System Reboot

If your house were burning down and you could only grab one thing on your way out, what would it be? Pretty sure I would choose my iPad. A significant portion of my functional life has been crammed into that slender chunk of metal; it holds meeting notes, major projects, journal entries, calendars, ideas, creative bits and baubles, homework, prayers—invaluable information. There’s no telling how many hours’ days’ worth of work I’ve invested in developing a digital world meant to help my real world flourish. Do I have a weekly rhythm of documenting family memories on that iPad? Why, yes, I do. How about a self-care handbook assembled over four years? Mmhm. Fine, but is there a long-term planner I’ve Frankensteined together that holds pretty much my whole life on (digital) paper? Indeed. I am that nerdy girl. Yes, my iPad is a tremendous tool stuffed with resources. 

Well, it was.

Due to a misunderstanding on my part and a technological act of God, all of that is gone.* The iPad got wiped last week, and I face starting over from scratch. My most valued possession was lost to the metaphorical fire, and I find myself sitting in the metaphorical ashes. 

Lots of thoughts and feelings have bubbled up over these last few days. I’m sensing the familiar tug to run around like a crazy person and create all kinds of order in all of the places all at once to stave off my impending overwhelm at what was lost. But I keep trying to maintain a balanced approach to my mini crisis. “Wow! First-world problems much?” “Chill out, self. This is a substantial personal blow.” “Okay, but maybe there’s a silver lining.” 

(Please tell me you guys have these kinds of internal conversations, too. Anybody?)

If I were the only person dealing with such upheaval, I’d pipe down and sit quietly in my corner, happy that you all were spared. But this is part of what it means to be a fallen human in a fallen world. The Lord sometimes allows a significant portion of our lives to get “rebooted.” Whether it’s a breakup, a big career move, that final baby bird leaving the nest, or a myriad of other valid reasons, good or bad, we suddenly find ourselves forced to start over. What now?

Let’s craft a practical plan that I can turn around and implement this week. (Because when the going gets tough, writers gonna write. But perhaps not on an iPad.) 

STEP 1: Assess with the Lord

• What has been lost? 
• What has been gained? 
• What has shifted? 
• What is still true? 

Judgment-free evaluation is crucial work, and we must dare to see life as it really is in this moment. Painting things as better or worse than they actually are will be less than helpful in the end. Remove as many mental filters as you can (like minimizing, catastrophizing, sugarcoating, blaming, etc.) and write down the facts.

(I lost my data, time, effort, comfort, control, and clarity—and, at a deeper level, the security blanket that guarded me from having to desperately rely on God to manage my life. A blank canvas has been gained, both physically—this iPad is empty, people—and spiritually/emotionally. My priorities have shifted over the years, so I need to let some old content… and feelings… go. I am still beloved by my Abba, and nothing that truly matters for eternity can be touched by an iPad crash.)

STEP 2: Make space with the Lord

• To grieve.
• To process.
• To dream.
• To start something new.

We might be talking emotional space (yes, an honest-to-goodness day off) or physical space (packing up boxes). Some people need to do this in the company of friends, while others relish solitude. If your situation feels even the least bit traumatic, I’d urge you to seek wisdom from a godly counselor. No matter what, cooperate with your wiring and lean in. God has allowed this reboot for a reason, and He is always always always after your heart. Let Him love you the way He knows is best.

(I’m learning to face my pain with grace rather than willing it to shrink back to the corner out of sheer determination. Sadness is an emotion I find threatening; anger is a stronger option. But my soul doesn’t need to be mad right now. I’m allowed to acknowledge that this hurts. And know that Jesus sits with me here—patiently, compassionately, and warmly.)

STEP 3: Strategize with the Lord

• What might God like to keep?
• What might He like to ditch?
• What might He like to begin?
• What might He like to tweak?

After making peace with the past, it’s time to look ahead. But there’s no need to rush moving forward or to attempt replicating the lost version of your life. We are empowered by a God who uttered the cosmos into existence with a breath. He is still creating and recreating and ordering and blessing. How can we enter in and participate?

(After ensuring any future work will indeed be protected, I can view this erased iPad as a prayer of invitation, welcoming Jesus into the glorious mess of productive creativity. We can partner in designing beauty and function that far surpass anything I’ve done on my own, and it won’t be a security blanket against needing Him, but a team project that fosters intimacy.)

STEP 4: Build with the Lord

Roll up those sleeves and get busy in the most joy-filled, expectant, redemptive way possible. While there’s breath in our lungs, there’s kingdom work to be done.

(Time to get cozy and focused. If you need me, I’ll be working on my iPad.)

Reboot situations are often painful; they can reveal our idols and expose our hearts. But they also drip with hope. Because of Christ, this challenging moment doesn’t define us or get the final say. God is up to something, and it’s going to be incredible.

*I’m not quite sure what the technical word is for what happened—crashed, wiped, cleaned, rebooted—but I do know that everything was stored locally on my device and no longer exists. I can’t retrieve it from the virtual blue yonder. I’ve tried my darnedest.