Chris​Hubbs​.com

OK, I’ve heard stories before about people having their email addresses added to unsavory mailing lists by pranking friends or malicious enemies, but what about the times when someone is apparently unintentionally using your email address for their legitimate purposes? Such is the odd frustration I’ve been dealing with lately.

I’ve had a Gmail account with a username in the format of firstname.lastname@gmail.com ever since Gmail was invite-only. (Remember those days?) It’s worked great for me, though eventually I’ve semi-retired it for email in favor of using Fastmail and an email address based on my personal domain. For the past six months, though, I’ve been getting a string of non-spam emails that appear to be intended for somebody else.

It started out innocuously enough, with a subscription to a mailing list of Cobb County, Georgia first responders. I requested an unsubscribe, and a real person wrote me back, a little confused why I was asking to be removed. I explained and was eventually removed from the list.

But then I started getting other emails. Over the past 6 months or so I’ve gotten the following:

• Royal Caribbean cruise itineraries and payment receipts
• Hudl.com notifications
• Follow-up emails from car dealers saying “thanks for test driving, let’s talk!”
• Survey requests

Then on Monday came the one that made me think about this a little more seriously: an email from LifeLock with the salutation “Dear LifeLock Wallet User:”.

Now, I’m just deleting these emails, but there’s nothing that would prevent me, were I malicious, from going to the websites in question, using the email address (which, remember, is my email address) and the Lost Password routine to set up a new password, and I’d have access to that person’s account.

Which is one level of bad if it’s your hudl.com account (which appears to be some sort of sports training website), but an entirely different level of bad if it’s your credit monitoring service.

What I really don’t understand is how this person continues to make this mistake, when s/he clearly isn’t getting the emails in question. (I have Google 2-factor authentication active on my account, and I track my Google logins closely, so I’m ruling out the thought that this person could be actually getting to those email messages.) If it were you, wouldn’t you start questioning why you weren’t receiving emails, and then eventually correct your mistake?

If this were, say, work email intended for another Chris Hubbs at my employer (such a person used to exist!), it’d be easy enough to look up that person, forward the email to their correct address, and let them know to clarify things with their contacts. But in this case I’ve got very little idea who the right recipient is!

Basically all I can do is say this: if you’re Chris Hubbard from Atlanta, you should be aware that chris.hubbs@gmail.com belongs to a guy in Iowa who would be happy to not keep getting your email. Or if you’re gonna keep sending it to me, at least have the decency to send me the cruise tickets and not just the receipts.

On the left, my passport photo from 2004. On the right, my passport photo from last week.

When my wife’s sister and her husband recently visited Chile, they found this picture in a museum somewhere and sent it to my wife, noting that they’d found my doppelganger. I have to admit, I do see the resemblance. (Click on it to see the big version.)

The translation of the text with the photo (thanks, Google translate!):

CARL SKOTTSBERG aboard the ANTARCTIC A student of philosophy and botany of the Nordenskjold expedition. Was 21 years and was one of the last to leave the ship when it sank in the Weddell Sea. After being rescued by the corvette Uruguay, Skottsberg continued his career as a botanist and performed numerous trips. He was the founder of the Goteborg Botanical Garden whose main street that borders bears his name.

It turns out that Carl Skottsberg was indeed a Swedish botanist and explorer. It would appear that later in life his appearance and mine diverged a bit. (However, if anybody that’s handy with Photoshop wants to mock-up what this guy would look like with a shaved head and goatee… be my guest!)

For a moment in our 20s, though, we might have been brothers.

Maybe it’s just a reaction to still being in the tail end of 3 months of a cold winter back home, but give me a trip to Phoenix this week, a rental car with a sunroof, and a couple free afternoon hours, and I felt the road calling my name.

I’ve never been to Arizona before this week. It’s a far cry from the midwest that I’ve usually called home, but there’s a stark beauty to its dark, jagged mountains and sandy, scrubby terrain. The road lies out straight and flat for countless miles with little more than an occasional cactus breaking up the line to the peaks on the horizon.

So tonight, with two busy weeks of work travel almost behind me (home to Iowa tomorrow!) and a couple hours of sunlight, I turned the little SUV south, opened the windows and sunroof, and turned up the music. It took me a little while to get out of town and to roads less traveled, but eventually I turned off the main highway, crossed a cattle guard to turn onto a county road, and let my cares slowly filter out into the wind rushing past my window.

The music, both familiar (Bruce Hornsby) and new (Beck’s Morning Phase just came out today and is lovely) kept me company as the miles slipped behind. Prayers were spoken. Frustrations and hopes spilled out and were released to God. Little by little the beautiful broken emptiness of the desert reminded me of a greater hope, a hope that we all have for redemption.

