Yes, you’re seeing what you’re seeing.
It’s resurrection rice!
My iPhone is as fed up with the weather as I am, and it decided to bring summer back to us by going swimming.
This is why artificial logic is dangerous.
Fortunately, this happened in a place where there was rice, which is to say Not My Apartment. Praise Jesus for the giant bag of rice in the church pantry and also for people who knew people who knew where to look, had the keys to get in, and had the eyes to find the rice.
My iPhone, after vibrating angrily for what seemed like an interminable few minutes, went into the rice and shut up. It’s been quiet ever since but you better believe I still had to answer awkward questions about why I was carrying a container of rice around church. I might start doing this as a point of conversation since I feel I know pitifully few people for how long I’ve been there.
I was actually not too distraught about the whole thing, given how much time I spend on my phone. When I initially dropped it, my neurons froze in place and I wasn’t sure what to think or do or say. Once I got past that, I remembered I had my old 4S hiding in a drawer and friends of mine offered me an old 5 they had if I needed a new phone. The part of me – because there definitely is one – that took a measure of pride in having a 5S is struggling with this, but a phone, after all, is just a thing.
It wasn’t until I was driving home that I remembered I had not just lost a thing.
I got my phone in September and never backed it up; it wouldn’t connect to iTunes properly and even if it had, my computer was out of room and I couldn’t delete anything because I wasn’t sure how to recover it from my hard drive. So beyond the metal pieces and parts that make up my phone, I’ve lost memories and reminders: all my text messages; all my photos from Influence and of my baby cousin; screenshots of book recommendations and funny conversations online and via text; my prayer list; a good chunk of my contacts; my notes from youth group services.
I can’t get into my personal email because I enabled 2-step verification and I’ve forgotten the password. I can’t text because I don’t have service on my 4S and won’t change it to any phone until I’ve determined my 5S is really and truly beyond recovery. I can do all the online things, but I don’t feel like I can do the things that matter.
I can begin to restitch and reweave digital life together, but there’s a five-month period that may be irretrievable and I am furious with myself for my stupidity and grieving as though I’d lost something far more critical than a piece of flashy technology, because in a way, I did.
I’m planning to check on my phone again Friday evening (lest the Apple Genii recommend otherwise) to see if it can be saved in any measure.
In the meantime, I’m going to keep staring at my Lara Casey print because priorities. But so help my iPhone, Jesus, please.