This looks like a fantastic distraction! You can read more about Good Job! here.
As part of my devotional time this morning, I was reading through Luke 9. Verses 51-56 caught my eye:
51 When the days were coming to a close for him to be taken up, he determined[m] to journey to Jerusalem. 52 He sent messengers ahead of himself, and on the way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make preparations for him. 53 But they did not welcome him, because he determined to journey to Jerusalem. 54 When the disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to consume them?” [n]
55 But he turned and rebuked them,[o] 56 and they went to another village.Luke 9:51-56 (CSB)
What I noticed is that Jesus didn’t get upset over not being accepted. He didn’t take a moment to write a negative review on Yelp. Instead, he rebukes his disciples for wanting to destroy the town (Jesus didn’t come to destroy people’s lives but to save them) and then walks away. No nasty words, no insane tweet, Jesus and his disciples simply move on. Got me thinking about how we, how I, often need to do the same thing.
I kept playing through the same sequence in Ori and the Blind Forest the other night. There were times where I would make significant progress; there were times were I would explode in a ball of light instantly. No matter what though, I couldn’t make it through this particular sequence.
So I did the thing that I had long fought against doing, I lowered the game’s difficulty from normal to easy. Filled with stupid shame, I battered my platforming skills against Mount Horu once more. But changing the difficulty only made the enemies easier! The platforming was still stinking hard! I felt mad. I felt angry. I felt ashamed for lowering the difficulty. Someone with my level of video game experience, at this stage in my life, shouldn’t have issues like this.
In my discouragement, I realized that I was super tired. I could feel the wave of emotions wash over me from the Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic. So much uncertainty… no one sure of what is going to happen next. I tweeted out asking:
What do you do when you feel beaten down by a game?
No answers. But I know the answer to this question: You Quit. You put the controller down. You try again another day.
I played Ori some more the next night. I breezed through the section that had been giving me trouble. My skills were intact! Weird to have a video game discourage me enough to confront my emotions. Thankful for the reminder that sometimes we need to quit, rest, and tackle things again another day. I will beat this game. We will get through this crazy virus situation, toilet paper shortages and all.
Appreciate this piece from Tim:
One thing we need to carefully guard against at a time of uncertainty is the irresponsible use of hyperbole. Just because people are behaving in different ways, does not mean they are behaving in panicked ways. Just because things are not normal, does not mean they are chaotic. Fifty people queuing to get into Costco may be surprising and even alarming, but, as long as those people are waiting their turn calmly, it is not panic (“sudden uncontrollable fear or anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior”). People responding to government advisories by heading home from overseas and flooding O’Hare airport’s customs hall does not constitute chaos (“complete disorder and confusion”). Preparation is not panic and confusion is not chaos.
10 minutes here… 15 minutes there.
I have been slowing working my way through Ori and the Blind Forest on the Nintendo Switch. What I’m loving is how I can make a small amount of progress, save my game, and then come back to it later.
As of this week, I have made it to the Forlorn Ruins. The game is now throwing upside down/gravity platforming mechanics into the mix. I can’t wait to play more.
What have you been playing?
Appreciated this piece from Tim Challies. Especially liked his list of principles, he has been pondering, towards the end of the article.
As parents in this digital world, it’s like we have planted ourselves and our families on a beach. Though the water is rising, we have convinced ourselves that we can somehow hold back the tide. But inevitably it just keeps creeping higher and higher up the beach until our best plans, like feeble little sandcastles, are swept away. There seems to be a kind of inevitability about it, that before long we’ll all always be staring at our devices. In fact, it seems like our devices have wills of their own, and this is exactly what they want. They want to dominate our lives. They want to be our main thing.