The Bounds of “Friending”

I love Facebook, and to an extent, Myspace.  They’re great ways to keep in touch with friends and family.  I’m friends with people I went to high school with, college, church, old teachers, relatives, and even people I’ve never met but know and have known for years now through other online communities.  I think that social networking sites are great tools for keeping in touch with people and such.  However, I personally don’t like it when people use them more as a marketing or better yet, a campaigning tool.

Just in the past two days, I’ve had friend requests from the people who sold us our house in April of last year.  In the past year and a half, we have had no contact with these people, but now they want to “friend” us.  Bart, of course accepted them as friends.  He’s a bit of a friend whore.  I, on the other hand, have no desire to be used as a marketing tool, which is what will happen when these people gain access to my list of friends.  I know, I’m being used all the time for marketing, but this is pretty blatant.  It’s like when Dan Coody tried to friend me on Facebook when he was running for Fayetteville reelection.  To me, that’s a form of endorsement, and I don’t like the man at all, not to mention I don’t live in Fayetteville.

Anyway, it seems that my safe haven of actual friendship is being bombarded by salesmen, and I don’t like it.  The ads to the right and left of me are more than enough.  Please don’t friend me just to gain my vote or sell me something, and really don’t friend me just to gain access to all of my friends so that you can harass them.

The Bounds of "Friending"

I love Facebook, and to an extent, Myspace.  They’re great ways to keep in touch with friends and family.  I’m friends with people I went to high school with, college, church, old teachers, relatives, and even people I’ve never met but know and have known for years now through other online communities.  I think that social networking sites are great tools for keeping in touch with people and such.  However, I personally don’t like it when people use them more as a marketing or better yet, a campaigning tool.

Just in the past two days, I’ve had friend requests from the people who sold us our house in April of last year.  In the past year and a half, we have had no contact with these people, but now they want to “friend” us.  Bart, of course accepted them as friends.  He’s a bit of a friend whore.  I, on the other hand, have no desire to be used as a marketing tool, which is what will happen when these people gain access to my list of friends.  I know, I’m being used all the time for marketing, but this is pretty blatant.  It’s like when Dan Coody tried to friend me on Facebook when he was running for Fayetteville reelection.  To me, that’s a form of endorsement, and I don’t like the man at all, not to mention I don’t live in Fayetteville.

Anyway, it seems that my safe haven of actual friendship is being bombarded by salesmen, and I don’t like it.  The ads to the right and left of me are more than enough.  Please don’t friend me just to gain my vote or sell me something, and really don’t friend me just to gain access to all of my friends so that you can harass them.

The Lilies of the Field

You wake up every morning, cursing the sun because you have to get up when you would rather be sleeping. You’re in a bad mood because you’re having to go to work when you’d rather do almost anything else. For no reason other than because you had to pull yourself out of bed and be productive you’re in a foul mood. What if you didn’t wake up in the morning, though? What if the last time you laid your head down on your pillow was the last time period?

This morning I found out that a friend since childhood, Heath Sullivan, passed away, presumably in his sleep. He was a year younger than me, and though we didn’t attend the same elementary school, we attended the same church for most of our lives. We attended church camps together, high school together, and most everything else because we grew up in a small community.

Heath was the friend that I took to my Junior Prom. He was the cantankerous guy who broke into my car while I was at band practice one night and received a busted lip, courtesy of my class ring as a reward. He was “the Worm,” and always made every church gathering a little more fun. I hadn’t really seen him much since high school. We never know when the last time we see a person will be.

We grow up, go our own ways, lose touch, and then when you hear something like this, it’s a reminder of how precious every breath we take really is. We may not be our happiest where we are at this moment, but still, we awoke today. Each day, each hour, nay each moment is a gift from God. Let us be thankful for each moment we have here with our friends and loved ones and make the most of this fragile gift.

25“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life^[b]?28“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. – Matthew 6:25-34, New International Version.