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When Heaven Opens

As a preacher and a parent, I sometimes need evidence I'm really communicating.

While sitting at my computer early one Tuesday morning I had a "W.H.O.O.S.H." moment.

Preparing to paste a tiny piece of information from one document into another, I hit what I thought were the right keys and waited for the magical transference. My eyes widened though, when words far different from the ones I had expected to see appeared on the screen. Obviously I had forgotten to "copy" before I "pasted." I said aloud, "What's going on here?" and tried to comprehend the content of this phantom paragraph.

You know what it's like. You sit down to a computer where your kids have been looking at who-knows-what, never knowing what dark secrets lie one keystroke away. You have this gnawing fear that your child will forget to delete a hair-graying URL or that you'll stumble upon a spine-chilling confession he has written into a poem—something about his involvement in drugs or witchcraft, or persistent thoughts about suicide. Or—perish the thought—that he secretly wants to take ...

May/June
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