Though 30 minutes of real traffic-free driving went by far too fast, there was also a certain cheerfulness to seeing the city lights signaling the return to civilization. Springtime is good for the soul, and my only regret from today is that I didn’t have the time to take a longer drive and see more. A friend advised that the two-hour drive through the hills up to Sedona is worthwhile. Next time I’ll have to see if I can get there.

Yesterday I wrote about the need to be willing to accept truth (and discard error) from wherever we find it, not just when it’s from our favorites (or least-favorites). A friend on Facebook noted in a comment on my post that she has lately been “tuning out” certain bloggers whom she has found repeatedly irritating or unhelpful.

As negative as I first thought it sounded, in truth I resemble that remark. It wasn’t that many months ago that I asked some friends for their opinions on whether I should keep certain websites in my regular reading list, even if they were irritants, or whether it was appropriate to just delete them if they were consistently making me crazy.

So after writing yesterday’s post I find myself in a bit of a quandary. How do I go about learning from even those people who I often disagree with if I’m going to stop reading them at all?

Well, I’m not gonna read everybody

I should acknowledge that there are a certain set of folks who I just won’t read, because the value-to-noise ratio is so small that it’s just not worth it. Sorry, 9/11 truthers. Sorry, Mr. Third Eagle of the Apocalypse. There’s only so much time in the day.

In Which I Choose Not to Name Names

Part of me really wants to list a bunch of names of bloggers that I need to consider re-adding to my feed reader. But all that would do would provoke reactions from folks who like the folks I’ve deleted, and the point of this post isn’t to get into arguments about who’s worth reading and who’s not.

More important is deciding to read, and to have the humility to read and at least consider the views of those even who I think I’m fairly likely to disagree with. This accomplishes several things. It hones my critical thinking skills. It broadens my general knowledge of the arguments that are out there on any given topic. It provides me the opportunity to humbly understand that I might be wrong on certain points, and to correct my own thinking.

Yes, but…

There may still be times when some author is driving me crazy. Am I wrong to delete their feed and not read them for a while? Probably not. But more important than what I’m reading is why I’m reacting so strongly. If I’m reacting because an author truly isn’t making sense on a regular basis, maybe I really should delete them. If I’m reacting because I don’t like what’s being said, why am I reacting?

There are millions of words written every day that I disagree with. Why do those particular words make me react? What does that reflect about my heart, thoughts, and intentions? Once I get that settled I’ll know better what to do with that pesky blog subscription.

Draw your own conclusion.

My conclusion for myself is that I should add a few feeds back to my reader. (Your conclusion for yourself might be different.) Then, if I still have a strong reaction, I’ll work to understand why I have that reaction. I’m hoping I’ll learn more about my personal biases and blind spots. God knows I have plenty to learn.

Yesterday I attended a church in another town which I have infrequently visited before. Circumstances allowed me to help lead music as a part of their worship team. After the service I was approached by two different older (60-ish) men. This story is about them.

The First Man

The first man that approached me had given a testimony during the worship service. He was overflowing with contagious joy and appreciation for what God has been doing in his life. While his situation is still not an easy one, he took the time to ask about my family and job, then asked how he could pray for me and proceeded to take my arm and pray right there and then. What an encouragement! As he walked away we both had smiles on our faces and grace in our hearts.

The Second Man

The second man approached me a few minutes later, and after thanking me for my participation, proceeded to tell me that I should be praying for the church. He mentioned his theological training and proceeded to explain how the church would be improved if “they” would “get a vision” for aspects of their ministry that mirrored his. I patiently listened and politely nodded as he went on. When he walked away we both had expressions of concern. His, no doubt, was for that church and its ministries; mine was more for him, who would seemingly look past the good things happening in the church (even that morning!) to “spiritually” complain to a stranger about the church leadership’s vision.

OK, so I lied up in paragraph one. This story isn’t really about them.

As I was thinking over these interactions a day later, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks:

I am the second man.

No, not all the time. And maybe not quite so obviously. But if I think and look back over my past year of on- and off-line interactions, and if I’m honest with myself, I’m the second guy.

I’ve been quick to complain, criticize, and critique. I’ve looked past the good things happening in my own congregation to pick at the nits that I’ve disagreed with. Rather than being thankful for what’s going on, I’ve relied on my “superior” theological knowledge (I am, at best, a well-read amateur) to poke holes too many places where the church didn’t align to “my vision” instead of just helping shore up the walls and foundations that truly might need a little help.

So let this serve as my public apology and repentance. (There are some private ones coming, too.) Where there are still correctives that should be made, may my first reaction always be grace and encouragement, and may I let the correctives wait for the right time and place.

Amen.

(And hey, kick me if you catch me straying from this, eh?)

Clarification, because a couple people have asked: this is a real story, and those were real conversations.