my life in anticipation of the day when I will once again feel Christopher’s loving embrace, and hear him speak those words over my shoulder, “Oh, my God.” But on that day, Christopher Kota will be looking over my shoulder and speaking his thanks directly toward God’s throne.

I will not say goodbye, Christopher—I’ll see you later.

D.

 BTW, Christopher’s family has set up a website so that his family and friends both here in the US and in his native land of India can share their thoughts and remembrances. Check it out at http://www.christopherkota.com/ .

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve posted to the blog. So much for my initial commitment to keeping it fresh and relevant.

It’s not that I haven’t been writing. I’ve been writing my little fingers to the bone. I’ve also been really busy with the radio job that supports my writing addiction. Work, work, work!

Well, okay… there has been a little play, too. I’ve got a nifty new tool under my fingertips, a brand new notebook computer. We had been talking about upgrading for a while, and after one of my laptops was stolen a while back, that pushed an upgrade closer to the top of the list. Since I’m actually attempting to (and seriously in danger of) making a few bucks with my writing work, a laptop devoted almost exclusively to that business becomes a legitimate business expense, further helping to justify the cost. It’s a tool, not a toy… it’s a tool, not a toy… it’s a tool, not a toy…

Being the geeky tech-boy that I am, and having spent many years supporting computers around radio stations, I would never be satisfied with any of those consumer-oriented cheapie laptops at the local “big box” chain stores. I did look at a few, but none of them was the right fit. Your mileage may vary, so if you bought one of those $499 laptops from a “big box” chain store and you’re happy with it, I’m happy for you. Just don’t call me when it breaks and you have to send it off for a month to have it repaired under warranty.

My close techie friends might find this surprising, but I actually considered buying a Mac. I looked at the new MacBook and MacBook Pro machines based on Intel processors, and was not unimpressed. Mac’s OSX Operating system does have some strong upsides, largely because it’s based on good old fashioned BSD Unix. In fact, if Apple offered OSX with drivers that would work on my new machine, I’d buy a copy and install it as a dual-boot OS just for the sake of experimentation. Apple, however, doesn’t believe in playing well with others when it comes to hardware. If you want to run OSX, you have to buy their overpriced machine to run it. When I was shopping around, I found that they just weren’t competitive enough, particularly when looking at warranties and support. Apple offers longer-term support warranties, but doesn’t offer the one coverage that ought to be mandatory for a notebook/laptop that will be in motion: Accidental Damage coverage. You can get it through third parties, but it’s pricey and I never did find the level of coverage and support I demand.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my years of radio engineering and working with computers, it’s that how well a computer is supported after the sale is just as important—or in some cases even more important—than the hardware, software, bells, and whistles. That’s why I decided to buy another Dell. I’ve owned three other Dell laptops, and I’ve never had anything but good experience with Dell’s support. About four years ago I bought a used Dell Latitude C600 on eBay from Dell Financial Services. It was an off-lease machine that had been refurbished and still had several months of CompleteCare (includes accidental damage) warranty remaining. A week after I bought it, it began misbehaving, and after some troubleshooting I felt there was a problem with the motherboard. I placed a call to Dell’s support folks, we discussed what was going on, and bright and early the next morning there was a tech at my office with a new motherboard in hand, and 30 minutes later the machine was good as new. I bought my Inspiron 5150 a couple of years ago (with s 3 year CompleteCare Warranty), and on my third day of ownership I was listening to something with my Koss Pro/4AA headphones, which have a ¼” plug. I adapted down to the 1/8” plug with a straight, solid adapter. The combined length of the adapter and the plug from the headphones was around four inches, sticking out from the side of the new machine. When I accidentally dropped something on that connector combo, I heard a distinct “snap” and I lost both headphones and speakers. I had snapped the headphone jack off of the motherboard. Again, one call and the next day I had a new motherboard installed by a friendly tech, no cost, no questions asked.

Try to get that level of service/support from your local “big box” chain store!

So, my previous laptop, the Inspiron 5150, is now Sharon’s computer, the Latitude C600 she was using has been retired to less stressful service, and I bought a new Dell Latitude D820. I held off on the purchase until September 6, the first day that Dell was offering the newest generation mobile processor (Intel’s Core 2 Duo, AKA “Merom”) in the Latitude line. I got a T7200 processor, a dual-core 2Ghz with 4MB internal cache that’s ready to run a 64-bit OS. It’s pretty well loaded, with 2 GB RAM, 100GB 7200RPM Hard Drive, WSXGA+ display, the 512MB Nvidia video card, and even an HSDPA mobile broadband card that will work with Cingular’s new 3G Network. If you’re not a techie, just smile and say “that’s nice” and move on.

This thing screams. At first, it didn’t seem all that much faster than my Inspiron 5150 (P4 3.06 G proc with 1GB RAM), which is no slouch. It was when I started actually using the thing heavily that I began to see the speed advantages of the Dual Core processor. Very impressive, indeed. It’s a beautiful thing.

Yet, after I got it out of the box, installed all my software, and moved all those gigabytes of files to the new machine, I found myself sitting here saying “now what?” It has a display, and a keyboard, and all the stuff you expect a computer to have. It’s fast… oy, it’s fast. And it’s pretty. The display is lovely. But, it’s just a computer—a tool that I can use to write words, write music, create impressive graphics, read and write email, pay my bills, and all of the other things we do with our computers. I didn’t feel giddy like a child on Christmas morning, which is what I expected to feel. It really is a tool, not a toy.

I’m reminded of a story I heard once about a humble, philanthropic zillionaire from a family of almost insane wealth. Someone asked him how he could grow up in an environment with so much wealth and not become materialistic. His answer was profound: “Mother taught us that everything we had was either a tool or an idol, and mother would not tolerate idolatry in our home.”

Lord, I don’t want to be an idolater. Please keep me balanced and help me keep my eye on the prize. Thank you for my new computer. Please help me use it as a tool, not as a toy.